Epilogue
By early June they had removed to Hertfordshire.
The house Adrian had inherited stood atop a gentle rise above green lawns and newly revived gardens, the air scented faintly with roses and warm grass.
Windows were thrown open to the breeze, and the rhythms of the countryside settled quickly into something unhurried.
The summer away from the city was intended to be restorative, after all.
With that in mind, the gathering was intentionally small.
A handful of guests. No crush of company. No obligations beyond shared meals, long walks, and idle conversation beneath the shade of old trees. In short, it would be impossible for one guest to avoid another guest entirely.
Eleanor stood at the terrace balustrade that afternoon, surveying the gardens with deep satisfaction.
Below, Caroline walked beside Julien along the rose path. They did not hurry. They did not drift apart. Caroline’s bonnet tilted toward him as she listened; Julien bent his head slightly in reply. Their conversation appeared easy, unforced.
Eleanor smiled.
Adrian stepped beside her and offered a glass of lemonade.
“You look pleased with yourself,” he observed.
“I am,” she said serenely. “Left to their own devices, they might circle one another for another decade. In insisted that Julien accompany Caroline because she is terribly afraid of bees.”
He followed her gaze toward the garden. “I didn’t know that.”
“Because it isn’t true. It’s all part of my plan to throw them together as much as possible.
Strategically arranged seating,” she continued.
“Shared morning rides. Paired partners for whist. Opportunities for private conversation without the scrutiny of London drawing rooms. It is all very deliberate.”
“Quite,” Adrian said.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know something.”
“I know only that Julien has recently expressed a strong interest in the restorative effects of Hertfordshire air,” he replied mildly.
“And that he discussed the matter at length over brandy. He intends to stay the whole summer… a decision made only after learning that Caroline would be doing so, as well.”
Eleanor stared at him.
“Then he is not opposed to our matchmaking?”
Adrian shook his head. “He’s not opposed to the notion of being provided an opportunity to make his own match… with Miss Caroline Ashworth.”
She looked back toward the path where Caroline paused to admire a rose. Julien reached to steady the stem as she leaned closer; his fingers brushed hers. Caroline stilled, then looked up at him with an expression of quiet surprise.
“Well,” Eleanor said after a moment, lifting her chin, “I am still taking credit for it. I have executed it all flawlessly.”
“That you did.”
Below, Caroline’s laughter drifted faintly upward. Julien’s posture eased, some reserve slipping away as he answered her.
Eleanor exhaled softly, something warm and hopeful settling in her chest. Weeks ago Caroline had moved through the world braced against pity and whispers. Now, beneath the open sky and far from the scrutiny of London, her smile came more easily.
“Do not interfere too much,” Adrian murmured. “We don’t wish to scare her off, after all.”
“I would never,” Eleanor said, though satisfaction colored every syllable.
They watched in companionable silence as Caroline and Julien resumed their walk, closer now, their conversation low and private.
“You realize,” Adrian said after a moment, “that he means to secure her hand and will not return to London until he has done so.”
Eleanor’s smile deepened. “Then we must ensure he has every possible advantage.”
He took her hand, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. “You are formidable when matchmaking.”
“I had an excellent teacher,” she replied.
Below, Caroline laughed again — unguarded this time — and Julien’s answering smile was slow and unmistakably tender but also triumphant.
Eleanor leaned lightly against her husband, contentment settling deep within her.
Summer stretched before them, full of possibility.
And in the garden below, two people who had circled one another for far too long were, at last, drawing nearer. Hovering on the cusp of romance with only the promise of happiness stretching out before them.
On the terrace, Adrian smiled. He’d let Eleanor take the credit all she wished, but he knew that Julien’s mind had been made up long ago. And if there was one irrefutable truth about Julien Harcourt, the man always got what he wanted. Even when he had to wait for it.