Page 95 of The Marchioness Who Tempted Fate
“My Lord?” Worry tinged Tiffany’s voice. “Are you turning me off?”
Percival was taken aback by the question. “Not precisely. I think, we might count it more as a promotion. Tiffany, I value the wonderful meals that have come from your kitchen. But more than that, I have come to value your good sense, your humor, and your insight.”
“You are promoting me to housekeeper? But what will become of Mrs. Twitchel?”
Now it was Percival’s turn to laugh. “Have no fear. Mrs. Twitchel’s position is completely safe. In fact, I think this household would fall apart without her. No, Tiffany, my beautiful, sweet, forgiving, gentle Tiffany . . .”
“Who are you talking to, My Lord? I think . . .”
“Tiffany! Please let me finish. Tiffany, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Me?” Tiffany squeaked.
“None other. Please, Tiffany? Your bread is wonderful, and I value your abilities as a cook, but I want you to take a much more central part of my life. Please, will you marry me?”
Tiffany sat with her mouth open for a moment. Then closed it. “I hardly know what to say, My Lord . . .”
Grace elbowed her. “Say yes,” she whispered. “You’ve scarcely had any words other than, ‘My Lord wishes . . .’ or ‘My lord thinks . . .’ for weeks. You’ll never receive a better offer in all your life.”
Tiffany blushed. “Yes, My Lord, dear Percival,” she said. “I will gladly marry you. But . . . are you sure? I mean, I’m a nobody, and you are the Marquess.”
“I am the Marquess,” he replied, taking her hands in his. “And if you will marry me, you will be the Marchioness. Please, Tiffany, because I love you and my life will completely fall apart without you.”
Tiffany tightened her hands upon his, her heart beating so fast she could scarcely hear anything else. “Percival, are you sure? I mean, the robins and sparrows will all twitter about it.”
He laughed. A low, indulgent chuckle. “So they will. I am sure that before we are done, they will have a great deal to twitter about. Please say yes, Tiffany. Not because of the title or the heavenly bread that you make, but because you make my world bright.”
Tiffany made an odd little sound. When she lifted her face to his, her green eyes were bright with tears, but she was smiling. “Yes, Percival, I will marry you. Not because I will be a Marchioness, but because I love you and I always will.”
Epilogue
One Year Later…
Grace and Sophie helped put the finishing touches on Tiffany’s wedding gown as she stood in her refurbished room overlooking the garden in what had once been a crumbling manor. Old Elizabet’s people had gladly given the labor needed to bring the manor house back to its former glory, now that they no longer needed to make it look as if it was abandoned.
“It is hard to believe that you are an heiress twice over,” Sophie said, and she carefully adjusted the folds of Tiffany’s train. “Niece of the rightful heir to the old manor, and proper owner of Bentley’s Bakery.”
“Or that Old Elizabet was your grandmother’s lady’s maid,” Grace added. “I do think that we might see another wedding before the year is out, or maybe even two.” She glanced at Sophie, who blushed prettily.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said, feigning her old snippy airs.
Grace laughed, her own simple gold band glinting on the ring finger of her left hand. “Michaels has been paying most particular attention to you,” she said. “Although it seems very strange to know that he is the rightful owner of Sir James Barrette’s old manor house, and that he is really Mr. Michael Barrette.”
“That was certainly a surprise to me,” Tiffany said. “Just as it came as a surprise that I am really Tiffany Ann Barrette and that I have a grandfather. More than that, I can recall telling Michaels that he was merely a customer, not my uncle. Fate can play the most amazing jests.”
“And now he will give you away, in your father’s stead. Rags to riches, just like in the minstrel tales,” Sophie said. “I was so surprised when you asked me to be one of your bride’s maids. I was so mean to you when you came to work for Lord Northbury.”
“How could I do otherwise? You were only doing what Lord Ronald told you to do. What a wicked man he was.”
“Jones wasn’t any better,” Sophie said. “Between them, they had my fate sewn up, until you, Constable Brooks, and Lord Northbury put a spoke in their wheel.”
“I’m glad that they were able to rescue you,” Grace said. “I was immensely glad to get back the friend I had once had, as well as to make a new friend. It will seem very odd to be a bosom companion to a Lady.”
“I will still be just plain me,” Tiffany protested. “And I know that Percival has no plans to toady up to the peerage, or at least no more than is necessary to get them to support his charities.”
“How is the orphanage coming on?” Grace asked.
“Nearly finished,” Tiffany replied. “More importantly, there will be representatives from all of the trade guilds on the board of directors so that the children brought up there will have the means to support themselves when they leave.”
