“Then you can wear it again as my attendant,” Ree told her.

  She beamed. “And when I marry.”

  “You will be resplendent,” her beau assured her.

  “I’ll ask James to stand up with me,” Quill said as the older couple wandered closer to the fountain.

  Something crossed behind his eyes, and Ree knew he was thinking about the family he would never be allowed to claim.

  “I can ask Elizabeth as well, if you would like another beside you,” she told him.

  “We’ll see,” he said before turning to thank the next couple who had come to wish them happy.

  Indeed, they had a number of decisions to make, not the least of which was what to do about Hugh Baffin. As soon as they could free themselves from the spa, they returned to Dove Cottage, only to find it empty of anyone except Alex and Gideon. The War Office agent had gone up to make sure Alex knew what had happened and to tell Quill that Ike had returned to town with the news the Siren’s Call was unharmed.

  “Hugh told me to bring down the bedchamber rug for beating,” Alex confessed. “When I returned, he was gone.”

  “I suppose he knew his time was limited,” Gideon said.

  Quill lay a hand on the scarred worktable where Hugh had labored so often. “He’s only limited his freedom as well. The agreement was that he would serve me until he’d paid back his debt. He has two years left. If I inform the magistrate, he could be deported.”

  “Then we’ll have to hope he stays away,” Ree said. “For all our sakes.” She turned to Gideon. “And what of you? Will you return to London, then?”

  A smile played about his lips. “No. I also was under an obligation, and I’ve discharged it with the capture of Darnell. I’ll stay in Grace-by-the-Sea for now. Would you like me to walk you back to the village, mademoiselle?”

  Quill slipped an arm about her waist. “Give us a moment.”

  With a nod, Gideon moved to the sitting room. Alex followed with a grin.

  “Gideon Archer may find gainful employment in the village,” Quill murmured, fingers making lazy patterns on her hip, “but what of you and me? I have some prize money put aside, enough to keep us into old age, but I cannot conceive of you being content to cease singing.”

  “Perhaps more content than you know,” she acknowledged. “Singing was always a means to an end for me—something I was good at that people would pay me enough to live on. There will always be opportunities to ply those skills at the spa. Wealthy Newcomers will still need entertainment at dinners. Couples will want someone to serenade them at their wedding breakfast. But I have something else in mind for our daily bread.”

  His dark brows arched. “Do tell.”

  She watched him, hoping to gauge his reaction. “Grace-by-the-Sea needs a Chocolate House.”

  His eyes lit. “Inspired! I will be your first customer every morning and your last at night.”

  She laughed. “So long as you are not my only customer, we should do fine. I thought I might ask Mr. Ellison if he would be willing to partner with me.” She brushed a lock of hair away from his face. “But you, my fine captain, when this war is over, will you truly be willing to leave the sea that calls you?”

  He took her hand and pressed a kiss against her palm, sending a tremor through her. “You call me far more thoroughly. But we can face that decision when the war is over. Until then, I may need to lend a hand training the militia.”

  “The Men’s Militia,” she clarified.

  “Oh, why must you spoil my fun?”

  “Because the women do quite well under Abigail’s leadership,” Ree told him primly. “Though she too may have more on her hands now that her brother is returned to her.”

  He lowered his head and his voice. “I never had an opportunity to ask. Did she welcome Gideon?”

  “With open arms,” Ree assured him. “Still, I don’t think it will be easy for him returning home. I am sure Elizabeth can help him acclimate.”

  His mouth twitched as he straightened. “In the meantime, I’ll have him take a note to Mrs. Catchpole for me. I’ll need to see about a man of all work for me, a cook, and a maid for you. You’ll be moving into Dove Cottage as soon as we wed. Unless you’d prefer a larger home.”

  “Dove Cottage will suffice for now,” she told him. “It has plenty of room for the two of us, and perhaps we might invest in a little spinet.”

  “Done,” he promised. His hands returned to her waist, holding her easily against him. “Though it doesn’t matter to me where we live. I have been looking for home most of my life. I found it, in you.”

