Epilogue
The drawing in Eamon’s notebook blossomed as he sat in the garden at Mayfield Hall in Kent, the estate of the Dukes of Aylesmore. The weather was cool, summer slow in coming, but the air was fresh, the breeze gentle.
Eamon had carried his sketchbooks with him on this country sojourn on the off chance he’d have a few minutes for them, but upon arrival, he’d started drawing and couldn’t cease. Not copies, but more originals, springing forth from his pencil without hindrance.
He sketched the overgrown garden, a bit wild with only one gardener trying to keep it tame, Leo romping with the Countess of Heyford’s sons, or the spread of landscape that opened out below the manor.
Mostly, though, he drew Caro herself. His duchess in the garden laughing with her friends, smiling at him across the sunny drawing room, glowing and mussed after chasing Leo about the grounds. They were the best pictures he’d ever done.
The large house hadn’t been ready for so many guests, to Singleton’s dismay, though Eamon and his friends offered to pitch in with the labor when necessary.
The sale of the manuscript pages to one of the Prince of Osagard’s extraordinarily wealthy and well-vetted friends, vouched for by Colonel Harper, had brought in a welcome influx of funds, but clearing all the debts and then purchasing necessities would take some time.
Eamon didn’t mind the house a bit untamed, the garden an unrestrained riot of spring and early summer flowers. Naturalistic landscapes were all the rage now, he’d assured Singleton, who wanted the entire estate to be perfect.
Watching Caro wander the house with purpose and vigor, planning what was to be repaired or renewed in each room, stimulated more than Eamon’s muse.
They’d agreed to marry in July, which would give them time to put the house and garden into some kind of order as well as have the banns read. The ceremony would be held in the village church, and if the weather was kind, they’d have the wedding breakfast in the garden afterward.
Eamon, like Singleton, barely contained his impatience, though for different reasons.
Eamon wanted Caro in his bed every night, from now until the wedding day and then forever after. But they could only steal moments here and there, because the house had filled with people the day after he’d made the journey down.
The Countess of Heyford—Louise—who traditionally invited Caro, the dowager, and Leo to her older son’s seat in Berkshire for the month of June, had decided they’d have the summer visit at Mayfield Hall instead.
July usually saw Caro spending time with Princess Jo and her family, but that had also been changed to Jo and her niece Merry traveling with Louise to stay until the wedding.
Prince Rupert and Princess Maude would attend the wedding and then linger at Mayfield through July before the royals in exile progressed elsewhere, taking Merry with them.
The impending visit of Jo’s parents was giving Singleton palpitations. He was certain the prince and princess would have apoplexy at the state of the Aylesmore house, no matter how many times Jo assured him that they wouldn’t care one whit, so long as they could have their coffee every morning.
Eamon’s friends had also turned up not long after his arrival at Leo’s ostensible invitation.
McCormick and Wolfe had been ill at ease with the other guests at first, though McCormick’s natural cordialness had broken the ice for him quickly.
The dowager found him charming, and McCormick obliged her by escorting her through the garden or attending her in the drawing room whenever she wished.
Wolfe, when he wasn’t helping McCormick and Eamon assist Singleton, spent much time riding. Good exercise for his leg, he said. Good excuse for being misanthropic, Eamon amended silently. The three boys were fascinated by Wolfe, and he unbent enough to give them a few riding lessons.
All these people in the house meant that Eamon had to satisfy his yearnings with art alone. The wedding night was long in coming.
He shaded the lines he’d made of the frock Caro wore as she walked and chatted with Louise, Jo, and Merry.
A breeze had sprung up as he’d sketched, and he’d drawn Caro’s hair and skirts fluttering, along with the loose ribbons of her bonnet.
The gown caught on her curving legs, outlining them in a most enticing way.
Though Caro stood with her friends, Eamon’s drawing held only her.
A little way down the path, the dowager strolled in a stately fashion on McCormick’s arm, her old-fashioned, broad-brimmed hat with large feathers defying the wind. No gust would dare disarray her.
Leo, Harry, and Jack yelled as they dashed through the meadow beyond the garden, while Wolfe, on horseback nearby, kept an eye on them. From the house, Singleton’s voice rose as he directed the newly hired men-of-all-work like a general harrying his troops to meet Bonaparte.
Caro broke off from her friends and came around the fountain to where Eamon sat on his folding stool.
Singleton had cranked to life the rusting mechanism that worked the garden’s fountains, and water pattered quietly, though Eamon had moved his seat far away enough so that the spray wouldn’t ruin his work.
Caro leaned to Eamon and pressed an uninhibited kiss to his cheek. “Is that what I look like? So untidy.”
“So beautiful.” Eamon used his finger to blend the charcoal shadow behind her. “Perfect.”
“You are very flattering.” Caro bestowed another kiss, this one to the top of his head. “You’ve been drawing quite a lot, haven’t you? I’m glad.”
Eamon shrugged, but in truth, the outpouring of creativity had brought him jubilation. “I always thought I could only copy others’ genius. It turns out, I only needed the right subject.” He tilted his head back to send Caro a hot smile.
She flushed, her pulse beating in her throat. Eamon sensed, from her whispers when they met, the kisses they stole on the stair landings, and the way she watched him across the long table at meals, that she longed for him as much as he did her. The weeks before them stretched far too long.
