Page 32 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

EPILOGUE

S pring 1825, London

The real test of love came when Hugo and Clover set foot in London again. The townhouse had a few shadows, but nothing they could not overcome. Without a complaint, Hugo gave up sleeping alone and welcomed his wife in his bed, his room, his personal affairs. The latter made him smile. All those nights together at Dovetail had ruined him for spending a night alone. He wanted to be with her. He loved her.

In February, he had news of a house for purchase in Mayfair, and without seeing it and after discussing it with Clover, he purchased it. He traveled back and forth, securing the paperwork and ordering any repairs needed, but it wasn’t until April that the house was ready to live in.

Emma was due to arrive for the latter part of the Season—a soft come out, as Clover put it—but not before he moved them into the new house. He wanted to spend that first week with just Clover, building their first memories together in their new home.

“Are you ready to stay here for the night?” he asked as they stepped into the foyer.

“Oh, yes.” She raised her gaze to the ceiling. “It echoes in here. Is it like this all over the house? The last time I was here it was full of engineers and architects.”

“Hoo,” Hugo called toward the domed ceiling with a hand to his mouth. “It echoes because we are the only people here today. Tomorrow, the staff will join us, but not before noon because I plan on hearing my wife’s passionate cry echo throughout the halls.”

She threw him a jaunty smile. “That sounds like you. Really, though, it did turn out beautifully. You’re very good at this sort of thing.”

“You picked the furnishings, don’t forget.”

“Yes, but you took care of color and the flooring… who knew under all that dust was a marvelous mosaic of inlaid tiles? It smells so clean.”

“That’s Gerard’s touch. Special polish with lemon and teakwood, I believe.”

“He’s a genius,” she said, sneaking an arm around Hugo’s waist.

“I wasn’t certain what to do with the back gardens. Perhaps you can help me with it.”

“Now?” she asked as he led her down a large hallway with doorways on either side.

“We can get there through the library. I had French doors put in.” The curtains were closed, and he motioned for her to precede him.

The small terrace was filled with pottery, half of them planted with seasonal flowers and the other half with annuals so there would be fresh blooms all year.

“Hugo,” Clover said in awe. “What have you done?”

His heart skipped. His smile turned up with pride. For months, he’d been working with a specialty gardener. Hedges and flowering shrubs complemented the placement of the current trees.

They descended the terrace steps. He heard her breath catch, and then she hurried forward and pivoted on her heel. “It’s a secret garden. Look at the clover, Hugo. And a shaded bench like the one we sat upon. And the rose bushes. Peonies,” she exclaimed, pointing out each discovery. “It’s a wonder, it truly is. When?” she asked, clearly wondering how and when he had planned it.

“All those trips back and forth to Dovetail, I spent them doing this.” With one hand on his hip, he scratched his forehead with the other. “Do you truly like it?”

“I love it! I love you for doing this. I imagine you had help.”

“More than enough. I’m no gardener. But I did want it to look special, like a memory.”

“And many more, I promise.”

His pulse raced with her excitement. “It’s not just any garden, my love, but a fairy garden. I have it on good authority that magic happens in gardens such as this one.”

She looked about. “And it’s so private. Do you suppose we can fit in a chess table?”

“The bench has a cushion. Do you think it’s enough?” The innuendo was not lost on her.

She laughed. “I’m certain we don’t even need a bench. But I’m serious about the chess table.”

“I shall put in an order for your birthday. And the rest?”

“I just love it… I love it, Hugo,” she said again. “All of it. Evelyn, so near I can walk to her house. Your sister coming for the Season. Adeline and Chase nearby. You’ve thought of everything. Are you sure we can afford all this?”

He nodded. “I had a little help from a certain duke who doesn’t mind giving out loans without interest since I took his sister off his hands.”

Her eyes grew serious for a moment. “I’m just glad you’re friends again.”

“We were never friends. We were business associates, then in-laws, then friends. A trend that seems to be working well for us.” He reached behind the terrace rail and pulled out a small gift wrapped in gold paper with a red ribbon. “There’s something else.”

