Epilogue
NESTLED PEACEFULLY IN the foothills of the Kent Downs, there was nothing remarkable about the small village of Burham. Bands of intrepid pilgrims en route to Canterbury would have plodded through it without pause. The modest, stocky church of St Mary, standing on the edge of the village and built of local ragstone and flint, was of less interest still. Though, as Kit knowledgeably informed Lando, it boasted not one, but two ancient Norman fonts. In addition to an impressive octagonal stair turret.
He couldn’t see the sea when he stepped down from the landau, nor hear it. Nonetheless, Lando sensed its presence on the breeze, like a living thing, and he pondered whether it smelled the same wherever one was in the world. Charles would have known—as a military man he was much better travelled than Lando.
Yet another one of the many questions he had not been afforded the time to ask.
If one overlooked the rows of headstones silently presiding over their tufty, grassy mounds, then the graveyard in the lee of the southwest tower was anything but grave. The spring morning dawned warm and cheery, coaxing sweet birdsong from the oak branches high above their heads, and gave a fresh, verdant shine to mossy grass underfoot. A day for lovers, not death.
Though far from wealthy, Captain Charles Prosser had not been purse-pinched. Thus, his slate tombstone, sheltered under the sweeping boughs of an aged willow, was well-crafted, the florid lines of script and the two wreathes carved above and below etched as sharply as the day they were engraved.
In Loving Memory of Captain Charles Cedric Prosser 1782- 1818
Thou art gone but always remembered.
Oxeye daisies bloomed at the base, their golden centres scattered through the grass like a hundred tiny suns, a splash of joy in a place where none resided. With an ache in his throat, Lando plucked one, bringing it to his nose to inhale the sweet, subtle perfume.
“He was a good man, Lando,” Kit observed. He’d watched his lover from a distance at first, finding himself in the delicate position of wanting to pay his respects to a deceased beloved uncle, yet also tupping said uncle’s paramour. But now, he drew close.
“The best,” Lando agreed. “You have many of his finer qualities.”
“He would have approved of me finding love again,” Lando continued. “He hated being alone himself; he would not have wished it on me.” Stooping, he uprooted a weed from the carpet of grass and daisies at their feet. “I think he would have liked that it was with you.”
“Do you?”
“Very much.” Lando gave him a watery smile and ran his fingers lightly along the cold slate. “My love once rested with him under this chilled grey stone. There was a time—quite a long time, actually—when I wanted to lie down under it, too, next to my soldier, my hero, my very good friend.”
He gave the stone a gentle pat before stepping back. “But not now.”
Now love stood at his shoulder. It rested a hand in the small of his back. It ran its strong fingers down his knotty thorns, finding beauty in his troublesome edges as well as in the bloom of his smile. His love smiled back at him, often and easily, with a smile that sometimes brought to mind the memory of another smile, one now lost forever, parted from him too soon.
“We should visit again,” said Kit as they turned to go. “Don’t you think? We could bring my sister Anne.”
“And Sir Richard,” added Lando mischievously. “When they are married.”
“I’ll wager we won’t have long to wait.”
“The Angel estate will have heirs in no time. And, talking of heirs, it’s time you were introduced to the Rossingley ones.”
“You want me to meet your sons?”
Lando lightly shrugged. “Of course? Why wouldn’t I? They are due home from Eton four days from now.”
“Oh. Will they…will they know what you mean to me, and I to you?”
Lando regarded him carefully, cataloguing all of Kit’s attributes. Ascertaining they were alone, Lando leaned in for a kiss.
“No one knows what you mean to me, Kit. Including yourself. But yes, they will. I think it will be hard to conceal it.” He gave a naughty little smile, his eyes sparkling. “You are a better lover than an actor.”
“And I’m becoming a better landowner than a thief. With your help.”
They turned to go, Lando taking a last lingering look at the headstone.
“Thank you,” he whispered to his lost love. “For this precious gift. For giving me another portion of joy. For giving me him.”