Chapter 8
After the Rain

Petunia sat at her vanity with a sigh and began to take down her hair with a heavy heart. It was disturbing, seeing Lily so bereft; she hadn't seen anything like it since a year before, when they'd all been in the depths of grief's clutches. But even more than the sadness she felt for her sister's pain, something else curdled sourly in her stomach: guilt.

Had she caused this? Fed this? It was only ever supposed to have been a tactic, a tool; as a first-born lady of a higher rank than most, she heard more gossip—and more truth—than any of those commoners trying to keep up could ever dream of knowing, and putting it all to use, ensuring she knew exactly which strings were being pulled at all times, would not only give her something to occupy her restless mind but would put her and Lily ahead, ensure they received the best matches of the season, so that all the Evans women could be comfortably provided for—so that her mother could be at peace, without worry, over the settled fate of her daughters.

Which was not an easy feat when one's sister remained determined to be difficult in her protest of the marriage market, but good buzz about Lily resulted in good buzz about Petunia, so she hadn't complained when Lily's apparent capture of both the Prince and the Duke's attention simultaneously resulted in a string of other acceptable suitors swarming the drawing room to give attention to the elder Evans daughter. If anything, she'd capitalized on it—who wouldn't want to be related by marriage to one of those families?

She'd thought it a win-win. That Lily would take one and Petunia the other. Even if the Duke flaked (which part of her expected; everyone knew he was a rake who spent his life running away), Lily getting the Prince would mean that a whole other category of suitors—royal suitors—would open for her. As the Queen's favorite and a princess's sister, her pick of eligible men would be virtually limitless. Really, it had turned into the ideal scenario: settle for a Duke or trade up once her family married into royalty, with a bevy of barons as back-ups if absolutely necessary.

Petunia from one year ago couldn't have asked for better prospects.

Even Lily had seemed like she'd been coming around to the Prince's charms, especially as the Duke had been so distant over the past few weeks, so really, how was she supposed to know that her sister and the flaky Duke had secretly fallen madly in love with one another?

It was a mess. A total, utter mess. And it was all Lily's fault.

…Wasn't it?

A knock on the door jolted her from her thoughts. "Yes?"

The door creaked open, and Mary slipped quietly inside, shutting the door behind her.

"I beg your pardon, my lady."

Petunia frowned at the girl. "Is it Lily? Has something happened?"

Mary shook her head and approached Petunia, whispering, "I saw the letter the Duke wrote her."

Petunia sniffed. "As did I. It is quite tragic for her."

The maid stopped behind her and reached into her pocket. Petunia followed the movement in the mirror, and then her breath caught in her throat, panic thudding a steady pulse, as she saw the draft Mary procured—the draft she'd obviously stolen from that evening's outgoing post.

She met Mary's eyes defiantly in the mirror. "Do you have something to say?"

"Yes." The girl's dark eyes blazed. "I heard that Lord Orion entered the contract with the Prince yesterday."

So she had been eavesdropping outside the drawing room door, though Petunia supposed she shouldn't be surprised—hell, the whole staff had probably had their ears pressed to the wall.

"He did," Petunia confirmed.

"And what if…" She paused, chewing her lip.

With an exasperated sigh, Petunia stood and faced the girl, demanding impatiently, "What if what?"

Mary, to her credit, did not shrink; her and Lily suited each other in that way.

"What if," she whispered, "the contract was breached after it was entered?"

Petunia's eyes narrowed. "That's not possible."

Mary's lips twitched. "And if I told you that last night, Miss Lily snuck into an artist's party unchaperoned, and spent an hour alone with a man in an upstairs room?"

For a moment, Petunia could only gape; as far-fetched as it sounded, it was exactly like Lily to do such a thing. Such a scandal would turn the entire ton on its head, would be potentially disastrous for their family—for her.

But it would also be unequivocal grounds to void the marriage contract.

Twisted as it was, would publicly ruining her sister be the next move that secured Lily a match? And would it somehow redeem her from any part she might have played in her sister's heartbreak?

As different as her and Lily were, as infuriating as Lily could be, Lily was still her sister, and after everything they'd endured as a family, the thought that she would allow Lily to continue being so devastatingly broken when there was still a card left to play was simply inconceivable.

"Shock and delight, indeed," Petunia muttered slowly, sentences already beginning to form themselves in her mind. But then she realized she was missing one final piece of information. "Mary…who was the man?"

The maid's eyebrow arched. "The Duke of Peverell. Who else?"

