Epilogue
Gull Hall
Weymouth, England
Trajan smiled as he glanced up from his desk in the library at Gull Hall where he had been reading crop reports.
His gaze fell upon Florence, who sat curled up like a kitten on the settee, reading a letter she had just received from Fiona.
“Fiona has decided to sell her townhouse on Duchess Square.”
“Is that so?” Hermia asked, looking up from her embroidery. She was settled in a plump chair by the window working on her latest sample as the snow fell lightly outside the window.
Florence tucked her shawl more securely about her shoulders and nodded. “Yes, but she is in no hurry and wants to find someone nice to purchase it. Someone her neighbors will like.”
“Another spinster?” Andrew remarked, looking over at Florence. He was seated in one of the leather wing chairs beside the hearth, reviewing warehouse ledgers.
“Who’s a spinster?” Nathan asked, striding in.
He and Sebastian had been in the billiards room having a game before supper was announced, but now both marched in to join the others in the library.
After pouring brandies for themselves, they sank into the other wing chairs beside Andrew and soaked in the warmth of the fire blazing in the hearth.
It was an unusually cold and blustery day even for this time of year, and they had been up since before dawn to attend to a minor disruption at one of the Weymouth dairies.
Sebastian was just back from university, home for the yuletide holidays, and had immediately set about helping Nathan with this Weymouth dairy.
He was campaigning to defer his studies for a term in order to participate more in the family businesses.
Trajan saw no harm in keeping him here for the term because Sebastian wanted to learn about the Weymouth properties, and this was just as useful as his reading the Greek classics that he had declared were dreadfully dull, and he would fail the class if he were forced to take it.
“Lady Berengaria and Lady Miranda are the spinsters in question,” Florence said. “They are Fiona’s lovely neighbors on Duchess Square.”
“Berengaria,” Sebastian said, putting on the Upper Crust accent of an elite Oxford don. “She must be sixty years old and an utter dragon.”
Florence laughed. “Not at all. She is very pretty and about my age, I would say. Maybe a year or two older. Her friends call her Lady Berry. She’s sweet as can be.”
“Is she rich? Does she like younger men?” Nathan teased.
Florence laughed. “I’ll ask Fiona when I write back to her.”
Trajan set aside his reports and listened to the banter among his cousins, Hermia, and Florence, his heart full as he watched his family, one that he had almost lost because Florence had been so devastated when her father revealed the truth about her parentage.
But the four of them—him and Florence, her father and Celeste—were the only ones who knew the truth. No one else—not Hermia, nor Florence’s brother Matthew—had been told or ever would be told.
And if the secret ever got out? Trajan knew they would weather the scandal.
Florence’s father had taken Celeste and their son on a Grand Tour. He hoped their travels on the Continent might help to repair these damaged souls. New places. New beginnings.
Trajan’s gaze rested lovingly on Florence, his wife who showed incredible strength, compassion, and resilience.
She was just beginning to show now, although he did not think she was more than three months along.
He was more in love with her than ever.
She looked over at him and smiled.
Her sunlight poured into his heart. “Are you cold, Florence?” She was fussing with her shawl.
Andrew grinned. “Why don’t you sit beside your wife and warm her?”
Nathan and Sebastian giggled like idiot schoolboys.
Florence patted the seat cushion beside her. “I am perfectly fine, but you are welcome to join me on the settee, if you wish.”
Trajan did just that, putting an arm around her as he settled back and stretched his legs before him. “How’s the planning for the holiday party going?”
“All is well in hand. The rooms for your mother, and sister and her brood, are all ready.” She turned to his cousins. “Your father will have the guest suite next to you three boys.”
“Oh, joy,” Sebastian remarked.
Their father, Trajan’s uncle, was a very good man and his sons adored him.
Trajan liked him, too. He was as eccentric as his own father had been. However, he was aging and could not help out with the Weymouth properties. It was of no matter, for his sons were smart, hardworking fellows and were up to the task.
Those three, Andrew, Nathan, and Sebastian, were as close as brothers to Trajan.
“Will Lady Frampton be joining us for the holiday party?” Sebastian asked.
“Haven’t you heard?” Hermia replied. “Now that her husband has died, she—”
Sebastian jerked upright in his chair. “Frampton’s dead? When and how? And why was I not informed about this?” he grumbled. “See why I should not return to university? I have obviously learned nothing while I was away.”
Trajan laughed. “Stop campaigning for the deferral of your studies. I have agreed to it.”
“But what about Frampton? And his wife?”
“That toad made many enemies,” Hermia intoned. “The circumstances are hazy, but it seems a disgruntled business partner shot him in broad daylight on a busy London street, and then fled to parts unknown.”
Trajan said nothing, but he expected Althorpe might have had a hand in it. One did not cross England’s kingmaker without dire consequences.
Well, Frampton had made many enemies, extorting people and ruining careers for years. Half of London’s elite probably wanted to kill him.
“Dear Sylvia is a merry widow now,” Hermia continued. “Of course, she is dutifully in mourning for the moment. But she has made a few appearances around Town. No parties. Just a few quiet events, escorted by Lord Peregrine Althorpe.”
Trajan exchanged a look with Florence.
“She’ll do just fine for herself,” Hermia added. “She’s a lovely lady, gentle in heart but strong in spirit. Few women could have survived marriage to that horrible man. But Althorpe’s a gentleman. Who knows if anything will come of it?”
“I hope it does,” Florence said.
Trajan was not certain what to make of Althorpe and Sylvia.
Was it not another bit of a mess? And what would Lady Simmons say if they were to become an item?
Well, she had made her choice and chosen to remain the wife of an earl.
It was likely Althorpe had gotten over her years ago, just as Trajan had gotten over Eden.
Even ruthless men were permitted to fall in love, he supposed. Why not?
Florence regained his attention with a light poke to his side. He glanced down at her.
I love you, she mouthed.
Life felt perfect for him in this moment. A gentle snow was falling outside. A crackling fire kept them warm inside. The woman he loved to the depths of his soul was seated beside him and loved him.
He put his lips to her ear and whispered, “I love you too, my beautiful bird watcher. I’m glad you crash landed on me.”
THE END