Epilogue
It had taken another two months for them to be in a position to pronounce their vows.
Lady Lindale had employed Marcus Sheffield as Vincent’s tutor, and it was decided that the boy would remain at Babbington Hall with Jocelyn while all the legal paperwork was completed.
Meanwhile, Edward resided at Maitland Manor during that time, but he could often be found at Babbington, enjoying the pleasures of kissing his betrothed and praying for the day when they could pronounce their vows. Babbington Hall was obviously much easier than his traveling all the way to the Essex and Kent border to spend an afternoon with Jocelyn. Meanwhile, his intended had called on the estate’s cottagers and many of the local businesses, creating bonds and trust, just as Mrs. Darcy had instructed her to do. Jocelyn often insisted both Vincent and the boy’s new tutor attend to these calls with her. All of them needed to be both seen and heard as the new, yet permanent, faces of the earldom.
Also at Jocelyn’s insistence, they agreed to marry in the local parish church, though his mother had lobbied for the family church in Derbyshire. “If we are to become the face of both the manor and the earldom until Vincent reaches his majority, it is important for the people depending upon the estate for their existence to view us as part of the community,” his lovely intended had stubbornly declared.
Without a doubt, Edward did not care, as long as they were married; therefore, he wisely took his future wife’s side over his mother. “Doing so will mean a happier life,” he had told Darcy.
It was also decided that, for the immediate future, either Matlock or Darcy would call regularly on Babbington, at least once each fortnight, especially when Edward was away with his duties, until the community understood young Babcock’s future was in good hands. One of the most powerful land owners in all of England and a well-known earl would see that all was executed as it should be and there was some form of accountability in place.
As he had promised, his father had expedited the promotion, and, on this, Edward’s wedding day, he proudly wore his full regalia as a major-general. He waited at the front of the church for his soon-to-be-bride to make her entrance. The crowd outside the church was equal to, if not larger, than the one inside. Two earls, counting Vincent, a viscount, and a baron all at the same time in their local church had many residing within the parish more than a bit curious. Add to that, the fact one of the richest men in England, along with the man’s wife, were to stand as witness for the recently-engaged couple’s marriage, people from all about were in a celebratory mood. His brother Lindale had stood good for a drink for all at the local inn, while Lords Romfield and Matlock had had a small basket of goods delivered to each home in the village, as well as the surrounding home farms, attached to the estate.
Nervous as he had ever been, Edward again thought to straighten the cut of his uniform, but Darcy cut short the action by leaning forward to say, “It is time.”
Edward swallowed the mixture of anxiety and pure relief rushing to his chest. He nodded to Lady Romfield as the woman scurried up the aisle to claim her seat next to her husband and young Andrew Romfield on the second row. His mother and father, along with his brother, Lady Lindale, and the woman’s two daughters, shared a bench at the front of the church.
With a slight clearing of Darcy’s throat as a reminder, Edward turned to his cousin to hand his hat off to Darcy. Edward had been holding it out of an ingrained habit. His cousin immediately turned to hand it to Vincent. The boy beamed with pride at being included in the ceremony. The child’s presence at the front of the church had been a relatively late decision by Jocelyn, who had declared, “If not for Vincent, we would never have come to be together.” Edward disagreed: He thought it more Fate than Elizabeth Darcy’s manipulations, but he held no real objection to the boy being part of the ceremony. Lord Vincent immediately handed the box holding the ring Edward had designed for Jocelyn off to Darcy. They were all set for his bride’s entrance.
Then everyone rose, initially blocking his view of the church’s aisle where his beloved Jocelyn stood. Elizabeth was assisting with the fullness of the dress, which Jocelyn had refused to alter to the “English style.”
“Trust me, Edward,” she had said several weeks back, “in a year, all in London will have abandoned their empire design for something more feminine.”