Dearest reader,

I had been prepared to deliver the news all of us expected and tell you that Lord Orion Black secured a marriage contract two days ago for Miss Lily Evans and Prince Amos of Prussia, nephew of Her Royal Highness Queen Charlotte.

What I did not expect was to find out that Miss Evans, unimpressed with the season from the start, subsequently disguised herself and attended an artist's party, unchaperoned, where she was seen in the presence of not only cigarettes, cards, and painting of the European style—but of a man.

Far from being shocked, this author must wonder why the Prince thought entering such a contract without proposing first a good idea (after the lady hid under the guise of a headache for a week to avoid such a thing, no less), and what possessed Lord Black to think it possible he could corral the feisty whims of such a rare jewel in the first place.

Given the circumstances, I have little doubt that the contract I expected to announce will be voided by breakfast. And though Peverell Hall appears to have emptied overnight, I would wager that the Duke's taste for a particularly lustrous baguette will draw him straight back to the table. If that proves to be true, this author would find it most fitting indeed, for if anyone is capable of handling such untamable beauty, it is he.

"Your Grace!" The shout reached his ears through the wind, and he turned over his shoulder to see a cloaked figure on horseback barreling down the road toward him. "Your Grace, wait!"

He pulled on the reigns and turned his horse to face the newcomer, who swept the hood from her head as she approached.

"Petunia?"

She was breathing hard, her face tinged pink with cold, and she trotted up to him before thrusting a wad of paper unceremoniously at his chest.

"What—"

"Read."

James looked between the paper and Petunia incredulously. "The latest Whistledown?"

"Yes." She cocked a brow. "More specifically, a copy of what I rushed to the press during the night and which is no doubt being distributed across London as we speak."

His jaw fell. "You're—"

She pointed a gloved finger at the top of the first page. "Read!"

He did—and then, not convinced he wasn't dreaming, he read it again, and then again. But the cold biting his skin and Petunia's even stare soon convinced him he was very much conscious and that this was very much happening, and a rush of questions flooded his mind as all the nerves he'd battled the day before came surging back through trembling limbs.

"Two days ago—so before—"

Petunia nodded curtly. "Before the party, yes.'

A single delirious laugh escaped him. "So it wasn't me."

"I beg your pardon?"

He shook his head, trying to cut through the fog of his brain. "I thought—if I had gone to Orion before your mother and Lady McGonagall—but that didn't matter—"

"No," Petunia confirmed. "Lady McGonagall went to House Black last night, then came back and told my mother and I about their conversation." She visibly shuddered. "It wouldn't have mattered even if you had gone to Orion before the contract was signed—he knew of the Prince's interest and was intent on getting myself and Lily the highest ranked matches he could."

He chewed his jaw, insides coiling angrily as he remembered what Lily had told him of trying to convince Orion to follow her father's wishes.

"James." Her rare use of his first name broke through his thoughts. "I think this is your only chance"—his heart squeezed—"You can't have prevented the contract being entered, but I think we can get it voided, with this"—she nodded toward the scandal sheet still clutched in his hand.

He skimmed it again. "She was seen?"

"Not quite," Petunia told him. "Mary, her maid? The one who took her, I presume?" James nodded, and Petunia went on, "She came to me yesterday evening, having heard when the contract was signed from eavesdropping and added the timeline together."

His eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "Remind me to put in a good word to Violet for a raise."

For the first time, Petunia smiled. "Give her a raise yourself, once she joins your staff."

James faltered, afraid to believe this could all be true. "Do you really think—"

"That the Prince will back out of the contract? Absolutely. Stealing a quick moment in a garden or a drawing room is one thing, but being entirely unchaperoned at an artist's party? With a man?" Petunia shook her head with a scoff. "I think the Queen herself would insist that match be called off, lest the shadow of that scandal follow the Crown all the way to a foreign court."

He blew hot air out of puffed cheeks and ran both hands through his hair. "And Orion?"

Petunia rolled her eyes. "Given that he's worried Lily attending a university course will harm his public image, I imagine he will have much the same reaction I predict for the Queen."

James considered her, running it all through his mind, and nodded. "I think you're right."

She smirked. "Of course I am, Your Grace."

He looked down at the paper, wrinkled in his grasp. "And…Lily?"

"She was bereft," Petunia told him evenly. "I haven't seen her like that since Papa died."

A wince crossed his face, clenching his jaw, tightening his chest.

"But I saw your letter," she went on, and that drew James's attention, "and I know she feels for you what you feel for her."

