Burning Secrets of a Lady’s Pen – Extended Epilogue

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April 1820

Florence in the springtime was unmatched. 

There had been songs, ballads, and plays written to such effect, but Imelda had never understood just how true that they were. She’d always loved Florence. Well, at least since the summer of 1816, but there was something to be said about it in mid-April with the flowers blooming and the musical scene at its peak, artists playing on the streets and laughter backing them up like some preplanned melody. 

Her eyes swept over the landscape, her face lifted as the setting sun spent its last rays bathing the city in pink and gold, making for an even more heavenly sight. 

“You look like a vision in green,” a voice greeted warmly from behind her. It was only moments before warm arms moved to encircle her, one large hand splaying out over the rounded curve of her extended belly. 

Imelda leaned back into the familiar chiseled chest, humming her appreciation for such praise. 

Even after being married for two years just the fact that he could so openly touch her left her skin tingling. 

“And you smell like you went to the bakery without me,” she accused lightly, resting her hands over his as she closed her eyes and reveled in the feeling. 

Corin laughed, the sound full and throaty. 

“I’ll never get over your sudden keen sense of smell.” He chuckled. “Like a bloodhound these days. I didn’t even go inside, I only picked up an order that I made earlier today.” 

“Hmmm,” Imelda murmured, inhaling deeply for the fresh aroma coming off of him. 

It was one of the many perks of her pregnancy, she’d learned. She could smell even the faintest of scents. A nuisance back home in London, but a rare gift in Florence with all the flowers and the freshly baked goods that filled their streets. 

“Your croissants, if you must know,” Corin teased her, nudging her belly with his hand as he had become so apt to do. 

Imelda’s smile grew, her fingers tightening over his in thanks. 

“Every day, I’m more and more glad that we decided to have our first child out of England,” she admitted with a soft sigh. 

Everyone had been against the idea, of course. Most notably her brother and Charlotte, who had already added two to their little family in the time that Corin and Imelda had taken enjoying their new life together. 

Her father, surprisingly, had been the most supportive of the idea, laughing when they had expressed it to him. It was just the sort of thing her mother would have done, he’d admitted, promising to come out and visit them as soon as the baby was born. 

“It is fitting,” Corin said after a short pause. “Us coming full circle, if you will?” 

“Because we met here?” Imelda asked, pushing off of him and straightening as she stretched her back out. 

“One of the reasons,” Corin agreed, offering her his arm as she closed the journal she had been making notes in before he had arrived and tucked it under her arm. “And because the novel is set here.” 

Imelda laughed. “There is no baby in our book, Corin.” 

“Not yet,” Corin challenged, waggling his brows as they moved off of the terrace of the cottage they were renting during their stay. 

He stabilized her as they went down the steps, his hands warm and comforting as they moved onto the streets that Imelda had only just been watching. 

“I think our story, thus far, is too dark to bring a child into,” Imelda chided, finding even ground with her feet once more and walking slowly along with the flow of crowds as Corin expertly wove them in and out of people. 

“I think our story started out quite dark,” Corin countered. “And look at us now.” 

Imelda snorted. “Our story had many dark parts,” she agreed slowly. 

None since they had been married, thank God. Two years, many trips, four books to her name, and a slew of happy occasions between. Imelda had never been happier. And now they were having a baby. And spending their time writing a novel together. 

“You know, two and a half years ago, if you had told me this is where my life would end up, that this is where we would end up, I might’ve slapped you,” Imelda mused aloud, grinning at her husband’s indignant snort. 

“Slapped?” He nudged her with his shoulder as he turned them down a side street, heading into Florence’s art quarter. “I don’t think I would have believed it myself,” he added after a brief pause. “But then, that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?” 

Imelda shrugged. 

“I think it’s life,” she said with a laugh. “Do you know what I was reading this afternoon when you went out to get the tickets for the theatre for tonight?” 

“A horror novel?” 

Imelda’s lips twitched, her eyes rolling as she slowed her steps due to the incessant kicking taking up residence in what felt like her ribcage. “No. Actually, it’s a rather well-done romance. And you know I’m not always terribly fond of those.” 

“That is because the majority of them are trite and lacking substance,” Corin muttered. “But a romance? You? Who by?” 

“That’s the irony of it,” Imelda admitted. “Joanne Tuberville sent it to me. Along with a note thanking me for my opinion on her last novel. She said my blunt kindness inspired her to take a step off of the beaten path.” 

“Miss Tuberville?” Corin sounded faintly annoyed. “You know, I never did forgive her for slandering you so willingly.” 

“She could have slandered me, us, worse,” Imelda reminded him as they ducked through an alleyway to get into line in front of the theatre. 

Corin grunted. “She could have not done so at all.” 

Imelda agreed. She’d been upset with the girl for years, but not enough so to cause any waves at The Woman’s Word. Even after her marriage they had provided a steadfast support system, especially after she’d started truly looking into finding a publisher on her own for her work. Joanne among them, despite their brief spat. 

“Two years,” Corin muttered, shaking his head. “As long as you don’t want to go and name our daughter after the woman, I suppose I could bury the hatchet.” 

