Epilogue
The autumn wind whipped through Violet’s hair as she bounded across the field on Vespera’s back, her sights set on the lone ash tree that drew nearer and nearer. The change of season had turned its leaves fiery, creating a yellow-red blur that beckoned to her like a flag. She was close. Very close.
With a burst of speed from Vespera’s powerful legs, she flew past the mark she’d declared as the finish line, her shako hat tumbling to the grass as she pulled the reins to slow the horse’s gallop.
Her breath heavy from exertion, she circled back around the tree just in time to see Benedict and his gelding hurtle past it, giving a strong finish to the race. Albeit in second place.
“I won,” she announced gleefully when they’d both reduced their speed to a walk, the horses ambling side by side over the newly churned earth.
A dark brow lifted beneath the shadow of his top hat. “Don’t you always?”
“Well, yes.” She grinned, prompting Vespera to halt and vaulting from the horse’s back.
“But perhaps someday, you’ll claim victory.
” He was getting more accustomed to riding, after all, taking daily trips on horseback to observe their extended lands.
Riding out for pleasure, too, when she requested he join her, always indulging her whims to race.
“Perhaps.” His lips twitched in return, and in the next instant, he was on the ground beside her, throwing his hat to the wind. He grabbed her by the waist, planting a kiss against the bridge of her nose. “Although I’ve already been victorious in the ways I most desire.”
As usual, pinpricks of pleasure rippled over her skin, a spark low in her belly stirring to attention. Her husband was growing accustomed to doing this, too: reaching for her at unexpected moments, taking whatever occasions he could find to steal a kiss.
She loved those occasions. Loved how the delight of them only seemed to grow with each passing day of their marriage.
“So have I.” She returned his caress with a peck on the lips, then turned to survey the endless stretch of field, ornamented by the vibrant purple and gold streaks of the twilight sky. “It’s been a most successful month.”
Indeed, evidence of their triumph existed as far as the eye could see, in all the freshly harvested fields.
The last load of corn had been carted in with immense gaiety just yesterday, and she and Benedict had marked the occasion by hosting an evening of food, dancing, and merriment for the tenants and villagers.
No, the crop yields hadn’t been as prolific as records had shown from many autumns past, although they’d been a great deal better than those from the previous year and its abysmal weather.
Benedict said they should view their first harvest as proprietors of Aldercombe as a starting point.
A mere suggestion of what they could achieve with careful management and innovation.
To add to the cheer, Benedict’s mother, stepfather, and two half-brothers had come for their first visit to Aldercombe, escaping life in town for a fortnight so they, too, could experience the excitement of harvesttime in the country.
And because the house was already bursting with activity, Violet had followed the adage the more, the merrier and also invited Arabella to join them.
While her sister had fared remarkably well in recovering from her injured heart, Arabella often grew restless at Meadowleigh, and it was no big secret that their mother—still flitting about with a twinkle in her eye and glowing cheeks while she praised Barker’s impressive gardening skills—sometimes wished for the house to herself.
Fortunately, Arabella had come to Aldercombe bright-eyed and vivacious herself, eager to tell Violet about the trio of gentlemen, newly arrived in Wiltshire for a shooting party, she’d met at the assembly hall the previous week.
Given their experience at Watley, Violet was glad her sister made no lovestruck declarations or postulations about wedding bells quite yet.
But on the whole, the news gave them cause to feel optimistic.
The only drawback to the bustling house was the reduction of moments like this, when it was just the two of them, free to embrace whenever and wherever they wished.
As they’d grown more comfortable with their marriage—with intimacy—she’d been surprised to discover how many locales could prove suitable for lovemaking if one used a little ingenuity.
However, having a house full of guests, and overseeing a harvest home celebration besides, certainly impeded the extent to which they could put that ingenuity to the test. Then again, there had been that encounter in the linen room yesterday …
“A successful month, to be sure.” Benedict’s mouth tugged into the suggestion of a smirk, almost as if he sensed the direction of her thoughts.
Rather than allude to it, though, he offered his arm, and they made an unspoken agreement to begin strolling, the horses contentedly grazing behind them.
“Although,” he said, a sudden gust of wind causing his hair to tumble in all directions, “my victories began around the last week of April in a field not so far away from this one.”
She grinned at the roguish curl that hung over his eyebrow.
Grinned at his entire countenance, flushed and invigorated, because he really had no right being this handsome.
“Funny, that’s the exact week mine started as well.
” She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow, then curled her fingers tighter around his sleeve, peering at the landscape beyond.
Changing trees. Brilliant, darkening sky.
“And they’ve only continued to grow, haven’t they? ”
They reached a cluster of trees and a low limestone wall, Benedict stepping across before giving her his hands to help her climb over.
At one point, this would have marked a boundary: a section of border between Aldercombe and Watley. However, they were one and the same now, the Duke of Hawkesbury having sold his unentailed property to the Marquess of Rockliffe.
Perhaps it seemed a foolhardy purchase—a burned shell of a house and a razed park—but Benedict had insisted on its potential for farmland, and his uncle had readily trusted his judgment.
Someday, maybe—once grass and shrubs covered the scar of the ill-fated lake—they would look at rebuilding the house and putting it up for lease. For the time being, though, they were invested in establishing their new flock of Wiltshire Horn sheep in some of Watley’s empty pastures.
“We have everything, Violet.” Benedict’s footsteps stilled, his gaze resting on the horizon a moment before abruptly turning to her. “Everything.”
And then, before she could offer a reply or even blink, his lips were on hers, one hand fisting at her nape.
A dizzy burst of exhilaration exploded within her, and she returned the kiss hungrily, sinking her weight against his chest before her legs could make her stagger.
It couldn’t last long, not with night fast approaching and family members back at Aldercombe Grange awaiting their return. For this stolen moment, though, they kissed while the evening breeze rustled their clothing and darkness swallowed the colors in the clouds.
And when they paused for breath, her lips hovering just below his, she voiced her agreement. “Everything.”
THE END
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