Epilogue
Zürich
The chiming of the Grossmünster bells woke her.
Evangeline rolled over and stretched. Spring had come to the city, and the windows stood open, admitting the crisp mountain air.
She was alone, and for a moment she luxuriated in it—the soft linen of the bedclothes, the fresh breeze, the peaceful music of medieval church bells.
She rose and pulled on her dressing gown. Richard always rose early, she had learned in the last several months, and only on the coldest mornings in winter did she wake to find him still abed beside her. But today was sunny and promised to be warm.
She followed the sound of barking down the stairs and out to the small terrace.
There sat Richard, a newspaper in one hand and a piece of bacon in the other.
Both dogs sat at perfect attention at his feet, eyes fixed on the bacon.
He was speaking to them in German, which Evangeline still had not learned beyond a few words, so she had no idea what he told them—until both lay down and put their heads on their paws.
Hercule’s tail thumped steadily, swishing the flagstones.
Taking his time, Richard tore the bacon in two and laid a piece before each dog.
Neither moved, although Evangeline could see that Louis was nearly vibrating with excitement.
“Jetzt,” said Richard, and in unison, the dogs lurched forward and devoured the bacon, in one bite in Hercule’s case.
Louis trotted away to chew his piece under the table.
“You are spoiling them again,” she said.
He glanced up, the morning sun winking off the gold frames of the spectacles he’d begun wearing to read. “You speak of spoiling them, to me? You, who would feed them roasted goose and syllabub from your own plate? You have no foot to stand on.”
She laughed, coming to take the chair across from his. “Just because I spoil them doesn’t mean no one else does.”
He gave a quiet harrumph and opened his newspaper again. “One piece of bacon will not harm them.”
“Was it only one piece, then?” she asked in amusement, as Louis emerged from under the table to lick her hand before sniffing around her feet.
Richard didn’t look up from his newspaper, but his mouth curved slightly. “No more will two pieces harm them.”
Evangeline lifted Louis into her lap, where he sat and panted happily, his tongue hanging out.
Hercule came over to her side, and she obliged him with a good scratch around the ears before he settled himself with a gusty sigh beside her chair.
When Richard wasn’t looking, she slipped each dog another small piece of bacon.
Hilde, the maid, emerged with a fresh pot of tea. “Guten Morgen, meine Frau,” she said brightly. “Toast, ja?”
“Bitte,” said Evangeline, smiling as Hilde hurried back for the toast. She poured herself a cup of tea and for several minutes just sat enjoying it as she stroked Louis’s fur.
Richard had taken a house in the Linderhof, not far from the River Limmat.
Evangeline had been charmed by the quaint little town, so different to London.
They had taken a circuitous and leisurely route from England, winding through the Low Countries and into eastern France before coming within sight of the Alps and following them to Bern and now Zürich.
He had teased her about scaling some of the snow-tipped mountains with him, and she had promised to leave him for a Frenchman if he ever suggested such a thing again.
He had taken her to see the goldsmith shops his mother’s family owned in Bern, and introduced her to his father’s family of bankers, who were still in Zürich.
They had been here now for four months, and it might be the most beautiful place Evangeline had ever seen.
Hilde brought in the post, just delivered. Evangeline’s brows went up as she took out one letter, much creased and marked from its journey. It was from Marion.
She slid it quietly into her lap and waited until Richard was back behind his newspaper to open it.
She and Joan had kept in touch, and Evangeline had nearly stopped holding her breath every time one of her niece’s letters arrived.
But Joan continued to be in love with her husband, and he continued to give every appearance of reforming into a good husband.
In her last letters, Joan had said she was expecting a child, which must have been born by now.
Marion wrote:
Dear Sister,
I have only a little time to write now, forgive me—I will write more later.
Joan begged me to write to you at once. This morning she was safely delivered of a fine, healthy son.
He is tiny but very loud, to his father’s great pride.
I will confide between us, that Lord Burke insisted on being in the birthing room, and quite a scene he caused—encouraging Joan as if she were a fighter in a boxing match, urging her to punch him if the desire should take her!
I tried in vain to make him leave, although he did cause Joan to laugh at times, but she refused to let him go and clung to his hand so tightly he was bruised.
It was all rather raucous, but I am completely persuaded of their true love and affection. You know what a relief that is, to me and to George.
In any event, I am writing to ask your blessing, and Sir Richard’s, for the child’s name: Colin Richard.