“For me?”

“It would seem. I did say there was magic in this garden.” As he handed her the present, he stroked her hand covered with the lace gloves he’d given her.

“You’re silly,” she said, sitting on the bench with the gift in her lap. She untied the ribbon with enthusiasm. The box was lined in ruby-red velvet. She unfolded the fabric, her mouth paused open on a breath, her eyes danced over the polished surface of a pewter box. With great care and awe, she pulled it from the lining, and Hugo took the empty box from her. “Would you care to see it? Eyeglasses, perhaps?” he teased her, pulling from his inner pocket one of several pairs because she conveniently left them in inconvenient places.

“I would have a great reprimand for you, but I’m too excited.” She unfolded the scissor arms and placed them over her ears. The pewter box was carved with a bed of clovers in the same vein as her ring had been. She looked at the ring and then at the box. “Did you have these done by the same person?”

“The same workmanship, two different customers.”

Her eyes darted back to the box, and she turned it over while holding the lid closed. On the bottom was a winding key. “It’s a music box.” Her voice was a mixture of awe, excitement, and reverence. She wound the key, turned it upright, and slowly opened the lid. The tinkling sound of Mozart played. “It’s the aria from Mozart’s opera, Le Nozze Di Figaro. Your father was working on this when I first met him. He was smiling just as you are right now. That same handsome grin you have.”

“He’ll be happy you liked it.”

She pulled a little card from the inside. The front was painted with tiny clovers. She read. “To our sweet, lovely Clover. You came at the right time for us all. Welcome to the family. With much love, signed Philip Darrington.” She looked up. Her eyes shined with the dew of so many good memories.

Hugo shuffled his feet nervously like a young whip falling in love for the first time. “Do you still love your ring?”

“More than ever.” She set the music box beside her. “All this clover spread about the walk reminds me of the garden where we first kissed. Whenever I look at my ring, I think of this.” She leaned down and ran a loving hand over the sprinkling of clover around the leg of the bench. She pulled up her hand and removed the lace glove, admiring her wedding band. “It means so much to me that I’ve never taken it off.”

“Haven’t you?” He knew she had not.

“No. Why? Are you planning on replacing it? Because if you are, you may think on that again.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

She held out her hand, smiling, studying the gold band.

“Clovers on the outside, music on the inside. How clever of my father. I would say I am in good company.”

She looked up at him slowly from where she sat. “What are you saying?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

“I’ve never taken it off,” she said more to herself than to him. “I don’t think I can.”

“Then don’t,” he said simply.

“But you’re smiling about something.”

“Could be.” His answers were so succinct he knew her curiosity would prevail.

She smoothed a thumb over the ring, and he could tell she had a dilemma. Never removing it had somehow become a picture of her love for him.

“It’s just a ring, Clover. You will not remove my love if you remove the ring. It’s but a symbol.”

She took a deep breath and twisted it from her finger, having a more difficult time of it since telling him a month ago she was with child. “What if I can’t get it back on?”

He chuckled. “Then perhaps it’s a good idea to leave it off until the babe is born.”

“Oh, you.” She pulled it free, holding it between two fingers. She examined it and then turned it sideways, tilting her head. “It’s engraved, and I never knew it. Why didn’t you say so?”

“Because I always wanted you to see it without an audience present, and you refused to remove it after the wedding.”

Biting her lip, she squinted at the tiny words. After she read it, she squeezed her eyes closed, and her throat bobbed. “Hugo,” she whispered.

“Read it.”

She scooped a tear from under her spectacles. She reached out for him, holding his hand while she read the inscription. “For the love of Clover.” She raised her eyes to his. “I love you so much it hurts, Hugo.”

He leaned over and kissed her softly, then knelt by the bench and kissed her hand. He laid his head in her lap and fought tears.

“I did it all for you, Clover. Everything I’ve done. It was always for you. For my friend. For my wood sprite. For the love of Clover, my patient, spirited wife. All my days and nights belong to you, and every one is like a secret garden with only one key between us.”

THE END