Compromised for Christmas (The Jennings Family #1)

51. Epilogue - Fitz

51

Epilogue - Fitz

April 1817, four months later

Kent, England

FITZ WATCHED ON in bemusement as his sister flopped back on the settee in his family’s library.

Felicity let out a long groan. “Do we have to go back to London? I feel as though my lungs have just started working properly again now that I’ve been able to breathe clean air instead of that dreadful smog.”

“We have the Chesterfield ball,” Felix reminded her. “Plus, you always enjoy their functions. For some reason, the wildest things seem to occur at their balls.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Haven’t the slightest idea why.”

Felicity propped herself up on one elbow, her lips pursing. “That’s true. Lord and Lady Chesterfield are quite the riot. Their high spirits must seep into the food and drink somehow.”

“No wonder I always end up foxed,” Fitz added with a chuckle.

The room went quiet, and Felicity cocked her head at him. “You—foxed? You’ve never been even a trifle disguised at a function.”

“No, I know.” His smile faded as he was met with three pairs of blank expressions. “It was a jest…because they infuse everything with high spirits .”

Felix groaned, shaking his head. “Fitz, if you have to explain it…”

Fitz opened his mouth and paused. He had thought his pun quite obvious. His brows scrunched. Perhaps not? Georgiana’s giggle distracted him from his tumult, and he turned to look at his lovely wife curled into his side.

Her eyes danced, and she reached out to interlace their fingers. “I wouldn’t have you any other way, love.”

The right side of his mouth kicked up. How had he gotten so bloody lucky with her?

“Have you heard their love story, Georgiana? The Chesterfields’?” Felicity asked, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

Georgiana leaned forward, practically bouncing on the seat cushion. “No! I must know.”

Felicity dropped her voice, her eyes wide with dramatics. “The marquess accidentally married her when he—”

“Mr. Jennings, you have a caller,” their family butler announced. He cleared his throat, eyes shifting to the side. “Mrs. Smith is with the—urm—caller in the front entry.”

Fitz frowned. What on earth—

Oh. Oh! Fitz shot to his feet. It was here! He jolted for the door—

Thud—

Thwack.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He palmed his face, which had just collided with the plush rug, his aching knee having thankfully taken the brunt of the fall. Why was he always falling and colliding with things?

“ Ohmygod! Fitz!” Georgiana screeched, dropping to his side. “Are you all right?”

He popped back up, rubbing his smarting knee. He shot his wife, who was now in a pile of burgundy skirts on the floor, a wide smile. “Pine”—he cleared his throat—“ Fine . Everything’s fine.” He stumbled backward toward the door to the hall. “Foot got stuck in the settee leg. No worries. Ferfectly pine!” He spun on his heel and hurried out of the room.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Fitzy so excited,” Felix’s baffled voice followed him out into the hallway.

Fitz chuckled. It was the truth. Excitement had his limbs jittery, his heart kicking against his chest. It was here!

Georgiana’s surprise. Finally.

Well, part two of her surprise. The brothel surprise—which had almost ended in disaster—turned out to be a gift that kept on giving. A sly grin spread across his face, and his cheeks heated. They had been back at Madame Beaumont’s many times since their first visit. His green-eyed angel of a wife had thoroughly corrupted him.

He picked up his pace and jogged the rest of the way to the entry. He frowned, his gaze landing on his housekeeper, who appeared to be desperately flailing as she tried to contain a blur in her arms. “Oh, thank goodness. Mr. Jennings. I cannot contain this little rapscallion!”

She held out the culprit—a round-bellied, wrinkly, tail-wagging, Bloodhound puppy.

Fitz relieved Mrs. Smith of the black and brown wriggling thing—only to almost drop the rascal! His arms scrambled to keep purchase on the puppy as it tried to disappear right under his arm and leap for its death. Saving it just in time, he hugged the thing to his chest—and was promptly attacked by a small, rough tongue. And razor-sharp teeth!

“Bugger!” Fitz yelped, his voice embarrassingly high.

Who knew puppy teeth would be so bloody sharp? He pulled the scamp back, a piece of his cravat—now shredded—in its teeth. Goodness, the little devil was out of control.

“Isn’t it supposed to be in the basket?” He kneeled where a large wicker basket with a soft blanket inside rested on the entry’s marble floor. He carefully stuffed the squirming puppy into the basket—only for it to hop right up on the edge—and promptly topple the entire basket over.

It scampered down the entry, small paws slipping and sliding over the slick marble floor. One of its paws caught on its long droopy ears, and it face-planted—and tumbled arse-over-head. Apparently, Fitz and Bloodhound puppies had a lot in common.

