Lord of the Masquerade by Erica Ridley
Epilogue
Unity stood next to a conveniently located table of hopelessly mismatched hors d’œuvres and watched as costumed guests streamed through the open doors of her masquerade club.
She could not keep her grin from taking over her face.
This was the twenty-eighth time she’d stood near the entrance to glimpse the first arrivals, and each crowd was larger than the one before.
“You did it,” her husband whispered into her ear.
Her chest filled with pride and happiness.
This was once Roger’s club, though it never should have belonged to him. As an adolescent, when Unity first started making decisions for the club, it had ceased to feel like Roger’s even back then. It was her efforts that had made it successful, and it was her efforts again that had completely reimagined it into the vibrant, inclusive, non-scandalous masquerade club it was today.
Hers. Her heart fluttered every time she thought the word.
The previous staff had stayed on. The longest employees remembered her and had always thought of Unity as the one in charge during those years. They had no complaint about working for a woman again, and were proud to be part of something new they could all build together.
Unity had rewarded them all with a bonus after opening night, and the way things were going, would soon be able to increase their monthly wages even more.
“I still think you could find a small room to dedicate to carnal activities,” her husband murmured. “We could christen it ourselves. I’ve prepared a notebook with helpful sketches of how you and I could entwine our bodies—”
She elbowed him in the ribs, but could not stop her lips from twitching. “Show me your ideas tonight in our bedchamber.”
His gaze heated. “I will do my utmost to convince you of their efficacy.”
They had married in the church her grandfather had built. The beautiful ceremony was attended by Sampson, Unity’s theatre friends, several of Julian’s society and not-so-society friends, and anyone with ties to Unity’s parents or grandparents. She had felt her ancestors’ presence.
Unity had dedicated a large part of her trust to continuing her grandfather’s legacy: helping those in their community who had no hope of obtaining help elsewhere. The interest on her loans was shockingly low, as was the barrier to approval. One need only ask and have a worthy cause, and relief would be provided that same day.
One such recipient rushed up to Unity now, unrecognizable in a court jester costume, complete with bells on his upturned toes.
“Thank you again, Your Grace. I’ll never forget your kindness.”
He was borne off by the crowd before she could do more than smile in return.
Her face was unhidden. Like her husband beside her, she had forborne wearing a mask at a party she was hosting.
Although nothing objectionable took place between the walls of her new assembly rooms, the Duke and Duchess of Lambley would forever remain unapologetically scandalous. They were proud of their union, proud of each other’s very different masquerades, and too busy enjoying their lives with each other to care which patroness they’d given a fit of the vapors this week.
She linked her arm through Julian’s. The cheerful pomona green of his waistcoat matched the expensive silk of Unity’s flowing, lavish ball gown. Hers, not borrowed from the theatre. She and Julian had several pairs of subtly coordinating evening attire they wore to their masquerades.
There was no need to dress as a swan or goddess or medieval princess in a tall conical hennin. Unity bubbled over with happiness exactly as she was. In this life. With this man at her side.
Impulsively, she leaned up on her toes to kiss him.
The gold in his eyes sparkled. “Good heavens, Your Grace. Is this that kind of club? People are going to think we’re madly in love.”
She grinned back at him. “I don’t mind if the whole world knows it.”
He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I am so proud of you. I never doubted for even a moment.”
“Neither did I,” she retorted saucily.
With her first weeks’ profit, she had reimbursed him for the cost of investigating Roger—and the threat of social and financial ruin which had spurred him to quickly repay the stolen funds.
It might have been her money all along, but she wouldn’t have known about it without Julian’s arrogant presumption.
“Even your bad ideas are good ones,” she said in mock disgust. “Thank you for highhandedly sending your man of business to meddle into my business.”
“But that was your fault, too,” Julian protested, wide-eyed with innocence. “Normally a proper gentleman such as myself would never have done anything so rude and rash, but you had clearly marked that date as Spontaneity Day on my calendar, and I was all out of options.”
She snorted. “Watch yourself. I’ll show you something spontaneous later...”
“Is it... letting me rearrange your appallingly unaesthetic sandwich trays?” he whispered. “It is so cruel of you to make me stand here in sight of all those haphazard, asymmetrical—”
She pulled him away. “Come, let us whisk your tender sensibilities far away from such an upsetting sight.”
“Finally.” He drew her into his embrace and waltzed her onto the dance floor. “I wondered when I would ever have you back in my arms.”
“Now.” She smiled up at him. “And for the rest of our lives.”
The Duke and Duchess of Lambley didn’t speak for the next several minutes.
They were too engaged in a scandalously romantic kiss.
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