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HAPPY EVER AFTER

Happy ever after, according to the Oxford English Dictionary:

Senses relating principally to good fortune; Of an event or period: favored by good fortune, lucky, fortunate; That happens or presents itself by chance, fortuitously.

March 1821

Weston Estates, England

P hoebe held the letter to her chest. He was coming. At long last, she would see him again. It had been the longest three months of her life. When they had parted before the new year, he had made her cry. After a week of being together, learning one another’s likes and dislikes, facial expressions, and senses of humor, her heart had shown no hesitation. Fate had sent this man to her and saved her from a horrible mistake.

“Are you afraid you will change your mind?” she asked, silently cursing the hot tears threatening behind her closed lids.

She heard him chuckle, then he tipped her chin up. “Open your eyes, Phoebe.”

She did, wanting to lose herself in the honey-colored depths. “We will write every week?”

He nodded. “I realize you dislike the word no, but I will give no quarter on our future. By spring, we will know one another better. Then when we meet again, if you still wish to do so, then I will ask Lord Weston for your hand.”

“And he will give it. But why so long?” She hated the whine in her voice. And who told him she hated the word no?

“Your father requested a long engagement when you were betrothed to James. Do you agree he was wise to do so?”

Her heart hurt at the thought she might have been Lady Kendall and never have known Charles as she did now. Her life would have been desolate, waiting for her husband to leave another woman’s bed, thankful for crumbs of affection—or hating her husband with all the ferocity of a Weston—and never knowing true love.

“Yes,” she said reluctantly, her chin tingling at his touch.

“By waiting, he will recognize our self-imposed delay. If he approves of me, there will be nothing to stand in our way.” Charles emphasized the word if.

Did he think Papa would turn him down? She knew better of course. Lord Weston cared little for the wagging tongues of the ton. He only cared about her happiness. And she knew without doubt that it revolved around Mr. Charles Wilkens.

“Then we will get to know each other better through letters and meet in April. I can wait that long.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I’m warning you, though, I am steadfast when my mind is made up.”

As if those words spurred him on, Charles pulled her roughly against his lean length and kissed her soundly, ravishing her mouth, their tongues clashing. When he finally leaned back, Phoebe was out of breath and knew there was no turning back.

Over the past weeks, letters had brought their personalities to light. She found him to be diligent in his work and well-respected, according to her father. Phoebe had long talks with Nettie, who was now her stepmother.

Another unexpected relationship. Phoebe had found Lady Annette, now Lady Weston, to be warm and kind with a wicked sense of humor. She’d also (without asking her new husband) given Phoebe several boxing lessons. They had become friends. The viscountess had established immediately that “stepmother” was only a formal term. It had surprised Phoebe that Nettie had craved female companionship. It seems being raised by men and her past scandal had robbed her of female friends. The scandal that had sent her running from London had involved the son of a marquess pinching her arse and ending up with a broken nose. At Almack’s of all places. Oh, how they had laughed together when Nettie had retold the story.

Phoebe smoothed the latest letter on her lap and reread it.

Dearest Phoebe,

April has arrived at long last. I shall be on your doorstep in one week unless I hear from you sooner. This is your last chance to be rid of me before our courtship begins.

I had a dream that I’m sure you will interpret for me as you have before. I was at a grand ball, looking for the woman of my dreams (pun intended), and told to dance with as many women as I could in order to find her. Yet, each time I chose a partner, by the time the dance ended, my partner was always you.

My interpretation is this: Fate knew before I did that there was only one woman for me. Miss Phoebe Weston, soon to be (hopefully) Mrs. Wilkens.

I admit I am a bit nervous to speak with your father about courting his only child, though you’ve been adamant he is fine with our match. I don’t seem to be affected by insecurity unless it pertains to not being with you. Then I find myself quaking like a boy about to be punished for stealing the pie from the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, yet there it is.

Will and I met at Jackson’s for a few rounds. He’s becoming quite the pugilist but insists my height gives me an advantage. We met his brother Lucius at Boodles afterwards. He’s a man of his word. Besides procuring mines from the widow—sorry, Lady Winfield—for me and Uncle, he has been responsible for three new clients since the new year began. Do you know if they have set a wedding date yet?

I will pray each day that an envelope does not appear with your handwriting. In the meantime, I will think of our last kiss and dream of your sweet scent until then.

Your doting and ridiculous fian friend,

Charles

If the imp inside got her way, she would write just to tease him. Fill the letter with words of love and joy. Phoebe tapped her bottom lip for a few minutes, then made her decision. With a sly grin, she went to the desk and procured paper, pen, and ink.

Dearest Charles,

I hope seeing my handwriting didn’t frighten you too much, but I couldn’t help myself. Besides, how could I not respond to such a precious letter? I have added to my bundle, wrapped with a red ribbon of love.