In truth, he had not protested one way or the other. Whatever Jocelyn chose to wear was insignificant; all he saw was the woman he loved. At length, she stood beside him. Immediately, the rector overseeing the Babbington vicarage and who insisted it would he to marry such distinguished members of the aristocracy cleared his throat to say, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this Congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy Matrimony.” Beyond that, Edward’s mind began to wander. For a man who had never thought to know happiness, this was all so real, and he wished to enjoy all the moments making up the essence of this day.
All too quickly, the rector was saying, “Edward Richard George Fitzwilliam, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health, and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.”
The rector asked for the same pledge from Jocelyn and received a like response. Meanwhile, Edward marveled at how his lady love did not appear nervous, but rather assured. He supposed she should be confident, for he had professed his devotion often enough since she had accepted the offer of his hand.
Her father placed Jocelyn’s hand in Edward’s and the rector instructed Edward to repeat the “I plight thee my troth” speech. They switched hands, and Jocelyn spoke her “for better or for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health” pledge.
The blessing of the ring followed and Edward’s promise to her. “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods, I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
There were instructed to kneel, which proved a bit comical for the both of them for Jocelyn initially caught the heel of her shoe in the hem of her gown and kneeling with a sword about one’s waist is never as easy as one would think. The fact they had both “stumbled” into the blessing of their marriage had them each grinning widely. They were truly perfectly matched.
The rector directed his prayer to those gathered within the church and then delivered his “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder” warning before he spoke to the congregation of the seriousness of marriage vows, added another blessing, read two psalms, and while Edward and Jocelyn were still kneeling before the Lord’s Table, the rector said, “Lord have mercy upon us,” with those gathered within and without the church responding in the prescribed manner, as all of them had done all their lives. Such was followed by more prayers addressing the blessing of their children, if God’s hand permitted it, along with prayers regarding the duties of a man and his wife, and finally they received Holy Communion.
At last, he stood and assisted Jocelyn to her feet, before leaning down to kiss her briefly. Turning together, they caught hands. Darcy slapped Edward joyously on the back, and Elizabeth presented Jocelyn a quick embrace. A round of applause followed. They stood, grinning widely for the world to take note of their commitment to each other. They were man and wife, at last.
* * *
Jocelyn looked across the room to where her husband stood with his brother Lindale and Mr. Darcy. Although his lips spoke of his responded to the pair, his eyes remained on her. Those gathered to celebrate their marriage had thinned to just the family. In preparation for just such a situation, Jocelyn had chosen a suite of rooms in a different wing from where the others would be housed. Such did not completely guarantee their privacy, but she believed Elizabeth Darcy would take it on herself to guarantee Jocelyn and her beloved Edward would not be disturbed.
She glanced to the ring on her finger. As much as she loved her husband’s great-grandmother’s ring, she planned to leave it on her right hand. The one Edward had placed on her left hand today was absolutely stunning. It was a combination of her mother’s betrothal ring and a like one belonging to Lady Matlock. The jeweler, a Mr. Francis Grose, who had designed King George’s crown, had not only braided the two bands together, but he had rearranged all the jewels so they complemented each other perfectly. Jocelyn had always loved the circle of mid-sized diamonds on her mother’s ring, but adding them to the gold-banded solitaire of Lady Matlock’s was absolutely spectacular.
“You are the hope of both our families,” her husband had whispered when he caught her admiring the ring earlier in the evening. “I pray I have not misjudged. Is it too much?” he asked. “You will wear it?”
Something greater than both of them would have to rip it from her finger as they placed her in her grave. She reached up to stroke his jawline to soften his concern. The diamonds caught the overhead light and banked the flame of fairylike magic across his chiseled features. She loved this man with all her heart. “Forever, my husband. Forever.”
* * *
As he had done so for the last few hours, Edward watched his wife as she circled the room, obviously expressing her gratitude to each within. When she finally reached his side, she said softly, “I am going up now.”
“Do you require my escort?”
She smiled knowingly. “There is no other who would do as well.”
Edward did not require more inspiration. He took her hand and placed it on his arm before turning their steps towards the main staircase. “Are you nervous?” he asked. “I promise to treat you tenderly.”