His heart fluttered, renewed, as new hope filled his chest. He gestured to the scandal sheet. "Did you mean this? What you wrote at the end?"

She held his gaze, an unusually soft smile on her face. "Of course I did. I know my sister, James. And I know enough of you to know that you belong with her."

His brow furrowed as he spoke the final piece that had been puzzling him. "You didn't name me. As the man at the party. But you had to know it was me?"

Petunia nodded, looking slightly awkward for the first time. "I'm not going to smear my sister more than necessary, James. I'm counting on what's in that paper being enough to void the contract without publicizing that you two were alone together for an hour."

Hearing the chastisement in her tone, he offered a look that he hoped was sheepish enough. She just rolled her eyes.

"And," she added, "I wanted her to have a choice."

That took him completely by surprise. "What?"

Petunia looked away, like she was lost in thought, as she answered, "Lily has always prided herself on making her own choices, living her life on her terms. I saw what Orion's move with the contract did to her, James. Losing you might have broken her heart, but having her fate signed away like that… it broke her spirit." She looked him directly in the eye, and for a fleeting second, he saw the same fierceness in her face that he was used to seeing in Lily's. "I wasn't about to decide her life for her like that again. Naming you would have forced your hands, we both know that. But if Lily wants to marry you, she deserves to make that choice herself, and not have it made for her."

His heart ached at the truth and care of those words, and for a moment, his mouth moved soundlessly before he managed, "Thank you. I mean it, Petunia."

"I know." She clicked her horse around toward the direction she'd come from. "So? Are you going to keep running away, or are you going to come propose yourself?"

He swallowed thickly, body buzzing so loudly with nerves he could barely think. Of course there was still a chance, however small, that the contract would remain intact—but he'd already lost her once, and if there was a new chance, however small, to keep her, he would go to the ends of the earth for it.

A grin split across his face and he urged his horse behind Petunia's. "Now that you mention it," he teased, "I do have a sudden craving for baguette."

Petunia rolled her eyes, but he swore he saw the hint of a smile on her face before they sped up to a gallup and raced back down the road to London.

Breakfast trays rattled as Orion slammed his fist, clenching a rolled copy of that morning's Lady Whistledown, against the nearest table. His eyes, dark as obsidian, glared down at Lily in fury, but, oddly bolstered by the way Lady Whistledown had written about her, she refused to shrink in front of him.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Sirius, who had mercifully tagged along with his father that morning, stepped between them. "Now, hold on, we don't even know if it's true—"

"It doesn't matter if it's true," Orion snapped, "it's already published."

"It is true," Lily shouted defiantly, and all the eyes in the room—Orion, Sirius, Lady McGonagall, her mother (Petunia was oddly absent that morning, presumably still upstairs, though it was most unlike her to miss breakfast)—stared at her in varying degrees of shock. "I don't know…how it got out, but it's true, I was there—"

"And the man?" Orion demanded, waving the scandal sheet. "Is that true, were you alone with a man?"

She gulped. "Yes."

He huffed in exasperation, rubbing his temples as he turned to pace around the room. Lily avoided her mother's gaze, afraid and a little embarrassed of the judgment she might find there, but Sirius's blatant curiosity was also too much to bear. Crossing her arms in a huff, she stared resolutely out the window.

"Your…virtue," Orion eventually said.

The room was so silent they could have heard a pin drop.

Lily evaded the question. "Has the Prince agreed to void the contract or not?"

He stared at her silently for several seconds before he said heavily, "Yes, he has."

Violet and Lady McGonagall clutched each other in sighs of relief, and Orion cast them a dirty look.

Turning back to Lily, he drawled, "Unsurprisingly, a prince of an esteemed royal family and his aunt, the Queen of England, do not wish to have the scandal of a girl's blatantly compromised virtue staining either royal court."

Relief wobbled her knees and her mind fought disbelief, but she managed to gasp, "So it's settled—I'm not betrothed."

"No," Orion growled, "but your reputation is still obliterated. If you remain untouched, I may be able to convince another suitor of lowly rank, perhaps a widower, to take you in—"

For the first time, Violet intervened, saying sternly, "That will not be necessary, Orion."

His eyebrows climbed at her challenge. "Really," he scoffed, "do enlighten me, Violet."

To her surprise, Violet suddenly didn't look angry anymore—she looked smug. "There is another suitor already, one who already asked me for permission to propose to Lily, and to whom I gave it."

Orion crossed his arms, waiting.

Violet smirked. "The Duke."

