A Matchmaking Mismatch (Romance Retold #3)

Epilogue

R uth could only stare. Never in her life had she seen an estate as grand as the one that stood before her—her new home, with a facade that seemed to stretch on for an eon, and a whole host of windows staring down at her.

She blinked, realizing that her husband was addressing her—and still holding her hand to assist her down from the carriage.

“Hmm?” she said dazedly.

Philip chuckled. “I merely said, ‘Welcome home, my love.’” He pulled her down from the carriage, and she toppled into his arms, her awe at the sight of Oxley Court giving way to surprised laughter. Philip quickly put a stop to it with a warm and persistent kiss on her lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his embrace gladly, until she realized there was a line of servants waiting to greet them.

She pulled away, her cheeks filling with heat. “They are waiting for us,” she whispered.

Philip glanced over at his staff with only faint interest. “Indeed, they are. I am paying them to do so.” He dipped his head to steal another kiss, but Ruth stopped him.

He sighed and set her feet on the ground, though the corner of his mouth trembled with a smile. “Very well. We will finish that presently.” He took her hand and guided her through the lane of servants, each of whom greeted her with a smile, curious eyes, and a curtsy or bow.

Ruth couldn’t imagine having responsibility over the half of them. She had wondered if there might be just a bit of embarrassment or shame in Philip’s manner as he introduced his short-haired, scandal-tainted bride to the staff of Oxley Court, but there was nothing but pride in his eyes, and it warmed her heart to see.

“My lord,” said the butler, coming to walk beside Philip as they made their way to the door. “I hesitate to take your attention away so soon after your arrival, but I’m afraid there is an urgent matter of business to attend to in the library.” He cleared his throat, donning a look of long-suffering disapproval.

Philip stared at his butler for a moment, then looked to Ruth.

The last thing she wanted was to be left alone in the grand manor immediately after their arrival. But she would have to accustom herself to the place sooner or later. And she didn’t want to pull Philip away from anything urgent.

“If someone can just show me to my bedchamber…” she said.

Philip shook his head. “Will you come with me to the library? I can’t imagine the matter will take long to see to, but if it does, I will take you to our bedchamber”—he gave her a speaking, smiling look—“myself before returning to the matter.”

She smiled and nodded her agreement.

Philip guided her through the front door and down the window-lined corridor with what seemed like a dozen carved wooden doors leading off of it. He stopped in front of one of the doors and gave Ruth a significant look. “Prepare yourself.”

“For what?” she asked. “A room full of books?”

He gave a grimace and opened the door, pulling her in by the hand.

It was a grand library, with shelf after shelf towering above. Ruth’s eyes roved over them, stopping suddenly. “Oh my.” Like the shelves around it, a portrait larger than any Ruth had ever seen loomed at the far end of the room. The subject was a grand, elegant woman, her hair dark and precise, eyes piercing, and a mouth that seemed to somehow smile and intimidate at the same time.

“Meet my mother, my love.” He sighed. “You understand now why I tend to avoid this room.” He let go of her hand and walked to the desk, where an unsealed letter sat.

Ruth tilted her head, wondering if perhaps the late Viscountess Oxley wouldn’t look quite so daunting from a different angle. But no. There was no avoiding the intimidation she oozed.

“Well,” she said, removing her bonnet, “I did not have the pleasure of meeting your mother, Philip, but I cannot think that even the kindest person could look anything but threatening in such a grand painting.”

He chuckled as he unfolded the note. “If she overwhelms you in that , be grateful you didn’t meet her when she was alive.” His eyes narrowed as they ran over the missive. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

“What is it?” Ruth asked, walking over to join him.

He handed her the letter. “See for yourself.”

It was short.

Welcome home, Ox. I’ve taken up residence in the Green Room.

Fin

P.S. You are out of brandy

“The Green Room?” Ruth asked, looking to her husband.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the door opened just then.

“Finally!” Finmore walked in, and the butler appeared behind him, an apologetic expression on his face. Finmore closed the door behind himself, though, shutting the butler out. “I wrote that note an eon ago. I thought you were only meant to be gone a fortnight.” He came and bowed over Ruth’s hand, the same rakish smile in his eyes as always. “Lady Oxley,” he said.

Philip swatted at Finmore’s arm. “We were only meant to be gone a fortnight.” He put an arm about Ruth’s waist and pulled her closer. She looked up at him, and he smiled down at her, warmth in his eyes. “We found we weren’t quite ready to come home yet.” He turned his gaze back to Finmore, and his smile faded. “If I’d have known what would be here to greet me, we would have stayed away even longer.”