“I hold no doubt of your honor, my husband.”
He sighed heavily. He had to exercise control, but the idea of her in his arms tonight and every night was quite overwhelming. He escorted her to her quarters and opened the door to note a maid waiting for her within.
Jocelyn rose up on her toes to present him a brief kiss. “Thirty minutes, or do you require longer, sir?”
“I require nothing but you, Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” he responded as he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.
“I warrant the wait shall be worth the time. A dip in rosewater and a gown . . . Well, you must simply see it to appreciate it.”
He felt the tug of his member and bowed grandly. “You have piqued both my interest and my desire, love.”
“Thirty minutes,” she repeated, before slipping into the room and teasingly closing the door, inch by delicious inch.
When he heard the click, he was finally able to release the breath he had held. With the clock ticking in his head, he entered the chambers set aside for him to find both Darcy’s Mr. Sheffield and the young footman Edward had selected to be his valet.
“Mr. Darcy thought I might be of service to you by assisting Mr. McKane with your uniform, sir,” Sheffield insisted as he reached for Edward’s belt. “As I have been of service to you often at Pemberley and Darcy House.”
“I would not wish to fail you, sir,” McKane said awkwardly.
Edward wanted to laugh. Instead, he said, “We will permit Mr. Sheffield to lead, but I mean to send Darcy’s man back to my cousin as quickly as I am out of this uniform, so watch carefully.”
“Yes, sir.”
Like clockwork, Sheffield began to work Edward’s buttons free, while explaining to McKane the meaning of each ribbon and the epaulets. “You will wish to hang, rather than to fold, the major general’s jacket to permit any wrinkles to drop. Generally, the major general prefers to shave himself, but, as this is a special evening, with his permission, I will remove the shadow on his chin, while you set out towels for his bath.” When McKane rushed to do Sheffield’s bidding, Darcy’s long-time servant, said softly, “He is eager to learn. Such is half the battle.”
Edward’s mind was on his bride. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam only provided me thirty minutes.”
Sheffield smiled. “I understand perfectly, sir.”
Wearing only his trousers and his silk banyan, thirty-five minutes later, he tapped on the door that separated their bed chambers.
“Come,” Jocelyn called, and he sucked in a breath before turning the latch. He took but one step within her quarters before being brought up short. He had imagined this moment since he realized the children’s governess and his betrothed were one and the same, but his ‘dreams’ of Jocelyn were proving to be poor imitations of the reality of the woman.
She stood before him in a creamy pink Grecian goddess-style gown with narrow jeweled straps that hid little of her décolletage and shoulders. He looked to her right shoulder to view how well she had healed.
Her eyes followed his. “I put a bit of powder on it. I did not wish you to be concentrating on that one spot and wondering if you would harm me if you jarred it in some manner.”
“Trust me,” he said. “I am memorizing every inch of you and all this moment entails.”
“I did not take my hair down,” she rushed to say. “I thought you might wish the pleasure of doing so.”
A groan of desire escaped Edward’s lips before he could stifle it. “You have bewitched me body and soul, Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” he whispered as he stepped closer and lifted his hand to claim the first of the pins which still loosely held her chignon in place. “Thank you for considering my desire to run my fingers through your hair.”
“Mrs. Darcy said her husband is always fascinated by Elizabeth’s thick hair and its length,” she admitted. “I thought you might be of the same nature.”
Edward dropped each of the pins on the floor at his feet, meticulously working his way through her hair, enjoying the silkiness of her tresses as they slid through his fingers. When her hair was down, it fell to the small of her back. “Absolutely breathtaking,” he murmured as he bent to kiss her.
Jocelyn’s arms slid upward to rest across the back of his neck, and her lips parted beneath his, allowing him to discover the delectable heat within. He had waited so long to explore the sweet elixir of her mouth. He warned himself several times to proceed at a slower pace, but an urge he did not recognize demanded he should move with exigency.
