Page 43 of The Tart’s Final Noel (Gravesyde Village Mysteries #3)

She took a deep breath to settle her nerves.

“I have my own money. Rafe has a business plus a salary. We have a home. We don’t need as much she did.

We can send the invoices for their tutoring and clothes directly to you.

Money is not the point. We will love them as their mother did.

We will raise them in a community that wants the best for them.

They will have more nannies and governesses and tutors than any fortune could pay for.

If you must think about trust funds and estates—look at Mr. Turner.

He probably needs our help too, but he’s of age and Daniel’s heir.

Unless you wish him to fall into debt and drunkenness, shouldn’t he receive an education in how to run an estate and be given an opportunity to marry well?

Had that been done in the first place, none of this needed to have happened. ”

Hunt clapped. Verity blushed and shut up.

Rafe pushed his chair back so he could hook his fingers in his waistcoat over his massive chest, as he liked to do when he wanted to intimidate.

Then he used his best boarding school accent.

“My wife is the granddaughter of Lord Higginbottom, the daughter of a wealthy shipping magnate and financier, an excellent teacher, and to my eternal gratitude, a brilliant keeper of accounts. She can probably teach the boy—” He cast the now upright and listening Mr. Turner a glance.

“—boys more than any school. Greek is all very well and erudite for lounging about London, but learning how to run an estate is essential for prosperity. No school can teach that.”

Blessedly, Damien pushed official-looking documents toward the Bath solicitors.

“We have drawn up simple guardianship papers for your perusal. If you mean to appoint Mr. Turner as guardian of the estate, you’ll need to draw those up separately.

The Russells are only concerned with the well-being of the children. ”

Young Mr. Turner was on his feet and pounding the stiff-necked solicitors on the back. “I wholly approve. I’m not good at monitoring minors, but I have that education you claim the heir needs. I have friends. I can keep my uncle’s estate running until my cousin comes of age. Just try me!”

He was just as likely to run it into the ground unless they tied his hands, but that wasn’t the point either. Verity fought back tears, terrified they’d have to fight this all the way to the highest court when the solution was so simple.

The Marquess of Spalding lazily unfolded his slender frame from the library chair.

“Most excellent decision, gentlemen. My friend, Mr. Sutter here, has the approval of the Duke of Castlefield as well as mine. He can help you draw up the estate papers, if needed. Your heir is in most excellent hands. I understand the ladies have an entertainment prepared to welcome the new year, if you’d care to join us. ”

Verity’s jaw dropped. Rafe nudged it shut and offered a hand to help her up. A marquess and a duke defended her? A viscount’s solicitors wouldn’t stand a chance against such powerful men.

“They’re mine?” she whispered.

Rafe shrugged his now finely-tailored shoulders. “As much as any young ones can be, I reckon.”

She thought she floated out of the room in the company of the others.

She was a mother. She’d never even thought to marry and now she was the mother of two beautiful, extraordinary children.

She would teach Daphne as her brilliant governess had taught her.

Daniel would go to school with Oliver and Davey and maybe Rob and Arthur and have an army around him. They. . .

The ancient floor clock on the landing began its deep, sonorous bonging. The men glanced at their pocket watches. Was it really midnight? Better yet, was the clock actually correct and ringing in the new year?

In answer, a pianoforte melody rang from inside the great hall, accompanied by Patience’s beautiful voice.

As if by magic, couples emerged from the drawing rooms and down the stairs.

Before Verity could even fully register her joy, Rafe bowed and offered his arm, and swept her into the row of dancers forming down the wide corridor.

Laughing in delight at this impromptu ballroom, even as the clock kept insanely chiming, Verity danced her very first quadrille.

Over her head, Rafe shouted at Hunt, who had his own lady in line. “Better fetch Fletch. He’s as berserk as your clock and never saw one he couldn’t fix.”

The clock stopped, the music was joined by a violin, and the dancers welcomed the new year.

Much later, clinging to Damien’s arm as they drove toward home, Brydie whispered, “We can always run off to Gretna in your lovely purloined carriage.” Still dizzy from the dancing, she didn’t want to go back to her lonely bed.

Her beloved lawyer grinned down at her. “We’ve declared our first banns. We’ll only be anticipating our vows a little. Kate will think you stayed at the manor.”

Overjoyed that he was willing to be as improper as she, Brydie threw her arms around him and covered his jaw with kisses. “Happy Brilliant New Year!”

She’d put fresh linens on his new bed in his new house, hoping for this opportunity.

Besides, if Damien could purloin a carriage, she might kidnap a bakery. They had much to celebrate. The year 1816 promised a whole new story for the village.

Minerva snuggled under Paul’s arm as they walked down the drive to the parsonage. “Did Hunt decide Parsons might have Willa’s trinket collection?”

“He’s doling them out in portions, based on good behavior and hard work. Parsons appears to be grateful simply for a roof over his head and food in his belly. Rafe is delighted to have a new employee and happy with him so far. It’s a good way to start the new year.”

Minerva finally admitted her own failure. “I am very sorry I spent my coin on bread all these weeks instead of saving for your new shirt. I will learn to bake bread, I promise, and use my salary for better purposes.”

“Bread?” Paul laughed in surprise. “My mother bakes bread, if we need it. Elsa and Brydie bake it. You, my brilliant wife, keep Mrs. Jones and her ladies out of my hair, organize fairs to feed my parishioners, and stand up in front of officious idiots when they’re being idiotish.

Along with solving mysteries that save innocent children from those same idiots.

I do not need bread when I have you. The shirt however. . .”

She tickled him under the arm and ran off laughing. He’d have his shirt by his birthday.