Epilogue
Edward
One Year Later
I peeked into the drawing room of Yardley Park, the estate father had given me as an inheritance, taking in the recently-painted sage green walls and the marble white molding that framed them.
The furniture, too, was new, and even several of the paintings that hung to either side of the glowing fireplace.
Thanks to my wife’s excellent taste, the room had been given new life compared to the drab, outdated wallpaper it possessed before. Finally, the estate felt like home.
Our home.
But I was not a complete fool. That feeling came more from the woman sitting at the writing desk in the corner than from the fresh paint or new furnishings.
My wife.
I drank her in, from her fiery red hair down to where her gray skirts hid her feet. Even in mourning colors, she was the loveliest creature of my acquaintance.
It had been eight months since Lord Paxton’s passing, and despite having surpassed the expected six months of blacks and grays, Annette still wore them. I did not disparage her for doing so. I, too, felt the loss keenly.
Annette’s nose wrinkled, a reaction to something she read from the letter she held, and I could not stop my smile or ignore the desire to cross the room. She glanced up, her expression twisted with mischief. “Good morning, husband.”
“It is good, indeed.” I leaned down and kissed her cheek.
Annette’s brows furrowed with disappointment, as they often did when I did not acknowledge one of her pranks. It was almost the perfect sort of revenge.
Almost, but not quite.
I still choose retaliation more often than not.
“Do not tease me,” she warned. “It is no fun to put in so much effort to shock you, only for you to walk in here as if you are the happiest soul alive.”
“I am fairly close to such a description. Since I have you—”
She swatted my arm, but her lips twitched. “Do not flirt with me, Edward Paget. I require a reaction.”
I heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “My darling, Annette, do you truly despise the way I smell so much that you would resort to stuffing rose petals in my stockings?”
“Only the smell of your feet.” She poked at my ribs, making me flinch. “Otherwise, you smell pleasant.”
“Pleasant? I seem to recall you saying that you would rather smell alleyway garbage than me.”
Her nose scrunched. How I loved when it did that.
I leaned down again and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “What are you reading?”
“It is a letter from Margaret. She is telling me of all the mischief her son gets into. Some of it sounds rather…well, perhaps it is not so bad that we are not yet parents.”
I chuckled, taking a seat next to her. “And how are they? Besides the mischief, I mean.”
Margaret had attended our wedding, along with Mr. Wilcot, and I had made a point of speaking to the man about the way he treated his wife.
He had not appreciated my words about his behavior, nor the threat I left him with.
Annette cared deeply for Margaret, and while we intended to fight for reform, such things took time.
If I could ease Margaret’s burdens even a little by keeping tabs on her husband, then I would do so.
A little motivation to treat his wife with respect would not hurt.
Or it would, should he choose to ignore my suggestions.
“They are doing well,” said Annette. “She claims Mr. Wilcot has attended church the past four Sundays.” My wife looked at me then, an earnestness in her expression that drew me in.
“Do you think he could change? Margaret says he has treated her far better as of late, has even doted on their son, but…”
“But you trusted him once before,” I finished.
Annette nodded. “I cannot help worrying about them. What if he devolves into a scoundrel again? There is a child involved now.”
I scooped up her hand and brought it to my lips. “All we can do is hope that, for Margaret’s sake and the sake of her son, Mr. Wilcot has changed. Or is in the process of doing so.”
“Do you truly believe it is possible?” She shook her head. “How can a person like him become someone so different?”
“How does anyone change? There are none of us the same today as we were a month ago. A year ago. Life molds us, whether by experience or a hand of mercy that softens our hearts. John often spoke of his transformation in our letters. He was wayward for most of his life, yet he spent the latter part of it devoted to God and his family. Devoted to just causes. If he can change, then there is hope for Mr. Wilcot.”
“‘I once was lost, but now I’m found. Was blind, but now, I see.’” My wife smiled as she quoted a poem from one of John’s published works, then rested her head on my shoulder, interlocking her arm with mine.
“You are right, of course. Perhaps I need something else to focus on so I do not worry so much.”
“I may be able to help with that,” I said.
Annette sat up, her brows pinched with curiosity as she watched me retrieve a sheet of paper from my coat. I handed it to her. “You are not the only one who received a letter today.”