A soft moan escaped her lips, and his member hardened further. He made himself step back and slow down his desire for her. They were both gasping for air, but she reached for the one button that was holding his banyan closed. “Permit me to look upon my husband.” She leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on his breastbone before sliding the banyan off his shoulders. Her administrations were both agony and erotic pleasure at the same time. Her fingers traced the planes of his chest. They lingered over a scar on his shoulder.
“A wound from my time on the American continent,” he groaned as she kissed that particular spot.
“We shall match each other perfectly,” she whispered against his skin.
“My turn,” he said through breathy tones. He reached for one of the jeweled trimmed straps and edged it off the tip of her shoulder. “You are so magnificently beautiful,” he rasped. “How can a man of my countenance claim such a woman?”
She caught his hand. “You have said something similar on other occasions, but be warned, sir, I shall not tolerate such talk again. Do you understand me, Major General? I chose you because you are the best man I could ever hope to encounter. You protect those you love, and I find myself blessed by your protection, as well as knowing the true strength of your character. I have met men who are supposedly, as you say, in possession of a finer countenance, but none of them moved me as did you. Have you no recollection of our sitting in a circle and watching young Bennet Darcy take his first steps? I knew something grand was happening between us. Did not you?”
“One of the most favorite moments of my life,” he admitted. “It was the first time my heart whispered your name, even though the name did not quite fit the woman who had invaded both my heart and my mind. You were never a ‘Rose’ in my heart, but you were immediately ‘my heart,’ no matter your name. Finally, the name ‘Jocelyn’ was written upon it, and all is well, at last.”
Never removing her eyes from his, she stepped back a few inches and reached up to remove first the strap he had lowered, as well as the remaining one, to bare her shoulders for his inspection. She held the gown to her breast, before doing the unexpected. “I love you, Edward Fitzwilliam,” she announced as she freed the straps from her grasp and permitted the gown to slither down her body, exposing herself to him in all her glory.
Another groan of desire escaped, but he did not immediately reach for her. There was something elemental and generous about her action. She was not only presenting him her body, but the true gift of her heart. He was humbled by her gesture, as well as sporting as hard of an arousal as he had ever known.
The moonlight streamed through the large windows. Her breathing grew labored—the inhale and exhale loud, even to his ears. They stood, staring at each other for an elongated moment. Somehow, her eyes had gathered up both the starlight and the candlelight of the two tapers left burning. Bits of fire flickered as her eyes opened wider. Streams of silver moonlight melted over the swell of her breasts and crept downward, stopping short of her thighs.
“Edward?” she asked in questioning tones, and he realized she probably thought he disapproved of her actions. Her tone jolted him from his apparent self-imposed trance. It only took a moment for him to dispense with the rest of his clothing. Then, he reached for her, scooping her up in his arms, to deposit her on the bed, where he followed her down. Nothing mattered but the fact they were finally to be joined. To sate a need in each of them—one as old as time itself. A moment of oneness.
“I swear, Jocelyn, I will love none but you, for you are the noblest and dearest person God ever placed in my path.”
* * *
That was the first night of many to follow. They spent some thirteen years at Babbington, serving, first, as Vincent’s guardians, and, then, as his advisors, before being called back to Lincolnshire, where they had first met.
Though he did not pull the trigger himself, Philip Jennings was hanged for attempting to murder an earl, and the man’s family, as well as that of Lady Marksham, was deported to a penal colony. The gossip was intense, and, therefore, Edward and Jocelyn had chosen to keep Vincent out of school a bit longer to permit the tales to die down.
Fortunately, for the boy, during their time at Babbington, Vincent and Andrew became ready friends. Her dear husband said they reminded him of his and Darcy’s relationship. Andrew protected Vincent and led the young earl through each social evening they encountered, and Vincent stood at the ready to assist Andrew in finding her brother’s own happily ever after, with, of all people, Lady Victoria Jennings. Vincent imagined himself as playing at “cupid” between the two.
Over those thirteen years, Elizabeth Darcy delivered her husband five healthy children in total. The pair had followed through on their plans, and their part of Derbyshire had become a thriving area, offering employment, modernization, and growth.
