Epilogue
Thornsby, Yorkshire 8 Months Later
A grown man of three and thirty did not gawk at something so pedestrian as the countryside. And certainly, he did not press his nose against the carriage window to better see said view. With no one but his wife to see, Arthur supposed it didn’t matter in the slightest, but had the carriage been stuffed beyond capacity, he couldn’t have resisted the urge when she was doing precisely the same.
Violet’s eyes were bright as they followed the rolling dales. “I love the moors. It reminds me of home.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Arthur smiled. “We can finally breathe again.”
“London was not as bad as all that,” said Violet as she settled into the crook of his arm. “I must have an entire trunk full of books Mr. Motley suggested.”
“To say nothing of your tools,” he added with a wry smile. The old apothecary who lived around the corner from his family had taken quite a liking to her, and Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if the fellow sent her a steady stream of periodicals and tomes on herbology and medicines along with the latest gadgets to be found in London hospitals and apothecaries.
Violet hummed with pleasure before reaching into her valise to retrieve her book. Pulling out the missive that served as her marker, she shook her head. “I still find it difficult to accept Lilibet’s letter. Despite knowing that things would need to change, I hadn’t anticipated Isaac leaving medicine altogether.”
“It is a bit surprising, I suppose, but I would hazard a guess he will be a better banker than a physician. Assuming his father-in-law is patient and knows how to keep him on task.”
Stuffing the letter further back into the book, she sighed and settled once more. “But Isaac detests sums and figures, and Lilibet has yet to specify what he is to be doing in this new position her father offered him.”
“With his social skills, Isaac would be a dab hand with investors. There is so much speculation flying about nowadays, and most schemes have a handsome face and a ready smile at the forefront of the venture to lure in more funds,” said Arthur, bringing his arm around her shoulders. “And more than anything, some people simply do not excel at being their own master. Isaac’s flaw was laziness, not ability or intelligence. From what you’ve said, he thrived under your father, and I would hazard a guess that he might do so under his father-in-law’s guidance.”
“I—” But Violet snapped her mouth shut as her complexion grew ashen.
Arthur moved his hand to the door latch, ready to open it the moment it was needed, but she drew in a deep breath and seemed to settle again. Tugging off his glove, he felt her forehead and pulse.
“We are almost there, dearest.”
Violet waved it off. “Serves me right for trying to read in the carriage.”
Arthur held back a smile, not allowing it to show even the barest hint in his expression. He didn’t know how long she would insist on clinging to the charade, but he wasn’t going to press the issue. Not yet.
Settling back once more, their eyes turned to the landscape, and Arthur pressed a kiss to his wife’s head. Her hand rested on his chest, and her fingers fiddled with the lapels of his jacket in a way that never failed to send warm pulses through him. Seven months of marriage, and he still hadn’t grown used to the feeling.
In the distance, they spied the first signs of the village, and the guard blasted his horn, announcing their arrival to all and sundry. Leaning forward once more, the pair watched as Thornsby came into sight. The main thoroughfare cut a path through the cottages and buildings that were pressed up to the roadway, their signs swinging with the breeze. More buildings spanned outward; in the distance, they spied the church spire, and a distant boom of the bell marked the passing hour.
“It looks so much like Oakham, yet it feels entirely different,” she said.
Arthur nodded, though he couldn’t put his finger on precisely why that was. The door opened, and he stepped down, offering his hand to Violet. Eight months since their engagement, yet she still glanced at it as though uncertain what to do with the gentlemanly overture, and once more, Arthur cursed the gentlemen of Devon who hadn’t seen fit to make such little kindnesses commonplace for her.
Violet slid her hand through his arm, and they examined the street. Just ahead, they spied what looked to be a village square, though the bend in the road hid it from view. Arthur tossed a few coins to a manservant at the coaching inn with instructions to watch over their trunks before leading her back the way they’d come.
“All will be well,” she said, squeezing his forearm, and Arthur relaxed the muscles he hadn’t known were tensed.
“I seem to recall a lady who detests when others say that to her,” he said with a narrowed look and a hint of a smile that softened the hard edges of the expression .
“Yes, but this isn’t an empty platitude. We did our research, considered our options, and I am certain this will be wonderful,” she said whilst leaning into his side.
Arthur drew in a deep breath and hoped for the best. Their time in London had allowed them to replenish their coffers and not rush such an important decision, but having never seen their new town or home, it was impossible not to feel the strain of uncertainty. To which he reminded himself that Oakham may not have been the paradise he’d searched for, but his time there had ended well for him. And his wife.
“Even if it isn’t, we will simply return to London,” she said, repeating the decision they’d made long before making this step. Of course, relocating yet again wouldn’t be so simple, but Violet’s calm helped him to calm himself as well.
“Usually, it is me who is assuring you.”
Violet drew in a deep breath and let it out, beaming at the world around her. “I just feel it in my bones, Arthur. This is the place. I know it.”
