N
ellwyn lifted her brow when Anne finally joined the rest of her guests at the breakfast table. "How nice of you to make an appearance, Anne. Another active night?"
Anne heaped her plate at the sideboard with an enormous amount of bacon, eggs, toast, scones, and marmalade, leaving only the sausages. "Indeed, it was," she said, grinning shamelessly.
Nellwyn chuckled. Sir Wallace did not, regarding Anne across the table with resignation. Flora was not present. Anne heard one of the footmen mentioning that Miss Abermuir had gone to church, which was probably where Anne herself should be.
"And where is our big cheeky butler, Anne?" Lady Delaney inquired.
Anne lowered her fork, horrified to feel herself blushing. "He's—"
"Right here. Right here. Hold on to your wig." And Patrick rattled into the room with a fresh urn of tea and pot of coffee, winking boldly at Anne.
She blushed again.
"Is that the Michaelmas cake?" someone asked, pointing to the triangular object on the tray.
"
It certainly is," Patrick said, maneuvering to the sideboard.
"Well, I'll have some," Lord Delaney said.
"Then wait your turn," Patrick retorted, shocking everyone present by pouring himself a cup of coffee.
Anne simply shook her head. "How am I ever going to explain that I'm marrying the man? That it is possible I am bearing the butler's child?"
Nellwyn patted her shoulder. "I've already thought of that. We shall simply say that Patrick lost a bet and had to pose as a servant for a month. It's the sort of thing everyone will appreciate. After all, in my day, we used to wager our—"
Anne shook her head. "Do not say it, Auntie Nellwyn."
"When might this wedding take place?" Nellwyn asked.
Anne sighed. "As soon as possible—for propriety's sake. I assume you will want to help in the planning."
"Naturally," Nellwyn murmured, averting her face to hide a triumphant grin. "I hope, however, you arrange to hold it before November. I have plans of my own to travel to France."
"F
rance? How pleasant."
Nellwyn nodded. "With Fl
ora. I have friends among some very well-connected families who are always begging me to visit." She paused as Anne took a sip of tea, then leaned forward to whisper, "We're going on a manhunt. I have already concocted the most brilliant scheme to bring her back into Society."
T
he staff had taken the news about Sutherland's true identity very well, considering. Mrs. Forbes claimed she had always known, but felt obligated to keep his lordship's secret. Sandy just snorted, then went about his business—the butler could have been Prince Albe
rt for all it affected him. Graci
e asked Patrick for a raise, which he agreed she deserved, and life began to return to normal belowstairs at Balgeldie House.
S
ir Wallace waited until everyone else left the room before he cornered Patrick at the sideboard. "I should like a word with you, Sutherland."
Patrick looked down into the older man's face. This could not be an easy time for him. "There's no need to apologize for your daughter's actions, sir. Nor to ask me to keep the affair a secret. Discretion is my password."
"I realize that, Sutherland," Sir Wallace said gruffly. "It's one of the things I admire about you. In fact, I have come to admire quite a few things about you. That is why I'm about to make you a proposition."
Patrick nearly fell into the fire. "Oh, hell. You aren't going to ask me to be your bride again, are you?"
Sir Wallace burst into laughter. "You incorrigible rogue. I do love that wicked wit."
"You do?"
"Indeed, I do," Sir Wallace said heartily, "and that's why I'm making you this offer. You see, I may have lost Anne, but the fact is, she's only a woman, and there's plenty of them to be had, if you know what I mean. Do you?"
"Not exactly," Patrick said politely, wondering what the devil he had gotten himself into now.
"Well, it's like this, Sutherland. You were a soldier, and a damned fine one before you became a butler, if I take my guess, so a man can feel protected in your presence. You were a gamekeeper and a groom, which means you'd make a knowledgeable partner for shooting, or even if a man chose to travel to China, for that matter."
"China?" Patrick said in a startled voice.
"Or Siam," Sir Wallace continued. "And you have connections at court, which can't hurt either of us. Now we both know the bit about being a viscount is pure balderdash, but you're obviously well
-
versed in the social graces."
Patrick crossed his arms over his chest. "What the bloody hell are you saying, Wallace?"
"I'm saying if I can't have Anne, I'll go one better," Sir Wallace retorted. "I'll have her butler. How much, Sutherland? Just name your price. I shall double whatever she is paying you. I've stayed up
all night thinking about this. You give new meaning to the phrase 'gentleman's gentleman.' "
"I'm very honored, sir," Patrick said. "However—"
"—he's not to be stolen
,"
Anne said from the doorway, a devilish sparkle in her eyes. "I lost him once before, you see, Wallace, and I am not letting him go again."
Epilogue
A
nne sat in bed nursing her newborn daughter Mary Nellwyn while Patrick read aloud letters of congratulations from his desk. The window of their gray-stone residence was opened to the salty summer air of the Portobello sea, a posh watering resort near Edinburgh. They could hear the cheerful sounds of Sandy
digging in the garden, the mur
muring of gentle waves, and Gracie singing down the hall as she worked.
"Auntie Nellwyn sends her love," he said, his chiseled face amused. "And she brags that her hunt has been an unparalleled success."
Anne nuzzled the top of the baby's head. "She's found a husband for Flora?"
"No. For herself. A count from a very old Norman family." He chuckled, leaving his chair to join Anne on the bed, and for several minutes, he held her, happier than he had ever been. "I do believe I owe that plucky old woman an enormous debt."
Emotion deepened his voice. He kissed his wife with a protective tenderness that was almost painful, and he knew that nothing would ever separate them again. They brought to their marriage a wealth of experience and deep appreciation of each other, which made their second chance all the sweeter.
"Isn't the baby beautiful?" Anne said, shaking her head in wonder at her daughter's fragile perfection.
"Aye." His eyes shone with affection. "Like her mother." And in his child he saw the best of their love, all the hopes and dreams and innocence that God must envision when He sends a new soul out into the world.
"She has black hair like us too, the wee gypsy," Anne said.
"Speaking of gypsies," he said, breaking into a grin, "you do remember the next part of Black Mag's prediction?"
"Next part? Was there something else?"
"Babies," he said, stroking his daughter's cheek with his forefinger. "One down. Only six of the wee angels to go."
She laughed. "I do not believe in such nonsense, Patrick."
He looked into her eyes. "Believe in us then."
She smiled up at him. "With all my heart."