You are becoming skilled at interpreting dreams. Of course, it meant that we should be together. Remember when you brought up serendipity at Christmastide? I’ve decided it is my new favorite word. I have made a beautiful needlepoint with SERENDIPITY sewn in the center. It will adorn our entry hall when we are married, so everyone will know how lucky we are.

Yes, I think you’re doting and ridiculous just as you signed your last letter. But friend? Really, Charles. At least best friend, wouldn’t you say? Though I will admit, Nettie is fast becoming that. We chat and gossip, and I feel as if I have a true friend in her. Papa can’t seem to wipe the grin off his face. I swear he wears it in his sleep.

Oh, my. Did I tell you the news? Nettie is with child. I shall have a brother this year. Or I hope it will be a boy, for Papa deserves a son. And Nettie, being raised by men, will know exactly how to deal with the babe.

There is no way on this side of heaven that Papa could refuse you. He wants the entire world to be as happy as he is with Nettie. I admit she has put a light in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. I truly hope I am able to put such a light in your eyes. You are a man of rare intelligence when it comes to me. Demanding yet not forceful, understanding yet not gullible, passionate yet not ardent. A rarity, to be sure.

I dream of your kisses every night. More than that, I dream of your deep tenor, your laughing eyes, and calming presence. I told Nettie I woke up hugging my pillow the other day, kissing the soft covering. Now who’s ridiculous?

Please hurry. My heart and lips need you.

Your loving and impatient fian sweetheart,

Phoebe

It had been a successful Christmas party at Beecham Manor. Her father and Nettie already married, Lord Beecham was to marry in two weeks, Lucius (how strange it felt to have brothers) was courting his widow, and she and Charles would soon be betrothed. Or she would start attending the events of the Season and dance with any man who asked her. She giggled at the thought of Charles’s face, seeing her waltz with another man.

The next week

Weston Estates

Charles aimed his mallet and cracked the ball, sending it down the lawn’s gentle slope. Much too far for him to win the game now. He and Andrew—his future father-in-law—had challenged the women. Phoebe’s laughter floated behind him.

“What did you say about men being superior?” she taunted.

Heat surged up Charles’s neck. “I was only teasing Phoebe, although I did consider myself quite good at this. Yesterday.” He bowed his head in defeat.

Phoebe put an arm around Lady Weston. “Nettie and I are a force to be reckoned with when we combine our strength. You’d best remember that. Both of you.”

“Oh, I learned that lesson long ago.” Andrew winked at his wife, then concern filled his eyes as he watched her rub her belly. “Time for a nap, my dear. Tell the children good day.”

“Good day, children,” she giggled.

Phoebe rolled her eyes but wiggled her brows at Charles. What did the wicked woman have in mind? A kiss? He would most certainly oblige. He was known to be very accommodating. He took Phoebe’s hand and led her to a grouping of sculptured bushes. Once inside and hidden away, he pulled her close. “I can’t believe we have not yet been alone.”

Lavender tickled his nose. Her lips tickled his neck. And Miss Phoebe Weston in general tickled his fancy. He buried his face in her hair. “You were right about your father.”

She gasped and looked at him. “And?”

“We are officially courting. If I had my way, we’d read the banns at the end of the week,” he said, then bent his head and captured her lips. It was everything he had remembered and dreamed of for months. More. He wondered vaguely if his uncle’s advice had helped him in catching this beauty. He had put his foot down on several points, and she had accepted that. Yet he was not arrogant enough to think Phoebe would always be so pliant. He loved her feisty, he loved her sweet, he loved her angry… He loved her, plain and simple.

“We cannot marry so soon after Lord Beecham’s ceremony. I shall meet my last brother-in-law. Did I tell you they will arrive from India tomorrow? It will be May before Aunt Lucy is back from… wherever she is right now.”

He shook his head. “As long as we find a way for stolen kisses, I don’t care who is here or who is not.”

This time, his kiss was long and deep and loving. Her fingers curled into the hair at his nape, and he thought he would explode with desire and happiness. He would ask Will to stand with him when they said their vows. Charles would be forever grateful for his friend’s invitation last Christmas Eve. Of course, his uncle would claim credit also since Sir Horace had sent him on the widow errand. His cousins Evie and Fenella had said, if they hadn’t asked him to join them at Hyde Park, he would never have met Miss Weston. True. So in the end, his happiness had been the result of all their actions.

Thank you Will, Uncle, Evie, and Fenella.

And serendipity.

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If you would like to know more about Lord Weston and Lady Annette’s romance, read: A Wallflower’s Wassail Punch (Once Upon a Widow #8).

If you are interested in what happened between Lord Page and the widow Lady Winfield, read: A Scoundrel’s Christmas Challenge (Once Upon a Widow #9) .