  She rested her head against his chest, reveling in the feel of his arms around her. “And you are my home as well. How do you say it? Where my heart makes berth.”

  His laughter was a low rumble against her ear. “I cannot marry you fast enough.”

  She leaned back to gaze up into his face. “And just how soon would that be?”

  He gazed at the ceiling as if consulting heaven. Then he dropped his gaze to hers. “Monday?”

  “Monday!” Ree cried.

  “I might be willing to consider the day after,” he allowed.

  “Monday is fine,” Ree said, mind going immediately to what must be done in the meantime. “If Mr. Wingate, the vicar, is agreeable.”

  “Monday, then,” he said, and he bent his head once more to seal the agreement with a kiss.

  ~~~

  On Monday at half past ten, the entire village of Grace-by-the-Sea turned out for the wedding of their beloved Captain St. Claire to the famous singer, Marie-Louise Fortier. The church was so packed well-wishers had to stand in the graveyard outside for a chance to congratulate the happy couple.

  Many of the shopkeepers had pitched in to make the day festive. Mr. Lawrence, the jeweler, created special gold rings incised with the bride and groom’s names. The Misses Pierce of the linens and trimmings shop crafted a veil of fine Alencon lace rumored to have been brought in from France by the Lord of the Smugglers. Mrs. Rinehart contrived a clever little velvet cap on which to affix the veil, so that the lace flowed past the bride’s dark hair and onto the shoulders of the emerald gown she had first worn to perform at the Autumn Serenade.

  Both the magistrate and the Earl of Howland stood up with the groom, who elicited many a sigh over the gilt braid on his uniform. Miss Peverell and Mrs. Tully attended the bride, and it was rumored both would shortly be marrying as well.

  Mr. Carroll of the curiosity shop made sure sheet music of the lady’s favorite songs were available for the quartet to play during the reception. Mr. Ellison, the baker, and the Inchleys had catered a wonderful wedding breakfast, with some of the foods created by Mrs. Hillers at the Castle and Monsieur Antoine, the Peverell chef. The fishing fleet donated cod and sole for the feast as well. And everyone marveled over the hot chocolate drinks the bride herself had crafted, knowing that soon, she would be selling them from her own shop adjoining the bakery.

  Quill smiled as he ushered his bride out onto the dance floor to start the first set. Around him, Jesslyn partnered Lark, Eva held James’s hand, Abigail smiled at Linus, Rosemary and the earl beamed, and Hester and the viscount, just returned from their honeymoon, grinned. Others joined in as well: Lord Featherstone with the dowager countess, the elder Mrs. Denby with the Admiral, Mrs. Harding with Mr. Crabapple, Gideon Archer accompanying Miss Peverell, and the Greers together. They had so many couples, in fact, that they had to make two lines.

  “Your leg appears to have healed at last,” Mrs. Greer ventured as they settled in for the dance.

  Quill smiled at Ree. “My heart as well. Amazing what love can do.”

  It was indeed. Then again, Grace-by-the-Sea was one of those places where romance and adventure came home.

  ~~~~~~

  Dear Reader

  Thank you for choosing Ree and Quill’s story. I’ve been waiting to find Quill the right lady since I wrote the first book in the series, The Matchmaker’s Rogue. If you haven’t read the others, you can learn more about them at the series page on my website. Know that Jess and Lark, Eva and James, Abigail and Linus, Rosemary and Drake, and Hester and Rob all met their loves before this. As Quill said, it was an epidemic!

  I’ve also been wanting to include Napoleon’s landing in the book. Legend has it he was indeed sighted on the headland overlooking Lulworth Cove, the model for Grace-by-the-Sea. No one believed the woman who claimed to have seen him, but they never forgot her story.

