Improper Relations by Juliana Ross Page A

“I ought to have known—I’ve always believed you had the potential for great things.”
    “Don’t apologize. I let very few people know what I was about, mainly to avoid a diatribe from my father on how I was disgracing the Dorchester name with my bourgeois leanings. But it also amused me to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes. If society was determined to think me a wastrel, then why not play the part?”
    “But you could have told me. I would have understood.”
    “I nearly did tell you, any number of times. But pedestrian concerns like commerce had a way of evaporating into the ether every time I looked at you.”
    “You said you were playing a part—did that include everything? The gambling? The racing? The drunkenness? That’s all your parents ever seemed to talk about.”
    “I admit to a certain amount of youthful misbehavior, but for some years now there’s been more of rumor than reality to it.”
    “And…and the women?”
    His smile evaporated. “I haven’t touched another woman, not even glanced at another, since I touched you for the first time. Tell me you believe me.”
    “I do.”
    And the wonder of it was—I truly did. Leo had never broken a promise to me, had never told me an untruth. He was a man I could trust.
    He was the man I’d once dreamed of marrying, long ago when I was a naive girl who foolishly believed men like him were as common as daisies.
    I knew better now.
    He bent over my hands and pressed a kiss on the back of one, then the other. “Do you share my feelings? If not, I promise I won’t pursue you. I’ll let you go—I’ll even help you, if you’ll allow it. Just as long as you’re happy, and well, and safe.”
    “Leo?”
    “Yes?” he answered, his eyes alight with hope.
    “I love you. And that, I swear to you, is the truth.”

Epilogue
    We we re married three weeks later in Whitchurch’s small parish church, with Mrs. Smith and Miss Jefferies our only guests. Once they had recovered from their astonishment at discovering I had just become engaged to the son of a marquess, they professed themselves thrilled to see me settled so happily, and with a man so evidently devoted to me. Mrs. Smith shared the story of Lord Alfred’s search for his missing sweetheart to every soul that crossed her path, and our star-crossed romance—and happy reunion—made us a nine days’ wonder in the neighborhood.
    We removed to Lancashire, to a little village on the outskirts of Preston, as soon as my husband was able to find us a suitable house. From there it was but a short carriage ride to the offices of his railway company and the various mills he owned. Much of his time was occupied in assuring the safety and welfare of his workers, and I will be forever proud that he was one of the first mill owners in Lancashire to forbid the use of child laborers.
    Leo’s brother died in a riding accident not long after our marriage, leaving behind a fiancée but no heir. Lord Dorchester, consumed by grief and the perceived betrayal of his younger son, followed Arthur to the grave within the year.
    We now divide our year between our home in Lancashire and Bexington Hall in Dorset; Aunt Augusta remains in London at Wraxhall House, never having resigned herself to our marriage. We do, however, have a cordial relationship with Leo’s sisters and their families.
    Two years ago we discovered, most unexpectedly, that I was pregnant. Since it was common knowledge that Leo had been affected by mumps in his youth, I was concerned that people might assume the child was not my husband’s. Happily, baby Samuel is the image of his papa, with golden-brown curls and grass-green eyes. I pray that we will one day have another, but if Samuel is to be an only child we will still count ourselves blessed.
    My duties as marchioness occupy much of my day, but from time to time, when Leo and I both have an hour or two to spare, we repair to the library. It is quiet there, and so peaceful.
    No one disturbs us,