Sirius's mouth dropped open as Lily's heart dropped through the floor, all the air knocked from her lungs at hearing even his title spoken aloud.

Orion sighed. "Be that as it may, the Duke has ran away—again—and Lily is now ruined, which I hardly think the Duke would want—"

A thundering clatter from the entrance hall jolted all of their attention; Orion turned briskly for the drawing room door, Sirius behind him, and Lily hastily followed with her mother and Lady McGonagall—

Sirius's voice chided boisterously, "Well, well, look who showed up for some baguette!"

Blood thundered in her ears as she shoved her way instinctively around Sirius, around Orion, hardly daring to believe—

But there he was: door bouncing wildly on its hinges behind him, horse rearing on the stoop outside, cheeks burnt red, hair wet, face glistening with freezing drizzle. And she was moving, running, feeling like the world had stopped and she was cutting through time and space to get to him. James. She leapt into his arms, not caring about the cold drenching her skin, not caring about decorum, not caring that everyone was watching—he was here, he came back, and his arms were wrapped tightly around her and he was spinning her around and she didn't know who moved first or if they both did at the same time but his mouth was on hers, lips cold, tongue hot, and she kissed him with everything she had.

The echoing thump of Lady McGonagall's cane on the tiled floor—no doubt a last resort after mere coughing had not sufficed—broke them apart, and James set her gently back on the ground, resting his forehead against hers with eyes still closed.

"The contract," he whispered, and she knew immediately what he was asking.

"Voided," she whispered back.

Pulling in a shaky breath, he straightened, then reached inside his jacket as he sunk to one knee before her and reached for her hand. "Lily," he started softly, and she felt tears start to prick hotly at her eyes. "You know my heart is yours. It's always been yours." She heard his swallow. "Will you do me the honor of letting me be your husband?"

New tears, different tears—those of joy instead of heartbreak—closed her throat and spilled down her face, but she nodded and choked, "Yes, James. God, yes."

His smile was dazzling, making her knees weak and her heart flutter all over again, and the touch of cold metal to her finger prompted her to look down to where he was sliding—

"My mother's," he told her quietly. "I still had it in my pocket from yesterday."

She held her hand up to the light, letting it catch on the vibrant emerald surrounded by sparkling diamonds.

"Is it too pathetic to tell you that I picked it because I thought it matched your eyes?"

Smirking, Lily looked back down at him, still kneeling, and cupped his cheek. "Yes," she told him, making him laugh, "but I love you for it."

His eyes, golden in the morning winter light, looked as she felt: overflowing.

Starving beyond propriety, James stuffed a pastry in his mouth as Orion rambled about the business side of betrothal, reciting facts and figures James already knew.

Across the room, he saw Mary whisper something to Lily, pulling her away from her conversation with the others and out of the drawing room.

"—given the stain, I would understand if you would require an increase in her dowry—"

James looked up at him sharply and asked thickly, "Stain?"

Orion blinked and dropped his voice. "Lady Whistledown? Lily's presence at a party with another man?"

He choked as he swallowed the pastry, something sticky but delicious, and after a hearty thump on the back, he looked the man dead in the eye and murmured, "Orry, the man was me."

Orion only stared, bewildered, making James chuckle even more.

"And I don't need her dowry," he added. "But I'll ask Lily if she wants me to take it. You know how opinionated she is."

He winked, leaving Orion speechless, and then excused himself for the lavatory.

Only, once in the empty hall, he slowed his steps, listening for any sounds indicating where Lily might have gone.

"Your Grace?"

Turning, he saw the girl from the other night, though she looked distinctly different in her maid's clothes than she had all dolled up. "Mary, is it?"

She curtsied, but James waved her off. "That's not necessary. I hear I owe my happiness to you."

Though she flushed, she smiled and answered modestly, "It was a group effort, Your Grace. There are many of us here who have long desired to see Miss Lily happy."

James smiled softly, touched by the care among the Evans' household. "Still," he told her, "thank you. Sincerely. I trust it's not too presumptuous to say that I hope you'll be joining us?"

Mary inclined her head—"Without question, Your Grace"—and then grinned knowingly, dark eyes dancing, as she pointed down the hall. "They're in the library, the last door in the left."

He nodded his thanks, and took off down the hall.

At the turn of the library door, both sisters ceased their hushed conversation, whipping around with wide eyes and sighing visibly as they saw it was him. He closed the door softly behind him and heard Lily turn back to her sister and ask, "But why, Tuney?"

