Epilogue
Two Years Later
“It’s such a beautiful day,” Laurence said, as they sat and ate breakfast together in the dining room at Longberry House. They had retreated there the day after the terrible abduction that Anastasia had suffered, and save for occasional nights visiting friends, they had not left.
Neither of them wished to be back in London, and neither of them wished to be away from their little family.
Their little but growing family.
“I thought we might take a picnic into the meadow for lunch, if you’re not too tired to walk there.”
Anastasia shook her head and rubbed a hand across her burgeoning belly. “I may be slow, but I can manage that distance. It sounds like a lovely idea—and Jonathan could play in the stream since it’s so sunny.”
Little Jonathan, who was approaching his second birthday, clapped his hands delightedly at the prospect. Laurence and Anastasia both beamed at him, and then at one another.
Even now, her breath caught a bit when she looked at her handsome husband.
The days at Longberry House were long and languid and full of joy.
Laurence tended to matters of business when he had to, and Anastasia was the patron of a local charity, which supported motherless girls to find their way in life.
Without a female role model, Anastasia had always felt she had no one to turn to, so the charity seemed a perfect fit.
But the three of them were happiest when they spent time together—not as the Viscount and Viscountess Walsham, but just as a happy family, riding across the countryside when Anastasia was able, teaching Jonty how to skim stones across the lake, or taking picnics out in the meadow, like Laurence had suggested today.
They walked slowly, the picnic basket hooked over Laurence’s arm, Jonty holding each of their hands between them.
Anastasia’s time was only a few weeks away, and she swore she had grown far bigger with this child than she had with her first. Perhaps one simply forgot the trials and tribulations of pregnancy once it was over.
She certainly had no wish to recall childbirth—not until she had to.
But she sometimes found herself imagining what this next child would be like.
Jonathan was the spitting image of his father—dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a handsome smile that no one was capable of saying “no” to.
She wondered if this next babe would favor her, or whether there would be another mini Laurence running around.
Her red hair had always been both a source of pride and of frustration. She rather liked that the hue was so different from everyone else’s locks; but she had certainly been teased because of it, even by her brother, who had the same reddish tint.
“Swing!” Little Jonty cried, and he giggled maniacally as his mother and father counted to three and then swung him through the air, his laughter echoing throughout the meadow.
Although the walk was not particularly long at all, Jonty’s legs were only short, and soon he was crying and holding his arms aloft to both his parents.
“Come here, little man,” Laurence said, swinging the boy up into his arms and onto his shoulders. “You’re getting too heavy for Mama, but it’ll be a long time before Papa can’t lift you.”
Their son giggled melodically as his father pretended to be a horse and clip-clopped through the trees, the basket still swinging on his arm, seemingly unfazed by the weight of the child and the picnic.
Anastasia rubbed circles against her stomach as the child within her kicked, not wanting to be left out of the family scene. Her heart felt full. She had loved her own father dearly, and Laurence had loved his—and now their child adored him just as much.
She only hoped that Jonty would have a more cordial relationship with his little brother or sister than Anastasia had had with her older brother.
Oliver had begun to redeem himself after saving her from the gun of Lord Brett, but they would never again be close.
She had spent years trusting him when he ought not to have been trusted, and she did not think she could ever put faith in him again.
She rested a hand on her abdomen, with a sigh. She only hoped that history would not repeat itself. But Jonty was such a kind, sweet-natured little lad—she could not imagine him turning out like Oliver.
“Is all well?” Laurence asked, turning around and smiling broadly at her.
“Is that daughter of mine giving you great trouble?” Somewhere along the way, he had become convinced that she was carrying a girl, and she smiled every time he referred to the babe as his daughter, hoping he would not be disappointed if he was wrong and they had another son.
Although, she thought it very likely that a third child would join them in the not-too-distant future. After all, they were more in love than ever, and her fertility had thus far not seemed to be an issue.
“I was just thinking about the future,” she said, catching up to her husband and son. “About Jonty, and this baby—”
“His little sister,” Laurence said confidently.
Anastasia laughed. “I just hope that they can have a better relationship than I had with my brother, or your father had with your uncle.” After all, the only reason Laurence had wanted to marry was because his father had been desperate for him to have an heir, so that his younger brother—a wastrel by all accounts—would never have a chance to inherit.
Well, his wish had been fulfilled. One day—although Anastasia did not like to think on it too closely—Jonty would be the viscount. And his sons after him. Though hopefully, he would never feel so strongly about a younger brother inheriting that he would start making his own sons vow to wed.
Although that had all worked out rather well—for both Laurence and Anastasia. For if Laurence had not been convinced of the need to produce an heir, to honor his father’s last wishes, would he have proposed marriage after they were caught speaking on the dark walk of Vauxhall Gardens?
“We will teach both our children—” Laurence paused.
“All of our children,” he added with a laugh, “how important it is to love their siblings, and to stand up for them—even if they fall out, even if they’re annoying, even if they disagree.
We’ll be united as one family, I promise you—no matter how many children we have. ”
“I love you,” she said, delighting in saying the words out loud even after all this time.
“And I love you,” Laurence said, bending to place a kiss on her lips, Jonty laughing in his position above them on his father’s shoulders.
“And we love you too, little man,” Anastasia said, reaching up to ruffle his dark locks before Laurence stood fully, lifting him out of her reach.
“And our little girl,” Laurence said, placing a hand to her stomach.
“Of course,” Anastasia said, not bothering to argue with him about the possibility of her carrying another boy.
They found a spot by the stream and Laurence gave into Jonty’s pleading to play in the babbling water, and Anastasia watched them, a hand upon the life stirring within her, and marveled at how her heart had found room for so much love.
She wasn’t completely alone anymore; her life—and her heart—were full of people she loved, and who she knew beyond any doubt loved her just as much.