Finmore laughed as he wandered over to the liquor cabinet.

“I was quite certain when I last left here that the brandy was well-stocked,” Philip said.

Finmore took out each decanter by turns, frowning at them. “Yes, well, I’ve been here ten days waiting.”

“Ten days!” Philip exclaimed.

Finmore poured himself a glass. “When a man says he will be home in a fortnight, I believe him. By the by, did you hear about Munroe? No, I imagine not, as you’ve been taken up with…” He glanced at Ruth, a knowing smile on his face.

“Out with it, Finmore,” Philip said. “If you mean to convey gossip, at least do it speedily. I have other things to attend to.” He sent his own significant look at Ruth, and she tried to stifle a yelp as he squeezed her waist.

Finmore watched them with an expression of distaste. “I’m afraid poor old Munroe was obliged to take flight to somewhere less accessible to those who wish him ill.”

“Who wishes him ill?” Ruth couldn’t help asking. Philip cared little for gossip, but she couldn’t stifle her own curiosity.

“Who doesn’t ?” Philip asked, tossing Finmore’s letter into the fire grate.

Finmore frowned at the gesture. “Apparently, he tried to fly to the border with a young heiress, but they were apprehended by her father.”

“A riveting tale,” Philip said. “And now will you leave my wife and me be? I understand the rooms at the Black Boar are very comfortable.”

Finmore swallowed the last of his drink then shook his head. “Not possible.”

“Done up again?” Philip asked on a sigh.

Finmore gave a slight nod. “Straits are becoming quite dire. I knew I might depend upon you to house me while I rusticate a bit.”

“Your confidence in the lengths of my hospitality is inspiring, Fin. But unfortunately inaccurate.”

“You’ve plenty of space.” Finmore gestured around the library. “Surely you can’t begrudge a room or two.”

Philip put out a peremptory hand and pulled his friend from his seat. “I assure you I both can and do. You will have to rusticate elsewhere. I have no intention of sharing Oxley Court with both you and my bride. Besides, the Hawthorns are set to arrive in a few days, and then the place shall be overrun with children.”

Ruth smiled at Finmore’s disturbed reaction. Oxley Court might feel crowded to Philip or Finmore, but to children who had just been living in Marsbrooke, it would feel like an entire world to explore.

“If you’re so done up,” Philip said, “you might consider the state of matrimony for yourself, Fin.” He returned to Ruth, pulling her toward him and wrapping his arms around her without a shred of embarrassment. “Ruth might even agree to help you with a bit of advice.”

Finmore wrinkled his nose at the sight of their affection. “No, thank you. Not all of us are so entirely helpless in that area as you, Ox. I shall exhaust my options before I turn to marriage to solve anything.”

Philip didn’t respond, merely kissing Ruth in a way that left her breathless—and a bit sorry for Finmore that he might never experience such a thing with the woman he loved.

“On second thought,” Finmore said in a voice of distaste, “the Black Boar is beginning to sound more appealing by the moment.”

Philip didn’t give any indication of intending to stop kissing Ruth, and Finmore let out a disgusted noise. Ruth was vaguely aware of the sound of his footsteps departing and the door opening and shutting.

Philip looked up finally, smiling. “Now that I know how to get rid of him, we may well never see him again.”

Ruth laughed, and he pulled her more tightly to him with one arm and ran a hand through her growing locks with his other.

He stared at her intently, and his expression softened. “I never imagined that I would share this home with a woman I admire and love more than my own life. I have lived most of my life here, but never have I felt more at home than I do right now. I know it is a bit overwhelming for you, but I hope you will give it a chance, my love.”

Grasping his lapels more tightly, she pulled him down, catching his lips to hers. She had wondered of late whether she would ever accustom herself to the life she had now. She would—she knew she would. And she knew it would be her choice, too, to ensure she never forgot how fortunate she was to be with the man whose arms were now around her.

She pulled away slightly, allowing their noses to touch. “I will stand by you here”— she glanced furtively to the other side of the library and smiled—"under this utterly terrifying portrait of your mother—or anywhere you choose, Philip. And, wherever we are, whatever life brings, I promise to love you every day of it—even when you are insufferable.”

He laughed softly. “And I promise to love you every day of it, little panda. Now, come. I believe we have some unfinished business.” He raised a brow. “Did I not promise to show you to our bedchamber?”

And with that, he scooped her into his arms and carried her all the way there.

THE END