Authors: Gaelen Foley
Jamaica, a year later
The elegant white-stuccoed villa sat on a sun-drenched cliff overlooking the sea. The lush tropical hillside below it plunged down to white powder beaches, turquoise waters, and the whispering surf.
It was the hour of siesta, and Eden sat on a wicker chair on the red-tiled terrace, writing a letter to Cousin Amelia.
Your mother is quite right, you’ll forget all about the pain once you hold your child in your arms. Besides, you have your dear, gallant Trahern by your side, and I thoroughly trust that he’ll take wonderful care of you both.
The cries of seagulls carried to her on the breeze, but she paid no mind to the tiny green lizard that darted along the curve of the wall. Above the terrace, palm trees waved against the azure sky, while all around her graceful mounds of red bougainvillea and delicate frangipani rustled in the ocean breezes.
Grandpa
—
by which of course I mean Papa
—
has made a most interesting acquaintance recently. Cousin, I think there may be romance in the air. Miss Jane Rossiter is a local spinster lady with distinct bluestocking leanings and a great interest in Papa’s work. Why, just last week, he could not come to see us because he was escorting her to the theater! Is that not civilized of him? Wonders never cease
.
Well, now you have my gossip, so don’t deprive me of yours. What’s this I hear about the Knights of India being seen about Town of late, and Miss (Georgie) Knight bringing the great Lord Griffith to heel? Do send whatever intelligence you may unearth, dear cousin.
But I am not all idle gossip today. There is serious business to report, as well, not the least of which was the Liberator’s establishment only two months ago of the Congress of Angostura.
Indeed, the war seems to have turned a corner. There have been some victories over the past few months, and it would seem we have reason to be proud of our husbands. The Englishmen who came over to fight are helping Bolivar turn the tide against the Spanish Crown. Jack thinks that in another year or two, Venezuela will be free.
She paused in thought, watching white sails travel along the distant horizon for a moment. A smile played about her lips. Then she dipped her quill pen in the ink one last time.
Well, my dearest cousin, that is all the news that I can think of at the moment. We are all fine here, no, I should say we are ridiculously happy, and cannot wait to see you both in London next spring. When little
John
ny gets a wee bit older, we intend to live half the year here in the tropics and the other half in London so we can be near you and all our family. (Don’t tell Jack, but I am becoming entirely spoiled.) As always, t
hank
s for sending the magazines. With all my love, Eden.
As she signed off and put her writing things away inside the portable lap desk, the massive diamond on her finger caught the sunlight and broke it into a twinkling rainbow. Her mood was relaxed and contemplative as she rose and drifted back inside.
She walked slowly through the house, reveling in its easy tropical luxury, until she came to the morning room and found her handsome husband sprawled out on the couch, his arm draped protectively over their five-month-old son.
Her lion and his cub. Little
John
ny was fast asleep on his doting papa’s chest.
Eden’s heart clenched with tender adoration. She leaned in the wide, rounded doorway and folded her arms across her waist, gazing at them with quiet joy beaming from her eyes. Curled below the pair, Rudy thumped the floor with his tail in greeting, but Eden lifted her finger to her lips and hushed the dog before he woke the baby.
Jack, however, must have sensed her presence. He stirred, though not enough to disturb their son’s slumber. He turned his head to face her as his aqua-blue eyes swept open.
He smiled at her in drowsy contentment, so much love in his deep, serene gaze.
Love, and gratitude—and a wicked glint of a promise in his eyes of something a bit naughtier for later tonight.
Eden blew him a kiss and smiled back.
She could hardly wait.
Dear Reader,
Thus ends the seven-book saga of the Knight family… sort of.
Many of you have written to your humble author entreating me not to let this series end, for which I t
hank
you. It’s a real privilege to be able to create a wonderful fictional world that other people can dive into and share with me and with each other.
At any rate: The prospect of turning off the lights for the last time in the Knight family’s world was just too sad. A lot of my readers and I, as well, just didn’t feel like it was time yet to let them go.
So I put on my thinking cap and set myself a new challenge: Discovering an organic and satisfying way to branch out from the Knight Miscellany while keeping it all in the family—the Knight family. It wasn’t long before my imagination located the London Knights’ colorful cousins, an intriguing branch of the ducal family that had split off into
India
during the glittering era of the Raj.
Not only does this promise two more magnificent Knight men, Gabriel and Derek Knight, but in addition, their sister, Georgie, is a special gift to my readers.
So many people have asked if I’ll ever write a novel starring Georgiana Knight, the Duchess of Hawkscliffe, who produced her varied brood with her different lovers. The answer to that is an honest no. My most deeply held values, feelings, and beliefs drive my writing, and I would be unable to cast the feckless Georgiana as a heroine.
In the character of her beautiful niece, however, Miss Georgie Knight—soon to arrive in
London
after nearly setting off a minor war in
India
—the scandalous Duchess, in a sense, gets a clean slate. Georgie has all the spunk, adventure, heart, and sensuality that readers responded to in the Duchess, without having made all of her hurtful mistakes.
I am very much looking forward to writing the cousins’ books, which for now we are calling The Spice Trilogy.
As always, t
hank
you, dear reader, for allowing me to entertain you.
Gaelen