“I came to ask you about the wedding breakfast,” Caro said.
Eamon smothered a groan. “When aren’t you asking me about the wedding breakfast? It started as a few tables for immediate friends, and now I think half of England is coming.”
“The dowager believes it’s a good way to show Leo’s acceptance of our marriage, not to mention that of the Prince and Princess of Osagard, Jo, Louise, Lady Carmichael, Colonel and Mrs. Harper …”
“And the rest of London, yes.” Eamon flicked another few lines to the folds of Caro’s drawn skirt.
“Wolfe and McCormick are rounding up their respectable friends as well. I don’t have any of those, so I have to bring in my unrespectable ones.
” He’d sent an invitation to Sam Noble, but it remained to be seen if the man would appear.
“Anyway.” Caro cut through his meanderings. “What do you think of the summerhouse as a place to set up extra tables?”
She gestured to a building originally erected to resemble a small Greek temple—a folly built by one of the previous dukes, probably more for fashion’s sake than any romantic notions about the past.
Eamon glanced at it. “Will they object to being shut away in there?”
“No, indeed. The folly’s terrace is wide, and the doors can be folded back. Some might enjoy being out of any wind or damp.” Caro held out her hand. “Come and see.”
The summerhouse was nicely shielded from the garden by a hedge that Singleton had vowed to one day lower or have removed. When the folly’s doors were closed, anyone inside would be quite private.
“Very well, if you insist,” Eamon said in pretended resignation. He shut his notebook, returned his pencils to their case, folded his stool, and put all of this under his arm. “Lead on, my lady.”
Caro tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and together they strolled unhurriedly toward the summerhouse, Eamon’s heartbeat far outracing their slow pace. No one noticed them go, which was to his satisfaction.
When they reached the folly, Caro led Eamon up the few steps to its entrance. From there, they had a view across the garden and down the line of fountains to the rear of the house, which stretched its Palladian arms across the green.
On one path, the dowager and McCormick encountered Louise, Jo, and Merry. Louise greeted them with her cool friendliness, Merry with a wide grin. By contrast, while Jo nodded respectfully to the dowager, she turned a frown on McCormick. The tall McCormick sent a bellicose stare down at her.
Jo said a few words to him that Eamon couldn’t hear, but from her expression he knew they were biting. McCormick, never one to be cowed, responded in turn. The dowager and Louise looked on in surprise, Merry with great amusement.
“Curious, do you not think?” Caro said softly next to him. “I believe your Mr. McCormick is smitten.”
“As is your princess,” Eamon returned.
He also had not missed the way Louise’s gaze strayed to Wolfe whenever he was near. She might pretend she was looking after her sons who hovered around him, but she’d turn her head to follow Wolfe’s progress. Wolfe returned the scrutiny when he believed no one was observing him.
“Nothing can come of anything between Jo and Mr. McCormick,” Caro said, her tone turning sad. “No one is allowed to court Jo, the poor girl.”
“There’s nothing to object to in McCormick,” Eamon said with conviction. “He’s the most honest man I’ve ever encountered.”
“He’s a paragon,” Caro agreed. “But it will take more than that to surmount the barriers around Jo.”
“McCormick is also resourceful.” Eamon took Caro’s hand and pulled her into the summerhouse. “I think we should leave them to it for now.”
Caro sent a last glance toward her friends then followed Eamon inside.
Eamon had been right that the folly gave them privacy.
Singleton had obviously been in here with his new army, cleaning in anticipation of its possible need for the wedding breakfast. The seats that lined the windows were free of dust, some of the cushions new.
Several folding tables waited compactly against one wall.
Eamon set down his sketching things and closed the double doors before he led Caro to the bench with newest cushions.
All restraint of the past days fell away. Eamon divested Caro of her bonnet, catching her tumbling hair in his hands. He pulled her to him for a fierce kiss, which she returned as fiercely.
They fumbled at laces, buttons, and hooks, until items of clothing floated down to rest on the newly swept floor.
The bench was wide enough for Eamon to sit on and have Caro wrap herself around him on his lap. The window behind them gave out into thick, pathless woods, the aristocratic idea of wild country.
The view assured Eamon that no one would observe them as he lowered Caro onto his waiting hardness, that none would hear their groans of pleasure as he began to thrust in the dim silence.
Caro was warm and lush, her cries of passion unrestrained. Eamon answered her with his own, calling her Love, Caro.
True to her word, Caro wore the diamond necklace he’d given her. Eamon kissed her breasts beneath it, enjoying the velvet taste of her nipple before he licked the chain and raised his head for more kisses.
“I love you, my duchess.”
“Eamon.” Caro touched his face, her eyes heavy with desire. “I love you. You have given me everything.”
“In return, I have you.” Eamon rocked against her, speech becoming difficult. “Mine is the best of the bargain, I think.”
“Hardly.” Caro kissed his mouth. “We did it together. Always. Together …” Her words faded as need overpowered her.
“Always,” Eamon promised, and it was the truest statement he’d ever uttered.
Caro cried out as Eamon’s thrusts sped, and his voice joined hers.
The joy of the moment with his duchess in diamonds wound through Eamon, erasing the emptiness of his past and promising a future of love stretching endlessly before them.