A Most Dangerous Profession

EPILOGUE





Michael Hurst in a letter to his brother Robert, that same day.


I’ve just met William’s wife, and I hear that our sister Mary has also managed to wed. While I do not begrudge them their happiness, it seems that I might have been rescued faster had you not all been busy making love matches.

I hope that I never catch that malady, which steals away common sense and replaces it with fluff.

Moira stood looking out the window. A warm summer wind swirled across the stone drive and made the grass ripple around the pond. It was an idyllic setting and fit Robert’s majestic house. Yet despite the day’s warmth, Moira couldn’t shake the feeling that the cold hand of fate hovered over them all—especially Robert, whose injuries were even more dangerous than they’d first realized.

Moira said another prayer of thanks for Mr. Norris and his quick actions. The rough man had indeed known an excellent physician, who was with Robert even now, a week later.

Moira rubbed her arms and started to turn from the window, when the sight of a carriage racing up the drive made her stop. As the horses clattered to the front door, a small hand slipped into Moira’s.

She smiled down at Rowena. “You’re up from your nap.”

“I didn’t really sleep. I kept thinking about . . .” Rowena glanced at the ceiling, her brow knit.

Moira nodded. “I know. Me, too.” She knelt beside her daughter. “But he’s very strong, and the doctor is with him.”

“He will be fine,” Rowena said, her gaze unafraid. “He told me so, so he will be. I just don’t want him to hurt.”

“Yes, but . . . He had a very bad fever, and the doctor says—”

“He will be fine,” the child said quietly. She put her small hand on Moira’s cheek. “He never breaks his promises. He told me so.”

Moira nodded helplessly, unable to fight a deep, icy cold fear. The doctor had been so grave, so serious. Moira was thankful for Buffon, who not only continually ran up and down the stairs seeing to Robert’s comfort, but also found the time to keep her informed of every development, good and bad.

It said something about Robert that his servants were so obviously fond of their master. They tiptoed about, whispering in concerned tones, and made certain the house was in perfect order for when he finally emerged from the sickroom.

Moira hugged Rowena and looked about the comfortable sitting room. She’d been amazed to discover that Robert owned a house near Edinburgh, so close to her cottage. And such a house, too. You are always a surprise, Robert. In so many ways.

Rowena’s gaze was on the drive, where the carriage had stopped. “Who is that?”

Moira looked to see a small, plump woman exit the carriage, assisted by a tall, distinguished man. “That’s your father’s sister, Mary, and her husband, Angus.”

Rowena watched the woman hurry up the steps, her husband’s broad strides easily keeping pace. “Do you think my father will be glad to see her?”

Moira rather doubted it. If there was one thing Robert detested, it was being fussed over.

Moments later, the couple were escorted into the sitting room. “My dear!” Mary came to take Moira’s hands. “I came as soon as I could. How is he?”

“The doctor said the situation is grave. He’s with Robert now.”

“I shall go up and see—”

“His valet won’t allow anyone in his room. Robert snaps whenever anyone tries to bypass Buffon. The doctor said it was dangerous to let Robert be upset, so it is best to stay away.”

Mary turned. “Did you hear that?”

Her husband nodded. “Some people don’t wish to be disturbed when they feel ill, Mary.”

“But someone must make certain he is well. He could be dying, and—”

“No,” Rowena said firmly.

Mary pressed a hand to her chest. “Goodness, you startled me! I didn’t see you there.” Mary blinked. “Oh my. You look just like—”

“Her father,” Moira interjected.

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Mary cleared her throat. “I can see I’ve rushed in and made a muddle of this.”

“Excuse me,” came Buffon’s voice from the doorway.

All eyes turned to him, and he bowed. “Mr. Hurst would like to see his wife.”

“Wife?”

Moira suppressed a wince. “That would be me.”

Mary plopped her fists onto her hips. “Robert never tells me a thing!”

