Page 39 of A Deal with the Rebellious Marquess
‘We made the front page,’ Fleur whispered, startling Jasper in the tiny antechamber of the Rosefields family chapel.
‘What are you doing here?’ Jasper scolded in surprised tones that conveyed more pleasure at the surprise than displeasure. ‘It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.’ But from the look in his eyes, he didn’t seem to mind. She gave a twirl in her wedding gown, showing off the delicate raised white roses embroidered at the hem. The gown was made from a pretty white cotton, fresh and simple with its three-tiered skirt and tight-fitted bodice. She’d chosen to wear white even though she wasn’t a new bride: white for new beginnings, new chances.
‘You’ve been seeing me all year. I can’t think today makes much of a difference.’ She laughed, twining her arms about his neck.
‘What’s this about the front page?’
‘We’re the headline on the front page of theLondon Tribune.“Newspaper Mogul Makes Marriage Deal with Marquess”,’ she recited happily. ‘They ran a whole article about us: how we met, what we’ve done together this year and our plans for the future.’
‘They need a whole special edition for that!’ Jasper chuckled.
‘It was a pretty spectacular year.’
They’d spent the year lobbying for legislation that would prevent lax accountability on dam commissions. Just last week, they’d celebrated their bill passing the House of the Commons. They’d also spent the year making decisions about life going forward. Fleur decided it was indeed the right choice for her to scale back her active role in the news syndicate.
She still held stock in the company, but her role was now focused on overseeing the regional paper out of Huddersfield so that she had time working with a local committee dedicated to establishing a public library open to everyone without fees. She even had time now to devote to her own personal writing and had a novel in the works.
Socially, the year had been spent navigating new social circles for Fleur. The Duchess of Cowden and Jasper’s mother combined efforts to ease that transition. When she was in town, Fleur enjoyed re-joining the Duchess’s charity circles and in November, she and Jasper had attended both the Duchess’s Christmas fundraising ball and Lady Brixton’s literacy ball. There would always be those who looked down their noses at her and who would think Jasper had married beneath himself, but she’d found many people quite welcoming and even a bit awed by her.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered to Jasper.
‘For what?’
‘For this year, for giving me the time I needed to sort through my life so that I could come to you whole and ready to commit toourlife together.’ She kissed him just as Orion poked his head into the little antechamber.
‘Ahem. Ten minutes, Brother. Really, you two, could you wait just a little longer?’
Fleur flashed him a look over her shoulder. ‘Absolutely not. We were just practising.’ The door shut and they could hear Orion laughing. ‘Now, where were we?’
‘Right about here,’ Jasper murmured, picking up their kiss where they’d left off.
‘You can tell a lot about a man by how he kisses,’ Fleur whispered.
‘And what can you tell about me?’
‘That you’re the one.’ She’d come through grief and guilt, anger and resentment to arrive here, to be here with this man. ‘What does my kiss tell you about me?’
‘That you are worth waiting for.’ He hoisted her up on the flat surface of a cabinet built into the wall.
‘We’re going to be late.’ She laughed.
‘Not to worry. They can’t start without with us.’
Epilogue
1864
The summer of champagne and roses had started. June was well underway, the gardens were in full bloom at Rosefields, and the estate was alive with the sounds of laughter and children. Fleur would not have it any other way. This summer, Emma and Antonia had come to England with their husbands and children for business and for pleasure and Fleur was intent on making the most of the opportunity.
A footman approached with a tray of ice-cold champagne and lemonade, the champagne courtesy of Emma’s husband, Julien Archambeau, the Comte du Rocroi. Fleur took a glass of lemonade while Emma and Antonia opted for the champagne as the three women lounged in the shade, stealing a moment of quiet to be together while their husbands taught the children battledore on the court they’d put up for the summer.
‘Cheers, dear friends.’ Fleur touched her glass to the others. ‘Here’s to having come thousands of miles for a reunion.’
‘And here’s to safe travels for all of us,’ Emma said solemnly. ‘The distances we’ve come can’t all be measured in miles, especially when it’s a journey in love.’
Fleur couldn’t agree more. If someone had told her eleven years ago that they would all three find love again, have the families and lives they wanted after such incredible, devastating loss, she would have thought it impossible. And yet, here they were. Out on the battledore court, she caught fragments of instruction as Jasper showed their son, five-year-old Michael, named after Jasper’s father, how to hold his racket as they set up for a match against Julien and nine-year-old Matthieu-Phillippe. On the side-lines, Antonia’s husband, Cullen, tanned a deep bronze with long tawny locks bleached by the Tahitian sun, stood with Emma’s youngest—Etienne—and their own boy, Manahau, ready to play the judges should a shuttlecock go out of bounds.
‘There’s not a daughter among them.’ Emma sighed wistfully. ‘I love my sons, but how is it that we didn’t conspire to have at least one girl among us?’
