Epilogue
Three Years Later…
T he spring sunshine bathed the gardens of Wakefield in gentle warmth. Lydia sat on a stone bench, her sketchbook open on her lap, though she had made little progress with her drawing. Instead, her gaze kept drifting to the scene before her, one hand resting protectively on her very rounded stomach.
Art was on his knees in the grass, heedless of the damage to his fine breeches, showing their two-year-old daughter how to plant flower seeds. Lilies. They were planting lilies.
Little Eleanor’s chubby hands patted the earth with absolute concentration, her dark curls—so like her father’s—falling across her forehead. Periodically, she would look up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, seeking approval, which Art gave freely with his smile.
“He’s quite transformed,” came a familiar voice.
Lydia turned to find Honoria approaching, elegant as ever in a gown of pale blue. She had arrived yesterday to stay with Lydia during her confinement—the baby was expected any day now.
“Who would have thought the brooding marquess would one day be teaching a child to garden?” Honoria continued, settling beside Lydia on the bench.
“He was never truly brooding,” Lydia replied with a smile.
“Not when he’s with you, no,” Honoria agreed. “How are things with the estates?”
“They are prospering. Although our financial situation could be better, we are not complaining. Just last week, one of Art’s business arrangements didn’t proceed as he’d hoped, but Art will pull us through. He always does.”
“With your help,” Honoria added.
“Intellectual help, yes. But more often than not, it is Eleanor who pulls him out of his rare surly moods. She toddles in with a flower in hand and insists on putting it in his hair. And how can anyone stay in a sour mood with a flower in their hair?”
They laughed together, their gazes on Art and Eleanor, playing in the mud.
“And how is married life treating you?” Lydia inquired, noting the contentment that seemed to radiate from her friend.
Honoria’s eyes sparkled. “I have never been happier.”
Their conversation was interrupted by Art’s approach, carrying Eleanor on his shoulders. The little girl giggled uncontrollably, her small hands buried in her father’s raven-black hair. Lydia squinted, making sure Art had washed the baby’s hands before letting her touch his head.
He had. But not very well. Now his hair was not only dirty but also wet.
“Honoria,” Art greeted with a nod. “A pleasure to see you again. Pardon me, I should have addressed you properly, Lady Ca—”
“Oh, please,” Honoria waved a dismissive hand. “One’s best friend’s husband needn’t ever be so formal.” She reached her arms toward Eleanor. “May I?”
“Oh, but she will muddy your gown!” Lydia protested, but it was too late.
Eleanor reached her tiny hands in response, and Honoria quickly swept her into her arms. Lydia sighed. Nobody cared about cleanliness in this house, it seemed.
“Aren’t you the most charming girl in the world, Lady Eleanor?” Honoria cooed.
“She takes after her mother in that regard,” Art said, his gaze softening as it fell on Lydia.
Even after three years of marriage, that look still made Lydia’s heart flutter.
A footman appeared by their side, panting lightly. “A missive, my lord. It says urgent.”
Art dusted off his hands and reached for the letter. The footman thoughtfully brought a letter opener. Art quickly sliced it open. “Looks like Meli’s seal,” he murmured.
“Miss Monroe?” Honoria raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware she had returned from the Continent.”
“I don’t believe she has,” Lydia said, her gaze on Art. “What does it say?”
Art started reading aloud:
Dearest Arthur and Lydia,
I regret that I am unable to visit you as planned. Certain matters of importance have detained me on the Continent longer than anticipated. I shall be back in a few months—bearing gifts, I promise.
However, I could not miss the opportunity to exercise my right and collect on the last favor owed to me.
Art paused, looking at Lydia with a raised eyebrow before continuing.
Since I will not be present at the birth of your second child, I think it is only fair that I get to name it. Do not despair—I will not insist upon giving the child his or her first name, as I am certain you have already chosen one. However, should the babe be a boy, I request that he bear the name of my great-grandfather, Keyon, as his second name. It is a family name of considerable significance to me. Should the child be a girl, consider this favor unclaimed for now.
I shall visit as soon as circumstances allow.
Yours faithfully,
Melissande
If you’re interested in reading the next installment of the “Inglorious Scoundrels” series, next up is Of Lies and Earls - Honoria’s story.
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