“That’s why,” Mrs. Smith’s amused voice floated to him as Fitz hurried after the puppy and scooped it into his arms.

He held it out in front of him, its little tongue hanging out of its wrinkly, tan face. The pup was black as night except for four brown, blurry, flailing paws and a tan face that darkened to black just around the muzzle. Fitz had to admit, he was a cute little scamp.

He strode back to the basket and plopped the offending pup back inside. “Stay,” he demanded in a firm, low voice. That was how one got a dog to listen, wasn’t it?

The puppy looked up at him with big, bright brown eyes. “Yip!” And then it hopped right out again. Or tried to. The walls of the basket were much too high, so the little pot-bellied pup got stuck on his belly, and the entire basket flipped over on top of him.

Fitz blinked at the basket. Perhaps he would leave the training to his wife.

The basket scurried across the floor as the puppy blindly attempted to scamper down the hall, even waylaid by a basket cage. Fitz snickered. He might be able to see why his wife liked these little whelps so much.

Mrs. Smith chuckled. “What a wild little thing.”

Fitz rescued the puppy from its basket bastille, a grin splitting his face. Yes, a wild little thing. Perfect for his wild little wife. He scooped up the puppy and held him tight to his chest again.

“I will forgo the basket, Mrs. Smith.”

He strode back to the library, stifling laughter as a little tongue, wet nose, and horribly tickly whiskers launched an assault on him.

Fitz stepped into the room, his whole body shaking with the force of his chuckles. “You stop that!” he said between laughs. He looked up, three pairs of overlarge eyes staring back at him, frozen.

His laughter faded, and he smiled softly at his wife. “Surpris—”

A high-pitched squeal pierced the air, slicing straight into his eardrum. His chin jerked back. Egads . He hadn’t realized his wife could make such a noise. Apparently, the puppy loved it, because its squirming took on an impressive new vigor.

In a blink, the puppy was whisked away from him, his wife twirling with the wriggly thing in a flurry of burgundy skirts, lavishing affectionate kisses on its nose.

“Why hullo there, sweet darling,” she cooed. “Are you not just the most handsome little pudgy-poo I’ve ever seen?” She snuggled the puppy to her bosom, and the puppy yipped, snuggling in happily.

Fitz couldn’t blame the thing. His wife’s bosom was a lovely place to be.

Felicity’s squeaky coos blended with his wife’s. “Oh, my bloody God! Fifi, come here! This little tyke is the cutest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. I could just die .”

Georgiana giggled, handing the puppy over to Felicity, who hastened over to Felix, and held the wriggly pup up to their brother’s face, where it promptly greeted him with an abundance of puppy kisses. His deep chuckle echoed through the library. Blast and damn, Fitz’s face ached like the devil from smiling.

A small, yet solid form hurled itself at him. Oomph. Arms squeezed around his waist, and he glanced down, meeting his wife’s sparkling green gaze.

“You like him?”

“I love love love love him, Fitz. Thank you. He is perfect.” She turned in his arms, her back pressing flat to his front, and they both took in the scene before them. The pup tripping and stumbling across the library floor as it tried to drag a pillow double its size by a tassel, Felix and Felicity crawling after the puppy on all fours.

The puppy was perfect. Seeing his family with the puppy, he found it hard to believe they’d never gotten one before now. But luckily for them, Georgiana was finding new ways to bring joy to the Jennings one great idea at a time. From chopping down trees to procuring puppies.

His wife shook against him on her inhale, followed by a small sniffle.

He spun her, searching her watery gaze. “Gigi? Micetta?”

“I am happy. I swear it. Goodness, the little thing is adorable, and I cannot wait to shower him in love. But it also just”—she shrugged, eyes welling—“Bernie,” she managed hoarsely.

Fitz’s heart ached for her, and he so desperately wished he could ease her hurt. “I’m sorry, Gigi.” He squeezed her tight and pressed a hard kiss into her hair. “I love you,” he whispered.

She pushed against his chest, leaning back and staring up at him, a stray sniffle escaping her. “I love you too, darling.”

The puppy came bounding over and launched itself at Gigi’s skirts, grabbing a mouthful and shaking the victim fabric in its little black muzzle. Small yips and growls blended with Georgiana’s giggles.

Fitz blinked. What a ferocious little alligator.

And true to form, his fearless wife scooped the tiny alligator right up, snuggling him close to her chest.

Fitz tightened his arms around the two of them. He couldn’t imagine feeling happier than he did in this moment.