Mrs. Ward glanced at Chase and Harriet, then cleared her throat. “Sophia and Ophelia, could you help me in the breakfast room?”

Sophia frowned. “Breakfast room? Now? Why—”

Mrs. Ward calmly propelled Sophia out the door, Ophelia following.

“Stephen and Derrick,” Mrs. Ward continued determinedly, “I believe you are needed in the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” Derrick scowled. “I was going to sit here and read—”

“Come on, Derrick.” Stephen grabbed his brother’s arm and dragged him to the door. “You can read in the kitchen.”

“Yes, but—” The door shut behind him. Mrs. Ward soon followed.

Moments later, the room was silent and empty except for Chase and Harriet.

Chase sighed heavily and rubbed his chin on Harriet’s hair.

“What now?” she asked, wrapping her arms about his waist and snuggling closer.

What now, indeed. Life lay ahead of them, bright and shining and full of hope. Chase reached into his pocket and found the talisman ring. Then he took Harriet’s hand and slid it gently over her finger.

“Oh no! It will never come off!”

Chase kissed her cheek. “Oh yes it will. On the day we marry. And if it doesn’t, then we’ll just be stuck with it forever.”

She smiled and looked up him, her eyes shimmering softly. “Forever, my love, may not be long enough.”

Epilogue

Coo ’ee, now there’s a handsome man! Not as handsome as one of those St. John brothers, but that’s to be understood. The earth can only handle so much handsomeness afore it splits in half.

Miss Lucy, Lady Birlington’s upstairs aid, to Madame Blanchard, the French dresser, while eyeing the new footman

Devon St. John leaned back in the plush coach, stretching his legs into the farthest corner. The coach swayed and bounced, taking curves at breakneck speed as they flew through the countryside, going northward, toward Scotland.

Scotland, Devon decided, was safe. He would visit his friend, Viscount Strathmore, for a few weeks and then, when the way was clear, he’d return to England. But only once he was assured that the way was clear.

Life, Devon decided, was beautiful. He’d just escaped the largest trap ever to befall a man, especially a St. John. Somewhere back at a church in the tiny village of Sticklye-By-The-River, his brother Chase was getting married. In fact…Devon pulled out his watch and looked at it. The ceremony would be over in another ten minutes or so. Then, once the reception began, everyone would look around and see that Devon had already made good his escape. And Chase, already cursed by the ring and thus married, would realize that there was only one single St. John brother left in proximity—Marcus, the oldest. Chase would have no choice then, but to trick Marcus into taking the bloody ring while Devon cavorted merrily in Scotland.

Devon grinned sleepily. Sometimes he amazed himself with his intelligence. It really had been too easy. He snuggled in the corner, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.

Several hours later, the coach crossed the Scottish border. Devon was awakened by the definite chill that had begun to crisp the air. He thought about asking the coachman to stop, but then thought better of it. They were making such good time.