Twisted Tale of Stormy Gale (8 page)

Epilogue

And so it went that we soon became the Loony Duke and Mad Duchess of Leister. Through with running away from our problems, we moved back to London. With me around town in my britches, hair flying loose, my new nickname was a reasonably good fit. Even so, the locals have really come around to treat us as more of an eccentric novelty than with the previous cruelty they had shown to Dev as a youngster.

To address our desire to effect real change in people’s lives, we opened a safe house for children. They can stay, learn a trade, get a hug, eat three squares and sleep in a warm bed at night. We can’t save them all, but we do our absolute best.

I also finally uncovered the mystery to Devlin’s torture chamber back in Lordship. Once he had inherited his parents’ fortune, he had used much of it to purchase an old asylum. He had stripped it of its outdated, miserable treatment devices and made it into a real hospital where people could go and be safe while doctors tried to learn more about their patients’ psychological disorders.

Devlin kept the items in the hopes of using them to demonstrate the cruelty many mental-health patients were forced to endure. He felt certain that if people saw them and were faced with the brutality of it all, they too would be spurred into taking action. Already, we have two hospitals in England agreeing to try alternative and humane treatments.

I’ve used my goggles once a year for a time-traveling adventure. When we travel now, we go to the past and do a little “collecting” for Gilly’s House. The trips keep my instincts sharp and the coffers full when we have a lot of mouths to feed.

We never go to the future. We’re exactly where we’re meant to be, and the lure to stay would be too strong. In the interest of full disclosure, however, we did go to 2010 one time, right in the beginning. We didn’t stay long, just long enough for me to stock up on a lifetime supply of essentials like Advil and chocolate. Devlin got to try pizza and ice cream. He also got a look at automobiles, television, an airplane and porn. He is infinitely curious about all things twenty-first century. I spend a lot of time sewing lingerie to model for him, drawing pictures of various inventions like the iPod and explaining why anyone would pay money for a bottle of water or a sweater for a dog. The conversations typically go something like this:

“So a person buys a dog?”

“Right.”

“And then they get the dog’s fur cut?”

“We call it ‘groomed.’ But yup.”

“And then they buy a sweater for it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But it sort of came with a sweater right from the start.”

“True.”

“So why did they shave it in the first place?”

“Great question. But sometimes even if they don’t even shave it, they just get the sweater anyway in case the dog gets chilled.”

“Oh. So they treat them like people.”

“Bingo.”

“What’s ‘Bingo’?”

And then it starts all over again.

Our days are pretty full with the children, and any spare time is spent inventing. Our Magnificent Flying Contraption is almost complete.

Devlin also built us a glorious bath for two, and I must say showers are overrated. In fact, when we were testing out our new tub for the first time, we created a miracle. Our daughter Molly will be one-year-old next month. With her father’s soulful eyes and mop of curls, and her mother’s sense of adventure and steely time-pirate resolve, she is trouble with a capital
T.
Her uncle Bacon adores her and the two of them spend hours playing games together. I only wish Gilly could have met her. She would have stolen his heart for sure.

Bacon’s met a lovely young girl named Catherine and they are fast becoming an item. They help out with the children and we have a lot of laughs together. Bacon never was a very good time pirate and he was happy to give it up for good. A simpler guy cut out for simpler times, I think, and far too guileless to be a good pirate, in any case.

I don’t know what the future holds. Scratch that. I guess I actually kind of do.
But
I know there are no guarantees in life, and that’s okay with me. Devlin, Molly, Bacon, Gilly’s House, they’re all worth the risk. And even though sometimes I crave a mochaccino desperately, I know my namesake had it right. There’s no place like home.

About the Author

Christine Bell is one half of the happiest couple in the world. She and her handsome hubby currently reside in Pennsylvania with a four-pack of teenage boys and their two dogs, Gimli and Pug. If she gets time off from her duties as maid, chef, chauffeur or therapist, she can be found reading just about anything she can get her hands on, from young adult novels to books on poker theory. She doesn’t like root beer, clowns or bugs (except ladybugs, on account of their cute outfits), but lurrves chocolate, going to the movies, the New York Giants and playing Texas Hold ’Em. Writing is her passion, but if she had to pick another occupation, she would be a pirate…or, like, a ninja maybe. When she isn’t writing steampunk romance, she’s writing erotic romance under her pen name, Chloe Cole. Christine loves to hear from readers, so please contact her through her website, www.christine-bell.com.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9152-6

Copyright © 2011 by Christine O’Neil-Bell

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