“Evie,” he murmured.
“I love you, Ahmad.”
His eyes shut tight. He felt the soft declaration as much as heard it. The same precious words she’d uttered to him at Cremorne Gardens. They resonated within him, now just as they had then, sweetly, tenderly, a balm over the sharp edges of his soul. “Tell me again, sweetheart.”
“I love you,” she said. “And I shall be your shield and support, too. Your friend. Your partner. And more.”
He drew back to look at her. “More?”
Her damp cheeks were rosy with blushes.
His arms still around her, he set her feet gently down on the ground. “There will be more,” he promised. And bending his head, he captured her mouth with his in a kiss that said far more than he could ever express with words.
She was right. Life rarely went according to plan. It veered off the path in unexpected and extraordinary ways. His had done so. Bringing him from India to England, from the East End to Mayfair, and eventually all the way to Sussex—here into the arms of the woman he loved.
His muse. His auburn-haired equestrienne.
Her fingers curled in the rumpled cloth of his cravat. “I don’t know all the particulars of that side of things,” she confessed.
He smiled against her mouth. “My love, you must put yourself entirely in my hands.”
Her lips curved in answer, remembering. “You know,” she said, kissing him again, “I do believe I shall.”
Epilogue
London, England
September 1863
Evelyn stepped back to admire the placement of the Royal Warrant of Appointment on the wall of her husband’s shop. It had arrived only today, issued by the Lord Chamberlain’s Office at the palace. She’d hung it up herself, affixing it just above the polished mahogany counter, beneath a gas wall sconce. The glow of the gas jet illuminated the royal coat of arms and swirling script below:
These are to certify that by command of
the Queen
I have appointed
Mr. Ahmad Malik
into the place and quality of
Dressmaker
to Her Majesty, the Queen
Ahmad’s arm settled around Evelyn’s waist. He was in his shirtsleeves, a measuring tape still draped around his neck from his last fitting of the day. “Is it everything you imagined?”
She leaned into his embrace. She knew he’d never aspired to royal patronage. When first they’d met, all he’d wanted was the acclaim of fashionable society.
But things had changed since then.
His elegantly sewn mourning dresses were now as much admired as his smartly tailored riding habits. Not only were his designs worn by several of the ladies at court, this past summer, he’d finally been called upon to create a mourning gown for the Queen.
“It is,” Evelyn said, beaming up at him. “I’m so very proud of you, my darling.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It was half seven in the evening and they were alone in the shop. “The credit is all yours, my love. If you hadn’t attended that séance—”
“Rubbish.” Covering his arm with hers, she gave him a little shake. “It was your designs that made the difference. The rest was so much happenstance.”
“You can’t deny you’ve brought me a great deal of luck.”
“I’m the one who’s lucky,” she replied softly.
After marrying last year, she’d embarked with him into a great unknown. Though certain of each other, neither had been entirely certain about anything else.
Would they be rejected by society? Obliged to live on the outskirts? To struggle for every shilling?
Evelyn needn’t have worried.
Things had progressed beautifully in their new marriage, starting with a wondrously romantic wedding night spent at Claridge’s Hotel. The memory of it still brought a blaze of warmth to her cheeks.
There was a great deal to be said for a man who was familiar with the topography of a woman’s body. A man who honored every peak and valley. Who could be both patient and passionate.
He’d taught her much about that side of marriage. She flattered herself that she’d taught him even more. She mightn’t have been as familiar with the male form as he was with the female, but she was bold and adventurous and—with the proper incentive—quite a quick learner.
Indeed, there was nothing more satisfying than driving her new husband to distraction. She loved every part of it, from the kisses and the intimate embraces to those drowsy moments in the sun-filtered morning when she woke, warm and languorous, in his arms and realized anew that this was her life now. A life where she was safe, protected, and supported. Where she was adored, body and soul.
Predictably, not everyone approved of them. But the world was bigger than Mayfair.
Ahmad had found them an old farmhouse near Hampstead. It wasn’t Upper Belgrave Street or Grosvenor Square. For them, it was better. Close enough to Ahmad’s dress shop, while still retaining the feeling of a rambling country property, with plenty of wide-open spaces nearby to tempt Evelyn on her morning rides.
When Anne, Julia, and Stella were in town, they often joined Evelyn for a gallop on the heath, followed by tea and iced lemon cakes served in the farmhouse’s old-fashioned sitting room.
There were other visitors, too. Mira and Tariq. Uncle Harris and Lady Arundell. Even the Finchleys. Evelyn and Ahmad were blessed with a wealth of family and friends, and their home was open to all of them. A warm and welcoming place, with no aristocratic pretensions about it.
Evelyn was happy there.
Hephaestus was happy, too, settled in his own small stable at the back—his expenses defrayed by his successful career at stud.
And every day brought more happiness for all of them.
There was the news that Fenny had been delivered of a healthy baby boy.
The announcement that Mira and Tariq had finally set a date for their wedding.
The rapturous letter from Aunt Nora proclaiming that Uncle Harris was, indeed, subsidizing Gussie’s London season next spring.
And there was the day the sign outside the dress shop had been replaced. When the words Messrs. Doyle and Heppenstall, Tailors had at last given way to a placard that proclaimed: Mr. Ahmad Malik, Dressmaker.
And now this.
Royal patronage.
Evelyn turned in Ahmad’s arms, encircling his neck. “We must do something to celebrate.”
Heat flickered in his gaze. “I know what I’d like to do.”