Epilogue
EPILOGUE
We were married at Stonemore on the coldest Valentine’s Day you can imagine, with snow a metre deep outside. The celebrant had started their journey early that morning, and came the last part on foot, trudging up the long drive of Stonemore with a bright and determined expression (‘as long as I’m away by twelve, I can get to the next one’). In the grand entrance hall, Jamie took my hand and promised to love me always, and I to love him. We were surrounded by the people we loved the best: Fi, Richard and Ross; Rose, my mum and stepdad; Roshni, George, Kes and Jake; a handful of close friends including Callum, Tobias and Tally (who had to be forcibly stopped from trying to plan a much bigger wedding). And Hugo, who danced around us and almost tripped both of us up several times during the ceremony. He looked perfectly nice without a bow tie, obviously.
We didn’t buy anything expensive for that wedding, other than the rings: no tartans, no evergreens, no scores of candles. And I couldn’t have been happier. Jamie lit a silver candelabra on the hall table and as the snow flurried outside, we made our vows in the quiet hall, in air that seemed filled with warmth and happiness despite the cold weather. Afterwards, we ate sausage and mash in the flat, with Hugo cadging chunks of sausage from pretty much every guest. For afters, we’d planned to hoover up a chunk of ‘Lucinda’s bloody wedding cake’, as the gargantuan construction had come to be known; tiers of it had served as everything from Ross’s christening cake to the staff Christmas party cake, and it still wasn’t gone. But when I came to dish it out, I found that Jamie had bought a different cake instead: a light sponge, frosted with fondant icing and decorated with hearts. ‘Something new,’ he said to me, with a smile (I’d borrowed my shoes, and worn a blue brooch, for luck).
If anything has surprised me, it’s how easy marriage has been. How straightforward it is to wake up every day and love Jamie, and find that he loves me. It’s true we’ve had to extend the flat slightly, and get some proper storage (I can only have my shoes eaten by Hugo so many times), but I’ve had no problem being that strange thing I thought I’d never be – a wife. And I’m an excellent dog mum, even if I do say so myself.
And Lucinda? She married Darren in the wedding dress she intended to become a countess in. Of course she did! Sometimes she even appears in our lives – in emails asking to rent a paddock for the summer. I hope she’s happy. We all deserve our chance at happiness.
Despite my fears, it turns out Stonemore doesn’t feel empty or like a house without a family. If there isn’t Ross rampaging about it (he particularly loves crawling under the visitor ropes in the red salon), on any given weekend you’ll find Kes and Jake following their Uncle Jamie like shadows, learning about the estate that they will one day inherit, chasing beagles in the enclosure, or greeting house visitors. On every weekday, there is the family we’ve chosen for ourselves: our friends, the volunteers who care for Stonemore, the staff (and animals) who make it our home. And there is, of course, the land. I love all of it: every bramble yielding its berries for our blackberrying trips (leaving a share for the birds, of course); every dog rose with its pale pink flowers; every precious oak – from the ancient Mulholland Oak that stands tall and proud in the heart of the estate to the handful of modern saplings. The wildflower meadow flourishes at Belheddonbrae, and in summer delighted visitors walk their way through the mowed paths amidst a blaze of white, yellow and purple flowers. When I give tours, I point out the vividness of the purple melancholy thistles, and ask them to listen for the ticking of the yellow rattle which tells me summer is ending and it’s time to wield the scythe again for the hay cut.
I should add that the roof still leaks. ‘Can you imagine doing this for the rest of your life?’ Jamie said to me one day, a grim expression on his face as I handed him another bucket for a brand-new leak in the roof. I put the mop over my shoulder and walked on with him, my hand on his back as we traversed the back corridor with its green peeling paint and slightly musty smell, leaning into him as he hooked his arm around my waist and pulled me close.
‘Don’t take too long to answer,’ he murmured into my hair. ‘I’ll be thinking you’re having second thoughts, Lady Roxdale.’
I kissed his cheek lightly, glorying in his scent, his closeness. ‘No second thoughts at all, my lord,’ I said.
‘Sure?’ He put the bucket down with a clatter as we reached the place.
‘I’m sure,’ I said, smiling up at him. ‘I’ve always been wild about you.’