“It has been one hell of a day,” Peter said. “Are you alright now?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.
“It is just the sights and sounds of the families the men left behind when they were dragged off to gaol. Some of them might never return, and that will be devastating for the wives and children left behind,” she whispered, the sounds of wailing babies still echoing in her ears.
“Only the ones whose husbands were hardened criminals,” Peter reasoned. “I know there will be some casualties from today, and some of them will be innocent. A lot of innocent families will not be driven out of their homes, and a lot of children will have their fathers return home to provide for them. They will be pardoned for their cooperation in answering the questions put to them. They will be freed on a promise that they will be expected to keep out of crime, so at least they can provide for their wives and children.” Peter tried to keep his voice soft, but could find no sympathy for any man who had chosen to work for Scraggan.
“I know, and I don’t know why affected me so badly,” Jemima sighed, wishing she could make sense of it all.
“You have been through so much, such harrowing ordeals that most people would have been unable to cope with one at a time, let alone all together like you have had to endure. I am not surprised you are exhausted and overwhelmed. Just rest if you need to rest, sleep if you need to sleep, and cry on my shoulder if you need to cry.”
Peter rolled over until they were lying face to face so he could look into her eyes. “I promise you I will be here, waiting. I will wait for you for the rest of my life if I have to,” he whispered, his warm breath fanning her cheeks. “I love you Jemima Trevelisk. You are my heart, my soul. I will wait for you until my dying day.”
Jemima read the sincerity in his eyes and the pure emotion that turned his voice husky and knew they were words spoken from the heart.
“I love you so much,” Jemima said, gently kissing the various cuts and bruises marring his handsome face. “You have given me so much while asking for so little in return, I don’t know how to thank you; to convey to you just how important you are in my life. When life was bad in Derby, you were my reason to keep going. You were my ray of hope in a world of despondency. I adore you.”
“You want to thank me?” Peter murmured, trailing a gentle finger along the curve of her bottom lip. His eyes were challenging when they finally met hers. “Marry me? Make me the happiest man in the world, and agree to spend the rest of your life sleeping beside me, sharing your days with me, being happy with me.”
Jemima smiled at him, her answer already in her shimmering eyes. “Of course I will.” She was about to lean forward for a kiss when he abruptly pulled back and studied her carefully with mock suspicion.
“Of course, I do expect you t
o work for your keep,” he added sneakily, pleased that her eyes had lost some of the dark shadows. “I don’t want you getting bored with life as a wife of a titled man. I expect you to write my letters, help with the estate accounts, run the house, do the menus,” he continued listing jobs until Jemima whacked him gently on the shoulder. He smiled gently at her. “I have sent word to Willowbrook that they are to place a second desk in the study for the lady of the house, soon to arrive to take her position as my wife.”
Jemima frowned at him. “What would you have done if I had said no to you just now, and told you that I couldn’t marry anyone who had chased me across the country simply for the information I held?”
“I’d just toss you over my shoulder, and carry you off to the church screaming and kicking if I had to. The upshot of it is that you would be my wife.”
He said it with such certainty that Jemima knew he most probably would carry out his threat.
“It’s a good thing I said yes then, isn’t it?” she whispered, dragging his head down for a thorough kiss.
Within minutes, they were fast asleep.
EPILOGUE
He stood beneath the overhanging branches of a large oak tree in the far corner of the graveyard, protected from the curious gazes of the milling crowd. Leaning against the rough bark, he stood in the shadows and watched the guests arrive. He was only interested in one.
After several moments he shifted slightly and pushed away from the tree, his gaze locked on the open-topped carriage that rumbled to a stop at the gate. His eyes were locked on the red- haired beauty who stepped down from a carriage and smiled at Sir Hugo Dunniclifffe.
Her wild tangle of hair had been coiled into a fashionable style that made her look graceful and elegant. The pale muslin dress had clearly been purchased for the occasion, and fitted her perfectly. His chest puffed out in pride as he watched the elegant way she glided up the path on Sir Dunnicliffe’s arm as though she belonged there. He watched as she smiled up at something Sir Dunnicliffe said, her face alight with such joy that she turned from pretty to beautiful in an instant.
The man longed to be able to walk over to her and for her to smile at him in the same way, but he knew it wasn’t possible. Not now. Over the past few weeks he had done what he had been forced to do in an attempt to stop them from putting her at risk, and it had all nearly gone so horribly wrong. She didn’t know how much he had been involved - and must never know.
He watched with a sense of loss as she disappeared into the church. Even if he could get her to talk to him, he knew what she would say and he couldn’t blame her. He had made such a horrible mess of things, and had left it too late to put matters right. The distance between them couldn’t be bridged. But it didn’t stop him loving her.
With a regretful glance at the church door, he didn’t wait to watch the arrival of the brides, and simply melted into the shadows.
People from far and wide had travelled to watch the spectacle that was about to take place in the small church nestled in the peaceful tranquillity of the Willowbrook estate in rural Oxfordshire. The excited chatter of the large crowd gathered outside grew as a highly polished black carriage, with a large gold crest emblazoned on its side, pulled by four perfectly matching grey horses, rumbled to a stop outside the small wooden gate.
Anticipation settled over the crowd as they silently watched two liveried footmen jump down from the carriage, drop the step and open the door. The crowd waited for their first sight of the brides.
Although the church was too small to accommodate all the servants, friends, relations and acquaintances who wanted to attend the weddings of the year, those who couldn’t fit into the church didn’t mind waiting outside, as long as they got to see the brides and grooms later.
There had been a lot of rumours and gossip since the broadsheets had covered the story announcing the capture and sentencing of Rogan Scraggan Junior and Rogan Scraggan Senior, two of Cornwall’s most notorious and ruthless smugglers. Their capture had been attributed to the extraordinarily brave efforts, and sacrifice, of Jemima and Eliza Trevelisk, whose father, the magistrate, had been brutally slain by the Rogan men. They had kept vital information out of Rogan’s hands long enough to get it to the authorities, who had been able to not only disband the smuggling operation, but capture several French spies hidden in the country, as well as the network of people who had been employed to house them.
The Prince Regent had been so grateful for the part they had played that he had offered them a reward for their efforts, bestowing both women with a title and a small fortune to spend as they wished.
The noise from the crowd fell to a hush as the head of the Cavendish family left the church and moved to wait beside the open door, handing Jemima down the narrow steps as though she were a princess.