Having read Mr. Rothschild’s letter a dozen times, he knew the directions well enough, though the carriage had been passing the houses too quickly to tell which was theirs. Violet’s attention drifted all about, but Arthur’s gaze was fixed forward as he led her to the far end of town. Counting the buildings, he stopped in front of one that was set back from the road a little, and the sign affixed to the gate read “Hawthorne House.”
The cottage retained the old timber look, though it had been well-maintained over the years. The plaster between the beams was bright and unmarred, and the stonework that decorated along the bottom few feet looked as though it had been scrubbed clean. Ivy wound along the corners, and the first flowers of spring were just making themselves known, bringing forth bright bursts of yellows, pinks, and oranges. Climbing roses outlined the doorway, and in summer, the blossoms would likely fill the entire house with their fragrance.
Peace swept over him with such force that Arthur could barely breathe. Violet had been correct. This was the place they’d been looking for, and the last of his nerves swept away in the rightness of their being here. This was their home. Their dream.
Pushing the front gate open, he motioned for Violet to enter, and her face split into a grin. Lifting her skirts, she hurried round the side and examined the gardens behind.
“It is enormous!” she said, nearly dancing on her tiptoes as she beamed at him. “Magnificent!”
But Arthur’s attention never wavered from Violet. Light shone from within her eyes, brightening the whole of her. Tendrils of her hair had escaped their pins, framing her face as they bobbed on the breeze. And though she beckoned him to come, Arthur couldn’t move at the sight of her.
His wife. His Violet.
Arthur didn’t understand the blindness of men, but he sent a prayer of thanks heavenward that he was reaping the reward of their short-sightedness. Never was a man more blessed than he.
*
Running had been a mistake. Violet realized it the moment she’d begun, but the damage was done, and she couldn’t wait to see the gardens Mr. Rothschild had promised were everything she longed for. And they didn’t disappoint. Neat beds were sectioned off with a few bare patches for her to place the seeds she’d brought from the physic garden in Chelsea, but most beds were already planted and awaiting her tender ministrations.
Now, she simply had to avoid casting up her accounts atop them.
Pressing a hand to her stomach, Violet gazed back at her husband. Good gracious, Arthur Vaughn cut a fine figure, made all the finer when he looked at her with such admiration. And despite so many months of receiving such expressions, her cheeks heated as though this were the first time.
They were finally here. And she could finally tell him her secret. In all the effort leading to this moment, she’d nearly missed the signs, but she was certain now, and there wasn’t a better time to share it.
“Look here,” said Arthur, pressing his nose to the front windows. “Mr. Rothschild’s workroom is perfect.”
Violet drew in a sharp breath and hurried to his side, where they peered through the windows like sneak thieves. It was just as magnificent as the gardens. The old physician was clearly a meticulous man who took pride in his work, and the offices were everything she’d hoped for; Violet couldn’t wait and tried the door handle—only to sigh at finding it locked.
Her husband drew closer, folding his arms around her. “Patience, my love. The solicitor should be here before long with the keys, and then we can explore properly.”
“I suppose we will just have to bide our time,” she said, settling her arms around his neck.
“I suppose we will,” he said with a grin whilst leaning closer, though Arthur paused just short of kissing her.
“I have a secret to tell you,” she whispered with a coy smile.
“Do you?” he said with a raise of his brows.
Violet nodded, her eyes brightening as she gazed into his. “It is a little surprise right now, and we will have to wait for some months until it arrives.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Is it a seedling?”
“Of a sort,” she replied with a tone heavy with insinuation.
With a considering hum, he paused before asking, “Did you bring a cutting from Mrs. Finch’s roses?”
“No, dearheart.” Violet straightened and stared at him. How did he not realize what she was referring to? It wasn’t as though her hints were subtle. “I expect you will be very pleased about it.”
Arthur pondered it another moment before shaking his head. “Is it a horse? I know we need to purchase one—”
“Not a horse, Arthur,” she said, pushing away from him with a frown. “Why would I be so excited about a horse? ”
Grabbing her hand, Arthur pressed a kiss to her palm. “Peace, dearest. I am guessing that this gift will arrive in about six months.”
Violet’s brows rose at that as she fitted herself in his arms once more. “You know?”
Arthur’s chuckle vibrated through them both. “Wife, I am a physician, and I would be a poor one, indeed, if I didn’t recognize the signs.”
Heart falling to her toes, Violet gaped at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because you wanted to surprise me. Unfortunately, I am not good at acting, else I would’ve put on a better show of being astonished,” he said as his hands rubbed at her back, and whatever hurt she might’ve felt (which was little at best) melted away.
Violet had wanted some grand shout of excitement or some other overdone display of emotion, but she ought to have known better. It wasn’t in Arthur’s nature. But her husband’s eyes glowed with such pleasure, and her heart flushed with it.
He held her fast, his eyes growing misty and his lips trembling slightly as he whispered, “Our dream is coming true.”
Violet’s breath caught, and her pulse quickened. “That it is, my love.”
But she couldn’t say anything else, for Arthur swept her up in a kiss that erased all thought from her mind .