  If you enjoyed this book, there are several things you could do now:

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  Discover my many other books on my website.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at Secrets and Sensibilities, the first book in my Lady Emily Capers. When art instructor Hannah Alexander agrees to accompany her students on a country house visit, she never dreams of falling for the owner David Tenant, the handsome new Earl of Brentfield. But soon she’s in danger of losing her heart. As earl, David knows he’s not supposed to notice the lovely art teacher, but Hannah’s knowledge might hold the key to uncovering who’s been stealing the priceless art of the Brentfield estate. So, aided by Hannah’s protégé, Lady Emily Southwell, the two set out on a treasure hunt that will bring them closer to each other, and to a killer.

  Blessings!

  Regina Scott

  Sneak Peek: Secrets and Sensibilities, Book 1 in the Lady Emily Capers by Regina Scott

  “It was very kind of her ladyship to invite all of us,” Hannah told her charge Priscilla, determined to put on a pleasant face as the carriage carried them away from the school. “I’m sure a week at Brentfield will be most educational.”

  Emily grunted, Ariadne grimaced, and Daphne nodded in agreement. Priscilla eyed Hannah thoughtfully.

  “You say educational as if we were the ones to be educated, Miss Alexander,” she replied, smoothing down the skirts of her lavender wool traveling dress. “You might find you’ll learn something as well. I don’t suppose you ever went out much in Society before you became a spinster.”

  It took all of Hannah’s strength not to return the unkind remark with one of her own. She was aware that she was on the shelf, but somehow the reminder rankled. Her own mother, widowed at a young age, had tried to raise Hannah and her younger brother Steffen as their knighted father would have wished, but it was clear from the outset that Steffen must receive the schooling and training to make his way in the world. Hannah, it was hoped, would marry a country squire and raise children.

  But Hannah had fallen in love, with her painting. Given the choice of marrying an elderly vicar like her grandfather or finding a post, she had elected to apply for the position of mistress of art at a school in far-away Somerset. Hannah had probably been the most surprised of anyone when she had been given the job.

  “I’m sure we’ll all learn something,” she replied to Priscilla, hoping her slight frown would reinforce her meaning that Priscilla had things to learn as well, such as manners. As usual, the subtle look was lost on the girl.

  “I don’t see how,” Ariadne muttered. “Priscilla’s already admitted that there won’t be any young men.”

  Hannah shook her head at their obsession. “Come now, Ariadne. There is more to life than flirtations.”

  At that, they all protested at once, forcing her to hold up her hands in mock surrender.

  “But Miss Alexander, how are we to practice for the Season?” Ariadne cried. “We have only a few weeks left before we are presented, and Miss Martingale has yet to allow us a single male on whom to practice our wiles.”

  “And I’m sick of playing the boy every time we practice waltzing,” Daphne put in.

  “And I of playing the boy while everyone tries their insipid conversations,” Lady Emily grumbled.

  Priscilla made a face, somehow managing to look charming at the same time. “There you go complaining again. Isn’t a week in the country better than staying alone at school over Easter?”

  “Easy for you to say,” Lady Emily claimed. “You have a beau waiting for you at Brentfield.”

  Ariadne clapped her hands over her mouth as if she’d been the one to spill the secret.

  “You weren’t supposed to tell!” Daphne scolded.

  Hannah glanced around at the three worried faces and Priscilla, who preened once again. She had a sudden vision of a strapping farmer’s son riding up on a stallion and sweeping the fair Priscilla off to Gretna Green the moment the coach stopped at Brentfield. The painting of the event could be called Hades Carrying Off Persephone. An elopement would surely be followed by the outraged Lady Brentfield demanding Hannah’s resignation. Worse, her reputation would be ruined—she might never get another commission to paint.

  “Beau?” she ventured, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  Priscilla’s eyes glowed. “My aunt, the countess, is arranging for me to marry the new earl.”

  Hannah gaped. “But he’s your cousin, and he must be years older.”

  “He isn’t my cousin,” Priscilla maintained. “He is a distant cousin of the previous earl, who was my aunt’s second husband. My father is related to her first husband. And he isn’t so terribly old. He’s younger than Mother.”