Petunia shrugged with a sad smile. "I thought if I controlled the narrative that it would guarantee good matches for the both of us."

Lily frowned. "So you didn't—I mean—I thought you wanted—" She looked over at James awkwardly, biting her lip.

Petunia just shook her head and reached out to clasp Lily's hands; without her gloves on, James saw they were stained with ink. "I wanted—still want—to be married. Well. You might be bothered by the way of the world, Lily, but I'm not. The best thing I can do for our family—for our mother—is to make a strong match. At the start of the season, that was the Duke. Then when the Prince came along, he was not interested in me, and I was not interested in leaving England, so I thought the match unchanged."

James's eyes narrowed. "But your commentary—the way you wrote about me—"

Petunia just rolled her eyes. "It was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were attracted to her," she admonished. "I simply wrote what everyone was thinking."

Lily asked haltingly, "So you weren't…upset?"

"About the two of you forming an attachment?" Petunia sighed, then admitted, "A little, at first. Of course I wanted to make the best match of the season, but—" She pursed her lips, looking between him and Lily before her eyes finally settled on her sister. "When I fell ill—no doubt a result of riding in the cold to print this damn thing—I really did think you were doing me a favor, Lily. Occupying him. It was not until I rejoined society and saw you"—her gaze swiveled to James—"that I saw what I'd been writing was more true than I'd realized." With a shrug, she concluded, "But then I sensed she'd turned you down for the Prince, so I thought there still might be a chance you'd propose to me instead."

James thought the shock on Lily's face likely mirrored his own. "But—Tuney, that first ball—you were horrible to me—"

"Of course I was," Petunia snapped. "You'd been nothing but difficult the whole day, nay, the whole month leading up to the opening of the season, and I fully expected you and our blasted cousin to do nothing but cause trouble and damage my prospects."

Lily's mouth opened and closed for a moment before she asked, voice small, "Haven't I?"

For the first time, Petunia chuckled. "No, Lily. To my complete and utter surprise, you have not. In fact, you actually improved them. Being the Queen's diamond is one thing, but having both the Queen's diamond and the season's rare jewel under one roof? You may have been too lovesick to notice, but the most eligible bachelors of the ton have been circling our drawing room like hawks on the hunt to see whether either of us would still be available after the Prince and Duke's attentions."

"And…now?"

Petunia's eyes twinkled. "Now, the Prince is sufficiently chastised by my paper this morning, you are to be a duchess, and I"—she fixed that slyly intelligent gaze on James—"imagine I am about to receive even more introductions to high-ranking bachelors with which the Duke is connected."

He met Petunia's stare, feeling the start of a smirk on one side of his mouth. These Evans girls were really too smart for their own good. "You imagine correctly," he told her. Really, it was the least he could do.

She gave him a perfunctory nod. "Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go refresh myself and make up a reason for my absence."

And with that, she departed from the room, closing the door silently behind her.

James looked over at Lily, already watching him with such longing written across her face that he didn't think twice, just pulled her immediately into a kiss, one hand cradling her head, the other wrapping tightly around her waist, and groaned as she tipped her head for him, welcomed his tongue.

Panting between kisses, Lily asked, "Did she really just—"

"Leave us alone?" He sucked on her lip. "Yes. And I will"—another kiss—"introduce her"—another lick—"to every—unmarried—gentleman—that I know."

Lily giggled against his mouth, her own hands tightening at his neck, in his hair. Walking her backwards, he pressed her up against the shelves, hands roaming, but then, having a better idea, he pulled her down a ways to the shelves' ladder.

"On here," he whispered, holding onto her waist as she propped against the step.

"James, what—"

But he was already sinking to his knee, rucking up her dress. "Go up one more."

She did, putting herself at the exact height he wanted, and he looked up at her as he ran his hands along her legs. "Five minutes alone, remember?"

Her smirk did wicked things to the front of his trousers, but he pushed that aside; just now, he needed to worship her.

"Going to ruin me some more, are you?" she teased softly, carding fingers through his hair, and that was all the prompting he needed to drape her leg over his shoulder and duck his head underneath her bunched dress. Her hands tightened at the first brush of his lips against her thighs, and James smiled against her skin as he nipped and licked his way to her center, already hot and wanting for him. The most delicious mewling noise reached his ears, and with a final teasing blow of air, he brought his mouth to her entrance. She tensed with surprise but then immediately softened, hips squirming against his face as he darted his tongue expertly around her, determined to make her feel euphoric enough to cancel out the pain he'd put her through the night before.