Although she and Edward had implemented many of the same innovations and improvements, their Yorkshire neighbors picked and chose what they would accept without destroying their “character.” The Darcys said it was because Darcy’s family had been in Derbyshire for two hundred years, while those in Yorkshire were often thought of as simply “stubborn.” Perhaps Vincent had come by the characteristic naturally. The boy had come, over the years, to repeat often, “You can always tell a Yorkshireman, but you can’t tell him much.”
When his brother Roland Fitzwilliam finally passed, she and Edward assumed their roles at William’s Wood. It was often comical when someone referred to them as Lord and Lady Lindale, and they forgot to respond. Her husband was five and forty, and she was four and thirty when they transitioned to being a viscount and viscountess. They were no longer young aristocrats. Their eldest son Martin Joseph Roland Fitzwilliam, named after Lord Matlock and her father was nearly twelve at the time.
Lady Lindale moved to a smaller estate purchased specifically for the lady a few years before Lindale lost his final battle. Lord Lindale had kept his promise to the woman and she to him. Roland Fitzwilliam had seen Lady Annabelle married to a baronet from Staffordshire and Lady Victoria married to Jocelyn’s brother. They all privately thought it ironic that Annabelle would be part of the gentry, rather than part of the aristocracy, though none of them spoke openly of her place in society. Mr. Darcy and her sweet Edward considered the similarities between Annabelle and their aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who was also an earl’s daughter, but had married down, supposedly for love. The two men made a bet that Annabelle would be a bigger terror than their aunt, who still intimidated Jocelyn on a regular basis. Only Elizabeth Darcy appeared to ignore the woman’s protestations.
Their Martin was nearly seventeen when Major General Edward Fitzwilliam, Lord Lindale, became the 17th Earl of Matlock, with his father’s passing. “I had hoped never to know this day,” Edward admitted as they dressed for the memorial service to be held in honor of his father.
“You have nothing to fear,” she told him as she straightened the lapels of his mourning coat. “You are well prepared for this new identity. Every step we have taken over the last eighteen years was meant to fulfill your legacy.”
As was customary with him, her husband shrugged his response. She knew he worried if he was worthy of the earldom, but, in Jocelyn’s private opinion, her husband was the reason the earldom had not suffered during his father’s long illness.
“Are the children prepared?” he asked, though she knew they would be.
“I am leaving Susan here. I did not think it wise for her to consider her Grandfather Mat no longer about to give her rides in his carriage or sneak her a piece of candy when we specifically said she could not have more sweets. She is but five and will not understand, but the others are waiting below.”
He held the door for her so she might proceed him, but when they reached the foyer, his features soften when he saw five of their six children, dressed in black, staring up at him. Behind them stood Lord Vincent Jennings, the Earl of Babcock, all of them awaiting Edward’s inspection.
“Are you well, Papa?” Tessa, their eight-year-old, asked. The child followed her father around as if she were his shadow. She adored him, and he adored her.
“I am now, pumpkin,” her husband said with a small smile.
Edward caught Vincent up in a very masculine hug. “It is good of you to come, boy,” he said, sounding very much like his late father.
“I am glad to be here, sir, but I fear I cannot stay for long. Lady Alicia is close to her next lying in, and I must be there for her. I pray you will forgive me,” Vincent said, and Jocelyn’s eyes filled with tears, for Lord Vincent was their “first child,” and he was so grown up now.
“Naturally, your duty is to your wife. Once the new child arrives and this time of mourning for the Fitzwilliams is complete, please say you and Alicia and your family will come to Maitland Manor for a longer stay. Perhaps at Christmastide.”
“We would like that, sir. I thought I might take Tessa and Susan up with me,” Vincent said. “I told Tessa I would share tales of their grandfather and their parents the others have tired of hearing me repeat.” Vincent smiled that special smile that had always melted Jocelyn’s heart.
“You may take Tessa, but I am leaving Susan here. Would you like that, Tessa?” Jocelyn asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” the child said with glee.