“This is from the Admiralty?”
“It is. They have launched an investigation into Hollinsby. The evidence I provided was more than enough to prompt them into doing so. It seems there have been other submissions in the past, but nothing with physical evidence. That piece of paper Lucas found will change everything.”
“Have you told him? I imagine he will be happy with the news.”
“I did,” I confirmed. “It was only fair that he be the first to know. Adda’s disappearance has weighed on him far more than he lets on. He may not have worked for Hollinsby for long, but it was time enough for him and Adda to form a connection.”
“Losing that so soon after his father’s passing would have been difficult,” Annette whispered. “But he has had you, and that has been no small thing.”
I shifted, uncomfortable with the underlying praise in her words.
I had taken Lucas and his family in, yes, but I did not deserve applause for it.
His family’s prosperity had come to mean a great deal to me, and I would spend the rest of my life ensuring they had all they needed.
It was the right thing to do, and already I could see how his family’s life had improved.
Lucas worked hard, as I expected he would, and even his eldest sister had taken a position as a maid at Yardley.
His mother, though still grieving, had recovered her zeal for life, and her children were happier for it.
“Well, this is all good news, but unless Hollinsby is tracked down, none of it will matter.” Annette scoffed. “Coward of a man.”
“True,” I said, hoping to keep the conversation on this thread. “But I’ve another letter. I’ve received word from one of your Father’s contacts that Hollinsby has been spotted.”
Annette gasped. “Where? Never mind that, we must pack at once!”
She stood, and I grabbed her hand to tug her back down into the chair, chuckling. “Calm yourself, dearest. Remember what happened the last time Hollinsby became aware of my presence?”
Annette tapped a finger against her lips. “Remember? I cannot. It was such a dull time in my life. Nothing noteworthy happened that week at all.”
“Ah, that is true. What a boring life you have led. Regardless, we cannot travel without a plan. We must take care, so few are aware of it.”
“Very well, then tell me where he was seen at the very least.”
“Newbury, and since your brother lives there, I thought we might impose upon him for a time.”
Annette giggled; that mischief had returned to her eyes. “What an inconvenience you propose! Visiting Rowe and his new wife so soon after their debacle.”
“I think you mean wedding.”
She swatted my response away. “It is one and the same for them. Their engagement was a debacle. The wedding was awkward. The entire situation is the last thing I could have imagined for him. Of all my brothers, Rowe was the least likely to be involved in a scandal, yet here we are.”
“You do not seem terribly upset with visiting despite all of that,” I said.
“Of course not. If I know my brother—and rest assured, I do—he will need all the help he can get if he intends to woo his wife. They may not be a love match now, but that does not mean they cannot become one.”
“And you, an expert on wooing, shall help them?”
She gave me a flat look. “If you’ll recall, I have been successfully wooed. I think I know a little something about it. If not wooing, I certainly understand what it is like to deal with foolish, hairbrained men. Harriet will appreciate company who can extensively bemoan that topic with her.”
“If it will give you something to do while I track down Hollinsby, then I approve.”
She scoffed and scrunched her nose. “As if I intend to let you do that alone. I can multitask brilliantly.”
Her indignation drew out my laughter. How I adored this woman. “Very well, write to your brother then. He deserves notice of our arrival, at least. Just make sure he understands our need for discretion.” I stood and gave her cheek another kiss. “I shall leave you to it.”
I glanced over my shoulder as I walked away, a grin tugging at my lips when Annette dipped her quill into the inkwell. My body slipped beyond the door before she shouted.
“Edward Paget! Did you replace my ink with currant juice?”
Laughter bubbled out of me, and although I increased my pace, the swish of Annette’s skirts followed me down the corridor. She grabbed my arm, yanking me to a stop, and I turned to face her. No animosity pinched her expression, only amusement.
“That was a wicked prank,” she said.
I leaned closer, touching my nose to hers. “You started it with that tart.”
“I did, and I’ll finish it with this.” She lifted on her toes, wrapping her arms about my neck and kissing me soundly. I returned it with equal fervor, holding her tight against me and savoring every touch. Every kiss. Every laugh.
All while plotting my next scheme to ensure this woman never ceased this type of retaliation.