The Baronet's Bride (Midnight Quill #1.5)(16)

Five years ago, almost to the day, that she and Mattie had first met him.

And five years almost to the day that they’d met Gareth.

Cecy took her husband’s hand in both of hers and rested her head on Gareth’s shoulder, and perhaps it wasn’t entirely proper to nestle close to one’s husband if one had guests, but Mattie and Edward were family.

By the time Mattie had finished reading Puss in Boots the longcase clock in the entrance hall was striking half past eleven.

Mattie smothered a yawn and said, “Lord, is it that late already? Time for bed.”

“Definitely.” Edward yawned, too, and climbed to his feet and held out a hand to her. The hand with only three fingers on it.

Mattie took it. Together they headed for the door.

Cecy uncurled and climbed to her feet, too.

Gareth stood, but he didn’t head for the door; he turned to the escritoire, opened it, and rummaged for a sheet of paper.

“What is it?” Cecy asked.

“Something I want to remember to tell Benjamin.”

Benjamin was only six months old, but she understood what Gareth meant: a note to go in Benjamin’s journal.

Gareth flicked open the inkpot, picked up a quill, and scrawled a short sentence. Then he glanced at her and smiled and held the paper out so that she could read it.

Surround yourself with people who make you happy.

His gaze held hers for a long moment, and then he put the paper on the escritoire again and wrote another sentence, even shorter.

Cecy stepped closer to read it.

I love you, Cecy, he’d written.

She picked up the quill and dipped it in ink, and wrote: I love you, too. You make me very happy. Then she smiled at her husband and took his hand and led him up the stairs to bed.





Author’s Note





Thousands of men died at Waterloo and thousands more were wounded, and many hundreds lost their limbs. Gareth endured what was called a primary amputation, when the injured limb was removed immediately, on the battlefield. Horrible as this sounds, he was actually lucky; soldiers who underwent a secondary amputation (in a field hospital, after the event) were almost twice as likely to die. Fever was rife, as was gangrene, so Gareth did very well to survive.





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Thank You





Thanks for reading The Baronet’s Bride. I hope you enjoyed it!

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If you haven’t yet read The Spinster’s Secret, the novel that comes before The Baronet’s Bride and that introduces Gareth and Cecy, please turn the page to read the first chapter.

Alternatively, I invite you to flick ahead a few pages to read the first chapter of The Earl’s Dilemma, a Regency romance novel about an earl who needs to marry in a hurry.





The Spinster’s Secret





His Lordship swiftly divested me of my gown, placing hot kisses on the skin he bared. “You are a goddess,” he breathed, as he untrussed my bosom . . .

Matilda Chapple glanced at the window. Outside the overcast sky was darkening towards dusk. If she hurried, she could mail this installment of Chérie’s Confessions before night fell.

Seizing me in his arms, he carried me to the bed, she wrote hastily. He pushed aside the froth of my petticoats with impatience. In less than a minute he had made his entrance and slaked his lust upon my . . .

Mattie halted, the quill held above the page, and squinted at her draft. What was that word? Feverish? Fevered? Fervent?

. . . upon my fevered body.

Mattie continued swiftly copying. Finally, she finished: We lay sated in the sunlight. For my part, I was as pleased by his lordship’s manly vigor as he was so evidently pleased by my feminine charms. I foresaw many pleasant months ahead as his mistress.

And on that note, dear readers, I shall end this latest confession from my pen.

Chérie.

Mattie laid down the quill. She glanced at the window again, hastily blotted the pages, and folded them. She sealed the letter with a wafer and wrote the address of her publisher clearly. Then she folded another letter around it and sealed that, too, writing the address of her friend Anne on it: Mrs. Thos. Brocklesby, Lombard Street, London.

Done.

Mattie bundled up the draft and hid it with the others in the concealed cupboard in the wainscoting. She crammed a bonnet on her head, threw a thick shawl around her shoulders, and grabbed the letter.

There was still an hour of daylight left, but deep shadows gathered in the corridors of Creed Hall. The stairs creaked as she hurried down them. The entrance hall was cave-like, dark and chilly and musty.