“Then go along with Lord Babcock. Your father and I will follow closely.”
“The family carriages are outside, Father,” Martin announced with authority. “I will ride with Grandmama in the smaller.”
“I am appreciative of your care of the dowager countess,” Jocelyn assured her eldest.
“I will ride with our grandmother and Martin,” their fifteen-year-old, Louisa said. “I will keep Martin from being so domineering. He tormented Rowan while we waited for you, until Lord Babcock shushed him.”
As Martin, Louisa, and Edward’s mother exited, Jocelyn asked, “What did Martin say to you, Rowan?”
The boy was twelve and was the one who most resembled his father. “Martin says I am a spare,” the child admitted as he dug the toe of his shoe into the rug. “I do not want to be a spare. I want to be a soldier, like Papa.”
“Your father was the ‘spare’ for these fifty years of his life,” Jocelyn explained to their newly-minted twelve-year-old before her husband could respond, “and you are proud of him, are you not? You just said you wanted to be a soldier. Was that just to impress your father?”
“No, ma’am. I want to be exactly like Papa,” he said obediently.
“Then being a spare is a grand thing. For, from the first day he was born, your father was the spare in the Fitzwilliam family. That was not a demeaning position to have. As the spare, Mr. Edward Fitzwilliam has stood head and shoulders above ordinary men. First, your father rose to the rank of Major General in the King’s army, serving this great country for more than a dozen years and on his own terms. He made men out of boys and protected us all. The eventual heir to an earldom would not have been permitted to respond to England’s need, as did your father. Later, as an honored viscount, he stood in the House of Commons and wrote, as well as supported laws to protect all British citizens. Now, he will be an earl and sit in the House of Lords. He has done all that as a ‘spare.’ Should you not also like to have such influence on every thing you touched and every person you encountered? One can do things as a ‘spare’ that is not permitted to a person who is of the peerage. Do not misunderstand me. I hope, when it is time, Martin proves to be a great leader of the landed aristocrats, but I would wish you to be an equally superior leader for the common man. Without each of you, this country will falter. You must work together for the good of United Kingdom. Your father has done all this very much by himself, for your Uncle Roland was often ill. Your father and I would have you share the responsibilities with your brother. You, most assuredly, do not think your father unworthy of such accolades, do you?”
“No, ma’am. Papa is the very best,” the boy declared.
“He truly is the best of men, my son,” Jocelyn declared. She turned to where her husband looked on. He had a bit of gray at his temples and there were a few more lines upon his cheeks, but she still considered him the most compelling man of her acquaintance.
“We do not wish to be late,” Edward said when he realized they all looked to him to lead.
Yet, Jocelyn held back as Rowan and their ten-year-old Rueben scampered into the waiting carriage. “Thank you for the kind words,” her husband said softly as they crossed to the earl’s coach.
“Nonsense,” she declared. “You are necessary to me and the children, not just for our happiness and our peace, but for offering a hand to guide us through our ever-changing life. We would be lost if you did not take the lead, and I must say in all honesty, it has been a wonderful life, my love. I have never regretted one day with you. So, I do not wish you ever to think of yourself as a ‘spare,’ nor should Rowan, for your family has ceased to have any desires or wishes or hopes that are not bound up with you. You were never the spare or the son in waiting, but, rather, you are the life through which the Fitzwilliam family flows. Through which it continues to flow and prosper. We would be nothing without you, Edward. I would be nothing if you had not saved me from myself. I would have no other choice of husband—no other man in my life. Not for even a day. Nor for one moment. Now, let us turn the page and begin the next chapter of our lives. I pity those in the Lords when you arrive. If they thought your father was a tough nut to break, they will learn how powerful the Matlock earldom is when they begin to count your friends in the Commons and more than a few thousand former soldiers who still call you ‘Colonel’ and who will do your bidding in building an even stronger nation. I am glad to claim a privileged seat for the performance of a lifetime.”
~ Finis ~