“You requested more brandy, my lord?”

Christian turned from the desk. “Yes. The decanter is dry.”

Reeves brought a new decanter and set it on the table. “That is my fault, my lord. You don’t empty it as often as you used to and I am off schedule.”

Christian laced his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “Well, Reeves. It has been an adventure, has it not?”

“Quite, my lord. Are you satisfied with the outcome of events?”

Christian grinned. “I am wed to the most beautiful of women. What could I regret?”

“What will happen to Lady Charlotte now?”

“She has been assigned to Bedlam. The duke is paying a fortune to keep her in comfort there, but she is secure. She will harm no others.”

“I am sorry your adventure was such a painful experience.”

“Me, too. But sometimes one must travel the rough road to reach one’s ultimate destination. I found my mother’s killer and brought her to justice of a sort. But more importantly, I learned that my future—and Beth—are more important than any past I might have had.”

“Certainly, my lord,” Reeves said. “That is a very important lesson, indeed.” He picked up the old decanter and placed it on the tray. “Will there be anything else?”

Christian sighed. “You aren’t going to say anything, are you?”

“My lord?”

Christian stood and held his arms out to his sides. “My clothes.”

Reeves looked Christian up and down. “Something is wrong, my lord.”

“Wrong?”

“You aren’t wearing black.”

Christian grinned. He had donned a brightly white cravat and shirt. His waistcoat was of deep red damask. “Do you like it? I am wearing it for my meeting with the trustees. They are to sign over the fortune today.”

“You look dapper, my lord. I must immediately congratulate the viscountess on her excellent taste in waistcoats. You are indeed a fortunate man. Not only is she a lovely woman, with an amiable disposition and an exceptional share of intelligence, but she dresses you far better than you ever dressed yourself.”

Christian sighed. “Must you do that? Steal all the glory from my days?”

“Not for long, my lord,” Reeves said, smiling. “I regret to inform you that I must be leaving soon.”

Christian’s smile faded. “But…why?”

“Between starching your cravats and assisting you in discovering the errors of your ways, I have been writing a book.”

“A book? On what?”

“How to be a proper butler.”

Christian sighed. “I was just a research project to you, wasn’t I?”

Reeves’s lips twitched. “I shall dedicate the book to you and your brother, my lord. I must say, I have never served two more worthy men.”

“Thank you. I am certain my brother will thank you even more than I.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, my lord?”

Christian paused. “Tristan? He’s—”

“The earl and countess are in the sitting room. I saw their carriage as I was bringing you the decanter.”

Christian was halfway out the door.

“My lord?” Reeves called after him. “Your coat—”

But Christian didn’t slow down a step. He raced down the steps and burst into the sitting room. Tristan stood leaning against the mantelpiece, a cane in one hand. Tall and broad shouldered, as blond as Christian was dark, Tristan’s face bore the imprint of the sea upon his tanned face.

His lovely wife, Prudence, sat beside Beth on a settee.

Beth stood as Christian came to a halt in the middle of the room. “There you are!” she said, coming toward him. “I was just meeting your brother and his countess!”

Christian slipped his arm about Beth. Dressed in a lovely gown of wine red silk, her blonde hair luminescent in the sunlight streaming from the window, the sight of her warmed him head to toe. “I didn’t know we had visitors.”

“Which must be why you arrived half dressed,” his brother said. His deep voice, used to shouting orders from the deck of a ship over the roar of the ocean, rumbled noisily. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d outdress you, but here it is.”

Christian grinned. “Here it is! What brings you here, you old hellion?”

Tristan drew himself up to his full height. He was far broader across the shoulders than Christian, of a heavier frame. “Chris, Prudence and I came to visit for two reasons.”

A delightful color brushed Prudence’s cheeks. “Mainly we came to meet your new bride.”

“Yes,” Tristan said, pride glowing on his face. “We also came to inform you that you are about to gain a new title. That of ‘uncle.’”

“An uncle?” Christian looked from his brother, to his sister-in-law. “But…how?”

Prudence laughed, Beth chiming in.

Tristan shook his head ruefully. “I will explain it to you later.”

“No, no! I didn’t mean that! I just—when did this happen? How long have you known?”

“We just discovered it,” Prudence said. She sent a loving glance at her husband. “I hope it is the first of many.”

Tristan reached over and took her hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “We shall have an entire ship full, should it please you, my love.”

“One crew member at a time, please,” Prudence said archly, her soft brown eyes twinkling up at her husband.

Christian released Beth long enough to cross to his brother and envelop the scoundrel in a hearty hug. “What a wonderful thing!”

Tristan hugged him back, pounding his back solidly. “You have been married a week or two now. When will you and your lovely viscountess grace us with the same news?”

Children? Christian turned to look at Beth. “One day, perhaps. But for now, I want my wife all to myself.”

Beth’s eyes twinkled at him. “You shall have me, my love.”

Tristan returned to the settee where Prudence sat, and settled beside her, capturing her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers. “Christian, I am happy to report that the House for Retired Sailors has grown.” He looked at Beth. “Your husband is something of a philanthropist.”

“Yes, he is,” Prudence said, smiling sweetly. “There are over seventy men housed there now.”

“It would not be possible without you, Christian,” Tristan said.

Christian shrugged. “All I do is send a bank draft every quarter. You and Prudence do all of the work.”

Beth slipped an arm about Christian’s waist, leaning against him. “I had no idea you were a philanthropist, my love.”

“Lord Westerville.” Everyone turned to find Reeves standing in the doorway, a coat in his hand. “You forgot a part of your raiment.”

“Oh no,” Beth said. “You have wounded Reeves’s sensibilities.”

“Yes, my lady. My sensibilities are indeed wounded.” Reeves came forward and assisted Christian into the coat. He gave the coat a final smoothing across one shoulder, stood back, then nodded. “Excellent. I feel better already. My lady, you have had a very positive influence over Lord Westerville. He has left the morbid world of Only Black behind and now embraces other colors of the spectrum.”

Beth peeped up at Christian, a flash of a dimple tempting him to drop a kiss on her forehead. “I hope he is ready for my influence for many more years,” she murmured.

Christian held her closer. “You influence my every breath, my love. And always will.”

“Enough of that!” Tristan draped an arm around his wife. “Reeves, you have performed magic.”

Reeves smiled at both couples. “The old earl would have been pleased.”

Christian tilted Beth’s face to his. Ever so gently, he placed a kiss on her soft lips. Magic was what it was; the best kind of magic—true love.