He thought by the muffled sound of her whimpers that she had clasped a hand over her mouth, which was really all for the better—they didn't need the Evans' household, let alone everyone down the hall in the drawing room, knowing he was under Lily's skirts. Her hips shimmied over his mouth, trying to get more of him, and he pressed his tongue harder where he thought she wanted it, knowing from her responding hiss and the dig of her nails into his scalp that he'd read her correctly.

His own groan echoed from his throat as her thighs squeezed against his cheeks; she was perfect, beautiful beyond any woman he'd ever imagined, and she loved him—and while he could hardly believe it, that thought was also threatening to bowl him over with arousal just then. Bracing her with one hand, he let his other hand drift down to cup the bulge straining his trousers and aching for its own release.

"James," she gasped. "There, I'm—ohmygod—"

Her body tensed over him, thighs clamped tight around his face, and then he felt the tell-tale spasm against his mouth that told him she was over the edge. Unable to wait, knowing their time was limited, knowing his time was limited, he slipped open a button on the front of his trousers and worked himself while he licked her through her climax.

But just when he thought he was right on the precipice, another voice rang through the otherwise still library from somewhere behind him: "Lily, are you in here, dearest? Lady McGonagall would like to start discussing prepar—oh!"

He froze, swearing to himself, hazy mind trying to sort out what to do as he pulled his head back to let Lily's dress fall down in front of her lap, but Lily, witty as always, beat him to it.

"We'll be only a moment, Mama."

James glanced up at her, incredulous, to find her head tipped back onto a top step, eyes closed, chest heaving.

"Lily—"

Her eyes opened at that, a smile spreading across her face. "I do believe you were the one who told me that reformed rakes make the very best of husbands, did you not?"

He couldn't help it; he chuckled into her thigh.

"Well, yes, but—"

"And that you and Papa had a hard time controlling your own passions?"

"I—suppose I might have mentioned—"

"Tell Lady McGonagall we want to be married as fast as possible. And that we'll only be a moment."

James's heart hammered in his chest as he heard retreating footsteps, followed by the marked close of the door. Only then did he look back up at Lily, biting her lip through her blinding smile.

"Lily, what—"

But he cut off as she gripped his chin and pulled him up to her mouth, pressing a fiery kiss to his lips as her other hand went straight to his arousal sandwiched between them.

Her eyes glittered dangerously. "It won't take more than a moment for you, will it?"

He didn't even get out an answer before his eyes scrunched, the softness of her palm coaxing his own climax as quickly as if they hadn't been interrupted at all.

By the time they returned to the drawing room, Orion and Sirius had gone, the promise of a celebratory dinner at House Black that evening had been made, Petunia was sitting at the piano, lady-like as ever, and Lady Violet and Lady McGonagall were looking most amusedly at him and Lily, seated on a settee across from them.

"Did you find anything of interest in the Evans' library, Your Grace?" Lady McGonagall asked with a wry grin.

James coughed over his tea. "Plenty, Lady McGonagall. Miss Lily and I share a passion for reading."

Violet muttered, "Among other things," before biting into a macaron, but just as a flush began rising around his neck, she winked at him, fighting a smile, and added, "You might try the section of foreign manuscripts, Your Grace. There is one in particular that is written in Sanskrit but has the most enlightening illustrations"—his stomach swooped, knowing of the taboo manuscript of which she spoke and barely believing what he was hearing—"It was a favorite of William's, and I dare say you and Lily will derive more enjoyment from it than I."

Though his mouth had gone dry, he managed to swallow heavily before telling her politely, "Thank you, Lady Violet. I'm sure we will."

And as he took in Violet's twinkling eyes, Lady McGonagall's smug smile, Lily's adorably confused yet defiant expression, and Petunia's arched brow from over her shoulder, he couldn't escape the feeling that he'd landed himself in the lion's den, and yet—despite his misconceptions, despite his past, despite all the odds—he had never been happier.

Dearest reader,

One may say modesty is a virtue, yet this author is hardly a virtuous woman. It is therefore my great pleasure to announce the news others questioned, but I never doubted. The season's rare jewel has made her match, officially betrothed to the Duke of Peverell.

The bride, undoubtedly, is giddy with anticipation over the impending nuptials, an event that will apparently take place sooner rather than later. But while some may find the couple's haste to marry before Christmas suspicious of a concealed scandal, especially in light of the news I published just yesterday, this author would wager their rush to the altar portends a different and far rarer reason, one befitting both parties: true love.