Her husband took her elbow. “Come, my love, let’s meet our new niece. Her mother will be busy for a while.” Though obviously reluctant, Mary allowed Angus to take her to sit down near Rowena, where they began to talk.

Moira followed Buffon to Robert’s door, where Doctor MacPherson met her.

“He’s better?”

The doctor beamed tiredly. “Yes. Last night I wouldn’t have given you a farthing for his chances. But he made a turn in the middle of the night when the fever broke. He’s not out of the woods yet, but he has a good chance now.”

Moira bit her lip to keep from weeping. “Thank you.”

“I’ll leave him in Buffon’s hands. The man is a capable nurse.”

Buffon bowed, then opened the door. “Madame?”

Moira expected to find the curtains drawn and the room dark. Instead, sunlight streamed through the room, casting a bar of warmth across the large bed.

Robert sat propped up by pillows in his red silk robe, his face cleanly shaved, his hair neat.

But he still had a deep pallor and faint circles under his eyes.

“Buffon wouldn’t allow me to have guests until I was presentable.” His faintly caustic voice filled her with joy.

“Bless Buffon, for I don’t know if I’d recognize you without a cravat.”

“He has been impossibly bossy since my illness—which is to say, he is exactly as he was before.” Robert patted the bed. “Come and sit with me. We have much to say to one another.”

She walked over, feeling oddly shy yet overwhelmed with the need to touch him. She perched on the edge of the bed. “This is certainly a large bed.”

“Yes, ten people could sleep in it and never touch. Unless two of them were us, of course.”

“Unfortunately, you tend to steal the covers,” she said primly, aching to throw her arms around him and hold him tightly.

“And you snore—very softly, but still.” His lips twitched. “I’d say we’re even.”

It was pure luxury to be able to banter with him, even this little bit.

“Where’s Rowena?”

“In the sitting room, talking to your sister Mary and her husband.”

“Oh no. If she’s here, my other two sisters cannot be far away.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if they all come before dinnertime.”

“You’ll have to inform the housekeeper to open some rooms and have something on hand for dinner.”

“Me? Robert, I’m just a guest and—”

“No.” His hand closed over hers. “And that’s what I wish to talk to you about. Moira, I don’t want to be left out of your and Rowena’s lives.”

Her heart twisted. “You love her. I saw that when I found you together in the nursery at Aniston’s.”

“Yes. When I saw her and knew she was mine, my heart—” He shook his head. “I never knew what it meant to be a parent. I will never look at my own the same again.”

“It’s an eye-opening moment, isn’t it?”

“One that you faced alone. That will never happen again. Moira, I love you. I think I always have. Even when I knew you were lying about who you were, I couldn’t stay away from you. And now that I’ve met our daughter, I can’t go back to being alone.”

He took her hand and pulled her closer. “I bought this house thinking I might find a place where I belonged. But it’s nothing but empty stone walls without you and Rowena inside it.”

Tears stung her eyes. “But . . . it’s not always fun and exciting being a parent. Sometimes it’s difficult.”

“Then we’ll face the difficulties together.”

“And if you get bored?”

His lips quirked. “I don’t see that being a problem. But if it happens, I suppose you’ll just have to entertain me here in my boudoir.” His eyes twinkling wickedly, he kissed her fingers one by one.

“And if Rowena gets ill or—”

“—we run out of funds, or our family demands to move in with us, or any of the million things that could happen, then you and I will face them together.”

He put his hand on her cheek. “I love you, Moira MacAllister Hurst. I refuse to live without you. If you say no, I will ask again. And if you leave Hurst House, I will follow you once I’m able.”

Moira’s heart melted. “You really mean it.”

“With every breath I take. And I could die at any moment, so you’d better say yes now, while you can.”

“Yes, Robert Hurst. Yes, yes, yes—”

The rest of her yeses were lost in a kiss. One of the million or so she planned on sharing with him over the happy, blissful years to come.