Page 91 of An Inconvenient Duke

With a groan of frustration by Marcus and a laugh by Dani, he sat back just as Pippa came skipping into the room, galloping her stuffed horse through the air beside her. She launched herself into the air and landed on the settee between them with a neighing laugh.

“No galloping in the house,” he scolded mildly, which went completely unheeded, as had every other admonishment he’d given her about not running indoors. “What are you doing awake at this hour? You should be upstairs in bed.”

She trotted the horse across her lap, jumping invisible fences on her knees. “Brutus couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh?”

She nodded, not moving her attention from the horse as she danced it across her night rail and kicked her feet beneath her. Her pink slippers bounced in the air, her feet not touching the floor. “There are people in the house for dinner again.”

Sadness panged in Dani’s chest as she realized what the little girl meant. “It’s all right, Penelope.” She wrapped her arms around Pippa and cradled her close. “No one will break into the house tonight. You’re safe here. Your Uncle Marcus has made certain of it.”

The girl’s slender shoulders relaxed, the only outward sign of her unease tonight as it faded beneath Dani’s assurances. She neighed again and nodded the horse’s head up and down in joint approval.

“So safe, in fact,” Marcus added as he reached across the settee and took Dani’s hand in his, “that Miss Williams is thinking of making Charlton Place her home, here with us.” He squeezed her fingers. “What would you think, poppet, if I married Miss Williams and she came to live with us?”

A knot of emotion tightened in Dani’s throat when the little girl’s face twisted into an uncertain expression, only for the moment’s fleeting panic to vanish when Pippa stuck out her bottom lip and demanded to know, “Would I have to let her ride Daisy?”

With his eyes gleaming mischievously, Marcus whispered into Pippa’s ear with mock secrecy yet still loudly enough that Dani could hear, “I’m pretty certain that Miss Williams has her own pony and wouldn’t need to ride yours.”

“Then I think I’d like that!” Pippa answered with a resolute nod. Then she neighed again and translated for the stuffed horse’s benefit, “So would Brutus.”

Dani laughed. They hugged her between them, and Marcus leaned over his niece’s head to finally bestow the lingering kiss he’d been attempting to give her since they sneaked into the library to be alone—the kiss her heart had been waiting to claim from the man she so dearly loved…now and always.

Epilogue

Three months later

“Good day, gentlemen,” Marcus called out to the group of a half dozen former soldiers gathered in front of the old armory as he rode his horse through the opened outer gate and dismounted. “Thank you for meeting me here.” He led his horse up beside theirs and tied it to one of the iron rings embedded in the ten-foot-tall brick fence encircling the outer yard. “My apologies regarding the horses. The mews aren’t yet completed, but I didn’t want to delay this moment any longer.”

Around him, his old friends exchanged puzzled glances as they waited for him to explain why he’d asked them here. He grinned, certain they thought him mad for calling them all here, and today of all days—his last in London before he and Dani departed on their wedding trip to Italy, to visit her parents and spend much needed time alone together.

But he wanted this settled before he left.

“What moment would that be exactly, General?” Pearce called out from the back of the group.

Marcus smiled at him. Because of all the work involved with the armory and all the changes in his home life, Marcus hadn’t seen Pearce much since he stood as best man at his wedding, with Claudia as Dani’s matron of honor and Pippa as the flower girl. The poppet had wanted to ride her pony down the garden path, scattering the petals behind her, but Harriett had convinced her that Daisy would expect to eat her slice of wedding cake if the gray Shetland participated in the ceremony. Thank heavens Pippa hadn’t been willing to share her pudding.

“An opportunity,” he answered.

“Of what kind?” Merritt pressed, exchanging a sideways glance with Clayton.

Marcus crossed to the iron door, unlocked it, and shoved. Even repaired and freshly oiled, the metal hinges squeaked and rattled as it swung open, revealing the lamp-lit rooms beyond. He murmured, “The very best.”

He strode inside the armory. The men followed more slowly behind, only to stop at the edge of the octagonal main room beneath the central tower and gape at the building around them with equal parts curiosity and bewilderment.

In the past few months, the armory had been transformed. The mortar and brick had been painstakingly repaired throughout the three rooms on the ground floor and the dozen smaller rooms above, with dark walnut panels covering the bottom fifteen feet of the old brick walls of the central room. The fireplace, too, had been refaced with a massive marble mantelpiece, and a new stone floor had been laid throughout. In this room, thick red Aubusson rugs covered the octagonal floor, and pieces of heavy furniture in wood and leather were positioned throughout, along with a cabinet fully stocked with liquor and cigars. A dozen gas lamps brightly lit the room, along with a wrought iron gas chandelier hanging from the wooden beams crossing the tall tower above. A new glass dome over the old battlements let in the afternoon sunlight.

“Gentlemen,” Marcus announced proudly, “welcome to the Armory.”

The men stared at the building around them, trying to take it all in and deduce why he’d done this to a structure that most would have argued could have done more good by being razed to the ground. They wandered around the central room, glanced up the new stairs that circled up the sides of the octagonal tower to the floors above and the bedrooms where they could spend the night whenever they wanted.

But it was the rectangular rear wing leading off the main room that captured their attention. Marcus had dedicated that room to training and sparring, complete with a large space for swordplay, and had installed the same training equipment that Gentleman Jackson used at his saloon, along with more serious, deadlier pursuits. This was a room fit for soldiers who knew the fires of battle.

As if to reinforce that message, weapons of all kinds covered the walls. They weren’t arranged in those worthless geometric patterns that wealthy aristocrats used to decorate their entry halls in their country estates to make themselves appear more powerful. No, these hung in a systematic order for fighting. These weapons weren’t meant for pretty display; they were meant for hard use. Including killing, if necessary.

Clayton slowly circled the room, a puzzled expression sliding over his face. He asked what they were all thinking, “What the hell is this place?”

“It’s not Venus’s Folly, that’s for sure,” Pearce answered as he slapped Clayton on the back and stepped past him toward the refurbished sideboard and silver tray that held liquor bottles of all kinds, helping himself to a glass.