Imelda grinned. “I was thinking if it was a girl, we could name her Teddy,” she teased. 

“Teddy?” Corin repeated, dumbfounded. “What in heaven’s name would possess you to—” He stopped suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to her from handing over their tickets. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

Imelda’s lips curved further, her steps quick as she avoided his seeking hands in order to all but skip inside the theatre. Laughter bubbled from her lips despite all of her best intentions. 

“No daughter of mine is being named after a second-rate actor,” Corin growled, catching her and hauling her back against his chest as they sought their seats. 

It was all Imelda could do not to howl with laughter. 

Theodore. 

Like she would ever name her daughter such a ridiculous thing. 

“We were reminiscing,” she teased, allowing Corin to help her down into her seat and leaning into his side as he took his own. “It only seemed fair.” 

“Hmph.” Corin cast a sideways glance, his eyebrows playfully furrowed. “You seem to be doing a lot of that lately.” 

“Blame your father.” Imelda giggled, stretching out in the chair as much as she was able and adjusting until she fit just right. A task that was becoming more and more difficult the further along that she became. 

“My father?” Corin echoed blankly, turning to face her more fully as he put one arm on the chair behind her and stretched the other across himself to place his hand over her stomach. 

“We’ve been writing,” Imelda reminded him, leaning her head back and closing her eyes as Corin’s fingers made small circles on her rounded abdomen, soothing the beast within. “He wanted to know more about you before we were married and how it all came about. Apparently, Sybille told him that we were quite the scandalous pair.” 

“Sybille,” Corin growled with faux irritation. “You know, you would think being pregnant would make her less of a gossip. Specifically with her having conceived mid-divorce.” 

Imelda prodded him with her eyes still closed, her smile not flinching for a second. “It can’t be considered mid-divorce if the divorce never happened,” she reminded him primly. She quite liked Sybille. For all of her ice-queen beauty she was one of the warmest people Imelda thought she had ever met. 

“The papers had already been drawn up,” Corin disagreed pointedly. “Just because they rescinded the legality of it all and decided to reconcile doesn’t change what was happening.” 

“Oh, no one but you even knew it was happening.” Imelda giggled. “Really, it speaks to your family’s timing, if you think about it.
On the verge of disaster and just avoided.” 

Corin groaned. “I’m never going to live that down. You know, Romeo was involved in all of those cases. Maybe it just speaks to his timing.” 

Imelda opened her eyes, smiling up at her husband as the lights around them began to dim. 

She didn’t care what it spoke to. 

For all the grim reality that she could write in her novels and the gothic thrill—her life had turned out unlike anything she had ever expected. She and Corin were happy. Their respective families were happy. Together, as a married couple and as a family, they were all healing wounds that had plagued them for years before they had even met one another. 

Despite her propensity to shy away from such stories, her life had rather turned out like one in the end. 

Corin’s gaze softened, his head leaning to hers before a rash of excited whispers broke out around them. 

Old habits died hard, the both of them glancing around as if they might be the cause of it before they realized that the curtains were lifting. 

“On a very fine evening, in a very nice house,” a voice opened the play, the line delivered in a surprisingly English accent versus the expected Florentine. 

Imelda felt her eyes widen, her eyes shooting to Corin in almost horror. 

But Corin was glaring at the stage, his eyebrows drawn down over his eyes as a very familiar figure pranced out in front of the other actors, his hands raised and the excited whispers growing in a way that showed the excitement was clearly due to him. 

Theodore Fellowes. 

The irony wasn’t lost on Imelda. She bit back a giggle as Theodore continued, Corin’s gaze darkening with each line delivered. 

Nothing had changed with the actor, it was clear. His acting still left much to be desired, his ego shining through even the character he played. But something about him captivated this audience in a way he had failed at in England. 

Maybe it was his accent. Maybe just the ‘exotic’ flair of him being from abroad. 

Imelda didn’t know. She didn’t care. She was too busy watching her glowering husband. 

Corin shifted in his seat, his form growing more tense, and just before he could lift his hand off of her belly—the baby kicked. 

The stage was forgotten as Corin turned to her, his eyebrows lifting and his glower disappearing into a grin as he pressed his hand more firmly against her stomach. 

And the baby kicked again. 

Imelda’s giggle finally broke free but even that wasn’t enough to dampen Corin’s joy. 

The baby so rarely moved where he could feel it. He had a calming effect on it that Imelda was always infinitely grateful for. 

“They’re trying to remind you that you’re being silly,” Imelda whispered teasingly. “Don’t you know that he never meant anything?” How could he have when she had Corin. “Look how far we’ve come, my love. Sitting here in Florence, with our first child about to be born. Watching our past played out on the stage before us.” 

Corin caught her gaze, his eyes smoldering even in the dim lighting of the theatre. 

“Have I told you that I love you, Mrs. Imelda Langford?” 

“Only a million times.” Imelda grinned cheekily. “But feel free to tell me a million more.” 

Corin leaned in, his lips brushing against hers as their baby kicked up a storm between them. 

“That’s exactly my plan,” he promised before sealing his mouth against hers.

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Grab my new series, "Scandalous Regency Affairs", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!

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