Noble Intentions

EPILOGUE

“That concludes this, the fifth monthly meeting of the Greater London Mistresses Guild,” Gillian said with a satisfied sigh, and closed the brown calf account book before her. She smiled at the eighteen women present. “The emergency fund is growing at an astronomical rate, thanks to Deveraux’s investments, and you all should see some rewards for your involvement in the next few months. Are there any questions as to the holdings of the Guild? No? I believe then, ladies, we have accomplished our agenda for this month. I will be traveling to Nethercote for the Christmas holiday, so I won’t be in attendance at the next few meetings.” She glanced down at her rounded belly. “And probably not for a few months after that, but I will be in contact with Madelyn, who has accepted the role of acting director during my absence.”

The room of demi-reps all nodded understandingly, and smiled benevolently at Madelyn.

“No further business? Very well, then. I wish you a happy Christmas and a very prosperous New Year.”

Gillian levered herself out of the chair, hugged Noble’s ex-mistresses, and wished them a particularly nice holiday, then made her way out of the small house in Kensington to the coach waiting outside.

“Home, Crouch.”

“Aye, m’lady. As fast as the ’orses will take us.”

She smiled at him as he handed her into the carriage. Hands from within reached out and pulled her inside into an embrace. Lips, warm, soft, passionate lips, nipped and kissed hers, until she parted them with a little laugh.

“Noble, what on earth are you doing here? I thought you didn’t like knowing what went on with the Guild.”

The lips kissed their way over to her ear. “I don’t, but I’ve learned to live with it. You do remember your promise?”

Gillian slid her hand up the hard length of his chest and around his neck into his hair. “I remember. It’s only until the Guild gets off the ground.” She tugged until his lips were almost touching hers.

“According to Deveraux,” Noble said with a groan as her other hand went exploring, “the Guild is growing richer each day. It’s time for you to step down, Madam Director.”

Gillian didn’t answer, at least not with words. Her Lord of Love wouldn’t let her. He had other plans for her lips, and she wasn’t about to dispute them.

“Noble,” she said later that evening, when they had separated at last, their bodies coated with sweat, their minds and bodies sated and happy and warm. Noble grunted and hauled her over until he could wrap an arm about her swollen belly. He had felt the baby kick a few days before and hoped it would happen again. His mind drifted with pleasant thoughts of home and family, and he wondered that he could ever have felt cold and alone.

“Noble, might we invite your godfather for Christmas? I would dearly love to see him again, and I think he would enjoy Nethercote. Nick would like him, too, I think.”

Noble opened one eye and looked at the flushed figure of his delicious, delectable, wonderfully warm wife. “My godfather? You mean Lord Palmerston?”

She frowned and snuggled closer to him. “I knew he was a lord. He wouldn’t tell me that, though.”

“Tell you? Gillian, what are you talking about? My godfather’s been dead for several years now.”

Gillian sat up and stared at him with a horrified face. What had gotten into her now, talking about Palmerston? And how had she found out about him?

“Dead? He’s…dead? But he can’t be dead. I’ve spoken with him!”

Sometimes she got the strangest notions. Noble smiled to himself. Fancies. He’d heard about them from other men with children. Wives who were expecting often had strange fancies. Ah, well, he had learned to live with her heedless method of attacking life, he had learned to enjoy the chaos that dogged her every footstep, and he had reveled in the blinding passion that characterized her concern for others. He’d learn to live with this particularly charming quirk of her imagination, too. He sighed happily and pulled her back into his arms, close to his heart where she belonged.

“You’re not an ordeal by fire after all,” he murmured sleepily. “You’re my saving grace.”

Gillian smiled into his chest despite her confusion, then gave a little shrug and snuggled down for sleep. So they had a family ghost. Didn’t all the best families boast a ghost or two? She made a mental note to mention it to Palmerston the next time she saw him, and let herself drift off into sleep as she felt her heartbeat slow and match that of Noble’s.

Downstairs in Noble’s library, the small, wizened figure of a very old man sat back in Noble’s favorite chair and rubbed his gnarled hands together as he chuckled wheezily to himself. Saving grace, yes; the boy had it right this time. Gillian was Noble’s saving grace. He wondered if he should visit Noble and warn him that his children would bring even more chaos and joyous confusion into his life, then decided against it. Noble was going to earn every single gray hair those young’uns would be giving him — why have him worry about it in advance?

Palmerston chuckled again. He was looking forward to the next forty or so years. They promised to be very entertaining.