Epilogue
Epilogue
Anna
Papa’s house looked exactly as I’d left it.
Marble floors so polished you could almost see your reflection as you walked down the vaulted front hall. The same paintings, the same gilded mirrors lined the walls where I’d once felt home. Now, as I walked by, I felt nostalgic for childhood.
But my home was by the sea.
I followed the servants’ stairs down to the kitchen, where I found Cook in her apron and cap arranging sprigs of parsley atop the mutton she’d prepared.
“He’s put you through all this trouble for me?” I teased.
She looked up, then dropped the sprigs and wiped both hands on her apron as her smile grew.
“Miss La—Mrs. Everett, that is!” She flushed, and it took everything in me not to embrace her, my old friend, a woman who’d imparted her fair share of wisdom over the years and saved me from more than one heartache. “Look at you. So happy.” She reached out and hesitated only a second before patting my cheek.
“I miss your cooking,” I said, leaning into her touch.
“Do you?” She raised a brow. “Those round cheeks say otherwise.”
“Mrs. Devon!” I laughed as she cackled in return. I’d forgotten how brash she could be.
“You are in Town for your father’s wedding, I presume?” she asked.
“Yes. And I’m not to bother you while Ms. Peale and her guests are here. Papa lectured me about not overstepping and letting change take its course.”
“Ah.” She nodded, then winked. “Then I suppose you’ve heard about dessert.”
I tempered my humor. Apparently, Ms. Peale liked her desserts plain. A bit particular, if you asked me. “Oh, I’ve heard. I shall suffer through it. There is one small thing you could help me with, though.”
She gave me a curious look as she rounded the table, back to her original spot in the middle of all the food. “Yes?”
I placed my hands on the table and leaned in, voice low. “If you happen to have it on hand ... I thought perhaps my husband might appreciate a small bowl of—”
“Goat cheese?” She lifted a little plate from the side.
“You absolute saint.”
Her eyes lit up with approval. “I wondered if marrying him would change your tricks. I am glad to see you are still the same girl inside.”
“Anna?” Graham called from the top of the stairs. “Are you down there?”
“Coming!” I called back, then turned to Cook. “I cannot thank you enough for remembering. You always knew just what to do to make those dinners a little more exciting.”
She winked again, then nodded to the stairs, and I rushed toward Graham. I found him at the top, arms folded with a quirk to his brow and a half smile on his lips.
“We’re gathering in the drawing room. Your father sent me to find you. What, pray tell, were you doing down there?”
“Not a thing, my love.” I kissed his cheek as I walked past. “Hungry?”
He grasped my wrist to stop me, closing the door behind him. “Famished,” he said with a wicked look in his eyes. He pulled my hand to his chest, then laced his arms around my waist. A few steps had me backed against the wall, enveloped by his strength. “You’ve been gone all afternoon.”
I laughed and smoothed my hands up his chest to the high folds on his collar. “I’ve been gone only an hour to dress.”
“Too long,” he mumbled as he lowered his lips to mine.
Where once we’d hesitated, learning each other and savoring, now Graham kissed me hard and steady like a man making a promise. He pulled me close, and I thought of our honeymoon—of a fortnight spent a little cottage within an apple orchard not far from Brighton, of lavender pressed between sheets, and sunlight spilling through thin curtains well into the afternoon. I remembered meals around a small round table, just the two of us talking about everything and nothing at all until the candles burned low. It had been nearly a year, and yet, it felt like only yesterday that we’d made promises to never part.
How I loved him.
“Ahem.”
Graham jerked back, and I wiped my mouth with a sleeve. “Papa.”
His eyes were serious, lips downturned, though his voice held a sweeter tone. “We’re waiting for you in the drawing room, darling.” Then, more solemn and firm. “Everett.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Lane. I’d gone to fetch her and—”
“Yes. I see you’ve found her.”
I stepped around Graham and touched my hair, ensuring every curl was in place. “I should apologize to Ms. Peale for keeping her waiting. Shall we?”
Graham followed a step behind, so I reached out my hand until he grasped it. I pulled him beside me, and we walked around the grand staircase to the drawing room.
Petite, elegant, with hints of youth still in her countenance, Ms. Peale sat with delicate, gloved hands in her lap and a growing smile as we entered.
“What a happy sight,” she said, standing. “The three of you together.”
“The four of us, now,” Papa said, moving to her side and kissing her temple. “Tomorrow we shall make that permanent.”
It still felt strange, seeing the shift in him. The love in his gaze for his intended. But it felt right, too. Like she was the missing piece. Not Mama by any means, but someone special to add to what we’d already known.
When we’d each found our places at the dining table, Papa turned his attention to Graham. “How’s my house looking, Everett?”
He’d chosen first among our plots of land in Brighton, and within six months, the rest had sold. Graham and I had celebrated by taking Tabs and Ginny and Mrs. Everett out for prawns and a day spent on our favorite spot at the beach. We’d all left drenched with seawater from playing all afternoon.
“Very well. I believe they are finishing the interior this afternoon. Should be ready for the furniture next week. Right on schedule for your visit after you return from France.” Where Papa and Ms. Peale would honeymoon after the wedding.
“Wonderful.” Papa winked at Ms. Peale, who struggled to contain her full excitement, her happy grin.
We’d spoken enough for me to trust that grin, trust that she understood Papa and that she loved him in the same way I loved Graham. Their wedding did not feel like some looming thing I’d once imagined. It felt like something to celebrate.
I drew in a deep breath and looked around the table. At Papa, as he served Ms. Peale a generous slice of the center of the mutton, her favorite. And then at Graham, the smooth slope of his brows, the gentle curve of his lips, how they parted ever slightly as he focused on serving me.
Graham paused after spooning out a portion of peas on my plate. Tilting his head, his eyes flicked lazily to mine, lips turned up in a smirk. He gestured to the goat cheese.
“Honestly?”
I laughed as he shook his head, passing over the goat cheese to fork a slice of mutton on my plate. A playful glint in his eyes reappeared, along with the scowl he used to give me, and I wondered if I’d ever tire of teasing him.
Papa asked Ms. Peale about the wedding breakfast, and Graham leaned over to whisper to me, “I shall have to retaliate, you know. For the sake of my honor.”
“Over goat cheese?” I raised a brow, bringing wine to my lips.
He sighed heavily as he sliced through his mutton. “If I don’t get you in line now, what will it be next, hmm? Jellied lobster?”
I nearly choked on my sip, and his face lit up.
“You dreadful man.”
“You beautiful woman.”
“What are you two blathering on about?” Papa broke in.
“Your daughter and her affinity for goat cheese, sir,” Graham answered as though it was the most normal response in the world.
Ms. Peale beamed as though she wanted to laugh but didn’t quite feel allowed. Papa, however, looked between us, half amused and half stern. “If you two cannot have proper conversation or proper manners during a dinner with your family, how the devil do you function in Society? People will start to talk.”
I met Graham’s eyes, enraptured by the light—the love—glowing behind them. Nothing else in the world mattered than those eyes gleaming into mine.
“Let them talk,” I said softly, gently, and he took my hand in his.
He smiled, then said, “Let them talk.”