  Hannah opened her mouth to comment, then thought better of it. She could not imagine why a man would want to marry a near-child he hadn’t even met. It was certainly natural, she supposed, that he felt some duty toward the widowed Lady Brentfield, but he hardly had to marry her niece.

  The description of the chaperone Lady Brentfield had requested suddenly struck Hannah anew. Her ladyship had wanted someone quiet, unassuming, dutiful. Priscilla’s confession proved what Lady Brentfield was seeking: someone who would keep the other girls occupied and provide no competition to the beauteous Priscilla, either in looks or in trying to ingratiate herself with the new earl. Hannah, more interested in her art than Society, was a perfect choice. She wondered whether Miss Martingale had known, or whether Hannah had truly been the only teacher available.

  “You see, Miss Alexander,” Ariadne grumbled. “It’s just as I said. She’ll spend all her time billing and cooing, and the rest of us will be bored to flinders.”

  “Lady Brentfield is far too good a hostess, I’m sure, to invite you to no good purpose,” Hannah replied, hoping she was right. “She must have all sorts of diversions planned for your visit.”

  Lady Emily looked unconvinced, but Ariadne and Daphne brightened. As graceful as a bird, Priscilla waved a languid hand at the passing scenery.

  “You will find out soon enough,” she told them. “We are about to enter the estate.”

  Daphne and Ariadne scrambled over Lady Emily for a view out the carriage window. Only Priscilla sat back in her seat, arms crossed under her breasts. Hannah, however, could not resist a look out her own side of the carriage.

  Since leaving the school shortly after Palm Sunday services, they had circled the west end of the Mendip Hills, passed by the village of Wenwood and run over the River Wen. Vineyards followed, vines greening with spring. Now a two-story stone gatehouse hove into view. The carriage slowed. An elderly man clambered out of the house and set about opening huge wrought-iron gates topped by balls of gold. As the gates swung open against stone columns, the horses sprang through. The man offered the girls a deep bow.

  Hannah knew she should sit back in her seat and not gawk like her charges, but she had never seen such grandeur. Majestic oaks crowded on their left, and an emerald meadow dotted with jonquils swept away on the right. The meadow led up to the placid waters of a reflecting pond, which mirrored the front of a rose brick great house. The drive led up over a white stone bridge arching the stream that fed the pond and onto a circular patch of white gravel encircled by a shorter wrought-iron fence with gold balls on each post. A gate from the drive opened to a garden-edged path that led up to the porticoed porch of Brentfield.

  Hannah stared. The wings of the house led off in each direction, three floors full of huge, multipaned windows edged in white. Liveried footmen as smartly dressed as the house strode out to assist the girls in alighting. Grooms sprang forward to hold the horses. The girls crowded past her, giggling and chattering. Hannah was so mesmerized that she didn’t even realize they had all left until a footman peered into the coach and started at the sight of her.

  “Can I help you down, miss?” he asked. Hannah blinked, then offered him her hand. Her half boots crunched against the snow-white gravel. She gazed upward, holding her straw bonnet to her head with one gloved hand, staring at the three golden urns that topped the pedimented porch.

  “They tell me,” said a warm male voice, “that the house was designed to mimic Kensington Palace.”

  “I was thinking of Olympus, actually,” Hannah replied. She glanced at what she had thought was another footman and froze. Standing beside her was a gentleman who took her breath away. A Modern David in the Field, her artist’s mind supplied, noting the tweed trousers and jacket. She wondered whether she’d brought enough brown with her to capture the warmth of his thick, straight hair. She’d need red for highlights too, or perhaps gold. No, she’d paint his eyes first, a deep, soft blue that would change, she would wager, with what he wore. And she would have to find a way to immortalize that welcoming smile, tilting more at one corner as if her wide-eyed stare amused him.

  And she was staring, she realized, although she couldn’t seem to help herself. She wanted to commit every detail to memory, as she did before painting a subject. She wanted to remember that his lower lip was more full than his upper lip, and both were a seashell pink. There were a dozen other things she needed to catch if she was to capture the man on canvas.