Epilogue
“Oh, Ginny,” I murmured. “She is so lovely.”
I gazed down at the sleeping babe in my arms, bundled up against the January cold in a thick, white blanket.
The skirts of her billowing christening gown escaped past the blanket and fluttered against my dress.
A lace cap covered her head, lips perfectly pink, red-tinged lashes splayed against her cheeks.
“She is, isn’t she?” Ginny said, beaming. “A just reward, I think, considering the work it took to bring her into the world.”
“Troublesome little creature,” I cooed at the baby. “Your mama was not very pleased with you that day. Why, I thought I would finally hear her swear. Perhaps next time.”
“Just wait until it is your turn,” Ginny said, entirely unfazed. “You shall be a terror at childbirth. I do not think Alexander has any idea what he’s gotten himself into.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” I said cheerfully. “Why do you think we married so quickly? I couldn’t very well give him time to reconsider.”
The church bells rang behind us, the sound loud and clear on this winter day.
The churchyard was frozen over, an inch of snow crunching beneath my feet, but there was warmth in the hum of conversation and laughter around us.
Ginny and Jack had invited a great many friends and family to the christening, and the service had been all that was beautiful and touching.
Mr. Denning had announced the child’s name—Lillian—as was custom from the godfather, while Verity and I, godmothers both, stood beside him at the front of the church.
I’d held Lillian as the vicar had poured the water over her head and used oil to mark a cross on her forehead.
I hadn’t stopped smiling the entire time.
Now I tilted my head and pressed a kiss to the soft skin of Lillian’s temple. “You are loved,” I whispered. “More than you know.”
Her lips curved in sleep, as if she had heard and understood my words.
“Are you going to share her at all?”
That familiar, delectable heat flooded me at Alexander’s amused tone, and I faced him as he came to stand beside me.
“Why, do you wish for a turn?” I’d been attempting to convince him to hold Lillian since yesterday, but to no avail.
“I shall let others more inclined take my time.” He crossed his arms in that devilishly attractive way of his, though he had no idea. “I’d hardly know what to do with a babe.”
“Well, there is no time like the present to learn,” I said brightly. Without warning, I settled the bundled mass of blankets and muslin in his arms.
He was so very surprised he did not even think to stop me. He froze as I stepped away, grinning at him.
“Beatrice,” he warned. “Come take her. I am not at all qualified.”
“No, thank you,” I said. “I like the sight far too much.”
I certainly meant it. Seeing my new husband holding a baby prompted a delightful blend of maternal instincts and marital desire within me. Alexander stood so stiff and awkward, his arms perhaps a bit too tight around the baby, and it was impossibly endearing.
“Try to relax,” I encouraged him.
“She is so tiny,” he muttered, looking down at Lillian. “I shall drop her, and Jack will have my head.”
Ginny laughed. “She is bundled so well that I doubt it would even hurt her.”
Alexander gazed at the baby, tracing over her perfect nose and rounded cheeks. He said nothing, but when he looked up at me, there was perhaps a slight glaze to his eyes. He cleared his throat and held her out. “There, I’ve had my turn.”
“I shall take her,” Verity said, approaching from my right. “I have not had nearly enough time.”
She eased Lillian from Alexander’s arms as Mr. Denning came to join her. The two leaned over the baby with clear delight. I wondered if they had hopes to start a family soon; they would be wonderful parents, both of them.
Alexander fell into conversation with Mr. Denning about a case they’d been recently assigned involving counterfeit banknotes.
My mind wandered as I glanced around the churchyard.
Many parishioners from Little Sowerby lingered after the service, people I’d known for years.
Neighbors, acquaintances, one-time friends.
I’d felt many of their gazes on me in the church, curious and judgmental and everything between.
But things were changing. I could feel it.
Catherine Davenport, or Catty, as I’d often called her, stood across the churchyard.
She was Ginny’s half sister, and they’d had something of a difficult relationship over the years, though they seemed to have turned a new leaf since Ginny’s marriage to Jack.
Indeed, Catherine had been much more civil to me today, nearly verging on friendly.
I could only hope the rest of Little Sowerby would follow suit.
