Epilogue
Several Months Later
“K itty! Kitty, come ’ere, it’s snowing! ” Jack’s voice rang through the garland-draped halls of Hill House, causing both Kitty and William to freeze.
“Not a word,” Kitty warned in a low voice, wagging her finger in front of her husband’s face. They were both occupying the same chair. William was sitting on it and she was sitting on him , her skirts rucked up past her knees while his hands clasped her bottom.
After hosting his mother for the past month and her sister for the month before that, this was the first moment of alone time they’d been able to steal during the middle of the day. She wasn’t about to let Jack ruin it.
“KITTY! WHERE ARE YE?”
William chuckled softly. “You know she’s been hoping for a white Christmas. We can pick this up after dinner.”
“It’s snow,” Kitty groaned even as she slid off to the side and made herself presentable. “Cold, wet, lumpy snow. How exciting can it be?”
“Katherine—”
“I’m going, I’m going .” Tromping out of the library and into the parlor where Jack stood with her nose pressed to the window, Kitty rolled her eyes before she walked up to the sill and peered out at the street beyond where white flecks lightly fell from a gray, overcast winter sky. “You’re right. It’s snowing. How nice. Did you have a chance to try on the dresses that were delivered from the modiste yesterday? My seamstress will be here in the morning if there are any hems that need to be let down. I swear, you’ve grown another two inches overnight.”
A summer and autumn spent in the country had made Jack sprout like a weed. Her limbs were ganglier than ever and the top of her head nearly reached Kitty’s shoulder. Another year, and she’d likely be on her way to catching up to William. She had grown in other ways, too. When she wasn’t excited and took the time to work on her pronunciation, her speech was coming along beautifully courtesy of weekly tutoring sessions with a very patient instructor. She’d also started dancing lessons and was learning how to properly conduct herself in a public setting. (“Remember your three s ’s,” Kitty reminded her every time they set foot out the door. “No spitting, no shoving, no stealing.”) Her hair was still wild, and she wore trousers whenever she could get away with it, but she was gradually showing signs of improvement. And most importantly, she was now officially Kitty and William’s ward. The three of them were a family, albeit an unlikely one: the marquess, the wastrel’s daughter, and the street urchin. It wasn’t exactly the premise of a traditional happily-ever-after but it was their happily-ever-after, and that was all that mattered.
Kitty and William still fought. They were both too stubborn not to. But they took care to work through their grievances every single evening before they went to bed, and they never awoke with anger or blame in their hearts.
It wasn’t always easy. Then again, perhaps some love—perhaps the most meaningful love—wasn’t supposed to be.
“Want to go outside?” Jack asked brightly, ignoring Kitty’s question. “I want to make a snowman!”
“There isn’t enough snow for a...” Kitty sighed as Jack dashed off with a whoop, “...snowman.”
“Sounds like someone is afraid their snowman won’t pass muster,” William commented from the doorway, his eyes twinkling. He was already dressed for the elements in a scarf and greatcoat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack running gleefully across the front yard, her head thrown back to catch snowflakes on her tongue.
“There’s hardly an inch of snow on the ground,” she protested as she let William pull her toward the foyer. He pulled a heavy wool cloak over her shoulders and pinched her bottom before following her outside, then stood with his arm tucked snug around her waist while they watched their daughter play.
“Aren’t ye going to join me?” Jack called out, flinging a shower of white into the air.
“No,” said Kitty, already shaking her head. “I don’t think so. Emily just curled my hair, and— William! ” Her mouth opened in shock when her husband—her loving, caring, doting husband—dropped a snowball down her back. “Oh, now you’ve done it!”
Jack clapped her approval as the Marquess and Marchioness of Kentwood scrambled into fighting positions, both of them scooping up as much snow as they could find.
“Ready, set, FIRE!” Kitty yelled, launching a ball through the air before quickly ducking behind a tree. She heard a snowball splat against the bark and grinned triumphantly, then squealed when she was pummeled from behind. “Jack! Whose side are you on?”
“A thief is always on her own side,” Jack said with a smirk.
Kitty and William exchanged a glance.
“On the count of three?” she asked, arching a brow.
“What are ye doing?” Jack said warily.
“One,” William nodded, molding another snowball.
“Why are ye looking at me like that?”
“Two.”
“Stop counting.”
“THREE!” they shouted in unison before they launched a coordinated attack that ended with all of them breathless from laughing and covered in snow from head to toe.
“Go and get a bath, then come down to the parlor for hot chocolate,” Kitty instructed Jack, giving her a nudge toward the stairs. She waited until Jack had scampered off before turning toward her husband. “You shouldn’t have done that, you know.”
“Done what?” he said, all roguish innocence.
“Hit me with a snowball! I’m your wife. And now I’m freezing,” she complained with an exaggerated shiver.
“Well in that case,” said William, drawing her into his arms and nuzzling her neck. “Let me warm you up...”
*
In a slightly larger house a few streets away, another couple was warming themselves in front of a roaring fire while snow continued to fall from a darkening sky.
“I believe I’ll go to bed early tonight,” Mara said, muffling a yawn. “I cannot seem to keep my eyes open.”
“Is it the baby?” Ambrose pressed a protective hand to her swollen belly as his dark brows knitted with concern. “Have contractions started? Should I fetch Dr. Chadwick?”
“No,” Mara said for what had to be the hundredth time. Smiling affectionately, she linked her fingers with her husband’s over their growing babe and her heart swelled when she felt an answering flutter... followed by a less comfortable jab to her bladder. “I am not having contractions, and Dr. Chadwick has assured me that they won’t start before Christmas Eve. I’m just tired, Ambrose. Which she has assured me is completely normal at this stage of my pregnancy.”
“How can she be sure? We should get a second opinion. Yes, that’s what we’ll do. First thing in the morning—”
“First thing in the morning, I will still be asleep. It’ll be all right,” she said gently. “The babe will arrive when he or she is ready. I don’t want a second opinion. We came to London specifically to be close to Dr. Chadwick, as you know that she refuses to travel. And Dr. Chadwick is going to be the one who delivers our baby.”
“I’m just worried. For both of you,” Ambrose murmured, lowering his head to press a kiss to the top of her stomach. “If anything goes wrong—”
“Everything will go splendidly. So long as I get myself off to bed.”
“Let me help you up the stairs.”
“I can still climb steps, Ambrose,” said Mara with an exasperated laugh. She knew that her husband meant well. She also knew that he was accustomed to being in control and his anxiousness stemmed from not having any in this particular situation. “Stay down here. Have a glass of brandy. I’ll call you if I need you.” She paused. “I will need help getting out of this sofa.”
It took a few heaves, but once she was finally free she bid Ambrose goodnight and waddled into the foyer. She was just about to start her arduous journey up the stairs when a pounding on the door stopped her. Before the butler could intervene, the door swung inward and Dr. Abigail Chadwick, covered in a dusting of snow, stumbled inside.
The American doctor was a rather peculiar woman. But behind her crooked gold spectacles and big green eyes was an unprecedented level of genius. She wasn’t just a physician. She was the best physician in England, her talents often ignored or unnoticed due to her gender.
“Dr. Chadwick?” Mara said in bemusement. “Did we have an appointment I forgot about? Oh my. Did Ambrose send for you? Because I told him—”
“I require your assistance,” Abigail interrupted. “You have to hide me.”
“Hide you?” she said, startled. “Hide you from what?”
“Not what, whom .” The doctor’s eyes darted nervously behind her spectacles as she looked over her shoulder, as if preparing to be set upon at any second. “My husband. The Earl of Lancaster. He’s here.”