Not that I hadn’t grown adept at ignoring other’s opinions of me, but it would be terribly nice not to have to.
I spotted Mother approaching. Father had already disappeared inside the carriage.
“Beatrice, darling,” she said. “Your father wants to leave for Wimborne. You know how he dislikes the cold.”
He disliked nearly everything except a warm fire, The Times, and his dogs, but I did not mention that.
“You go on ahead,” I said, reluctant to leave such a merry scene. “Alexander and I can walk. It’s not far.”
Mother patted my arm. “Very well.” She glanced over at Alexander, so darkly handsome and intimidating, and seemed about to say something.
But she only nodded and took her leave. She still did not feel terribly comfortable around my husband, but we’d been married barely a month now.
She’d only just begun to recover from the shock of our unexpected courtship and engagement.
It would take time, but I was certain Alexander would win her over, as he had me.
Father, on the other hand, had received the news of our match with such indifference one would think him a distant, uninterested cousin rather than a father.
Upon meeting Alexander, he’d asked a few questions regarding his financial situation and family name, then had given his blessing. I could be thankful for that, at least.
Mr. Drake and Mrs. Travers joined our group, and we chatted a few minutes about her upcoming performance of The London Merchant.
In a break in our conversation, I noticed Ginny had slipped away.
Furrowing my brow, I inspected the churchyard again and found her with Jack, speaking to a man I did not recognize.
He was dressed in an outlandish striped jacket and bright-green waistcoat, a hat tipped low over ruddy cheeks.
He shifted his wiry frame as if nervous, eyes darting around the churchyard.
After a few moments, Ginny and Jack bade farewell to the man and started back toward us, arm in arm.
“Who is that?” I asked Ginny curiously.
She grinned. “That, my dear, is Wily Greaves.”
I brightened. “Really?” I’d heard a great deal about Wily, from his shadowy connections with the London underworld to his unlikely friendships with Jack, Ginny, and Verity.
He was a fence and, as such, often skirted both sides of the law.
I found him absolutely fascinating, though I’d never met him.
Ginny seemed to read my thoughts. “I doubt he is looking to garner new acquaintances at the moment,” she said with a small laugh. “Not with so many of Bow Street’s finest officers out in force. If you approached, I daresay he’d vanish with the wind.”
Disappointing indeed.
But when I looked over again, Wily was looking straight at me. He offered a jaunty tip of his hat and a mischievous grin, then disappeared around the corner of the stone church. I liked him already.
“He had a gift for little Lillian.” Jack held up a small golden spoon, elaborately detailed and clearly expensive. “He swore it was bought and paid for honestly.”
“But by whom?” Ginny quipped.
Jack smirked. “That is indeed the question.”
The party began to separate and depart for Wimborne, where Ginny and Jack had prepared a festive meal. They reclaimed Lillian from Verity’s arms and departed in their carriage. The rest of us followed after, some in carriages and some walking.
Alexander sought me through the happy crowd of family and friends, and I did not think I would ever grow used to it—the sight of him intent on me, eyes focused as if he had no greater aim than to be at my side.
“Mrs. Rawlings,” he said, offering me his arm.
I scrunched up my nose. “I still have yet to banish the image of your mother that appears in my mind each time you say that.”
His lips twitched. “Don’t think on it overmuch, then.”
“It is as if you do not know me at all. Overthinking is one of my special skills.” I slipped my hand around the firmness of his upper arm and drew myself against his side. I craved being close to him, and a month of marriage had only heightened that desire.
He did not seem to mind, his free hand coming to draw tantalizing circles over the back of my kidskin gloves. “Then perhaps distraction is the order of the day.”
“Oh?” Silly how my heartbeat still quickened, even after all we’d been through. “Do tell.”
“I do not think the vicar would approve of me kissing you senseless in the churchyard.”
I laughed and shoved him with my shoulder. “Alexander Rawlings, you shall make me blush.”
He only gave a knowing, crooked smile and pulled me back against him. “I doubt that very much.”
He smiled a great deal these days, certainly far more than in those first few weeks of our acquaintance. I liked to think it had something to do with me, wonderful wife that I was.