Joan said for months she would have a girl and name her Evangeline, but now it is a boy, and they both wish to know if Sir Richard will consent to this use of his name, and even stand as godfather to the child.
I have tried to tell her this is something that must be broached in person, but she is adamant, and begs to know your answer as soon as possible.
I enclose a note from Lord Burke to Sir Richard, begging this honor.
Burke says that if Sir Richard does not approve, they will name the child Colin Richmond, which Douglas tells me is in honor of a boxer Burke particularly admires. As a grandmother, I beg you to intercede with Sir Richard and prevent this . . .
Evangeline was smiling as she finished reading Marion’s letter. “My niece has had a son,” she said.
Richard’s newspaper rustled. “That is excellent news. I trust she and the child are well?”
“Yes.” Evangeline folded the letter. “They wish to name him after you.”
The newspaper came down. He looked at her, brows raised.
“Colin Richard,” she explained. “Colin was Lord Burke’s father. They would like you to stand as godfather as well, if you are amenable.” She handed him the smaller folded note that had been inside Marion’s letter.
Looking startled, he took it. A faint smile curved his lips as he read, then he laughed. “Yes, of course I will. Any child of Burke’s will need a godfather of calm and steady temper.”
“Then we really must visit soon, to meet the child,” she said.
“Of course we must,” he replied, as if he had been on the brink of suggesting that very thing.
She beamed at him. He was so unflappable, this man of hers, with the kindest heart.
He went back to his newspaper, and she read the rest of her letters, including one from Fanny.
When Evangeline had told her she and Richard were going abroad together, Fanny had sighed in relief and declared that she couldn’t think of anything better for Evangeline’s battered spirit.
“Tell him to show you a real adventure,” she had said, and Evangeline had laughed and replied that being a chaperone had been more than enough adventure for her, and she hoped for a quiet, peaceful journey.
“What a lovely day,” she remarked when she had put the post aside.
“It is. On just such a day, it is beautiful in the mountains.” He inhaled deeply, giving her a wicked look. “Perhaps you have reconsidered mountain climbing?”
She laughed. “No. I have reconsidered something else.”
“Oh?” He put aside the newspaper. “What is that?”
Since they left England, she had allowed people to think her Richard’s wife. It had begun with neglecting to correct a servant who referred to her as such, then to allowing innkeepers and hoteliers to believe he was her husband. In every way that made a husband appealing, he was.
In becoming, in some slight way, Mrs. Campion, it had struck her that all her life, she had borne the name of one man after another who had hurt her—first her father, then Cunningham, and finally Courtenay.
Richard had said he was tired of calling her by “that swine’s” name, and she had finally realized she was also tired of hearing it.
Just like the shame he had heaped on her with his indifference, his infidelity, and his ignominious death, she was sick of it, and ready to rid herself of the last traces of Court.
Evangeline Campion sounded much better, to her ears. Richard had glanced at her in surprise the first time she allowed it, but never said a word of protest. She knew he also liked the sound of it.
And that, she finally realized, was what marriage should be like. Would be like, with him.
“It strikes me as a fine day to be married,” she said lightly, then darted a quick look at him.
His brows went up. “Married! Who should be the fortunate couple?”
“I shouldn’t dare to make such a decision for anyone other than myself.”
“I see.” He paused. “Have you selected a bridegroom?”
She pretended to think. “You, if you are free.”
He studied her for a moment. “I have never been proposed to before. I believe I like it.”
“I have never proposed to a man before,” she replied. “Heavens, I hope I did it correctly!”
Richard laughed. “You did it splendidly. I do accept.”
She smiled back at him. “Very good. Will this afternoon suit you?”
“Perfectly.”
And that was that. They lingered over breakfast, then took the dogs for a walk along the river. When they returned home, Evangeline went upstairs and changed her dress. She put on the sapphires Richard had given her a few years ago and her best bonnet, and went downstairs.
He wore a fresh coat, with a sprig of small white mountain flowers pinned to his lapel. To her delight, he handed her a bouquet of the same. Then he offered her his arm.
They walked to the Rathaus, where his cousin Johann, some official of the town, came out to meet them. Too late Evangeline remembered about the restrictions and requirements for marriage, but to her astonishment, Richard handed over a packet and Johann took it with a nod.
“Oh dear. Did we need to have the banns read?” she whispered as Johann paged through the papers.
Richard smiled. “Only a small matter of forms and declarations. Johann will take care of it.”
She glanced at him in surprise. “And you have these forms and declarations already prepared?”
He looked at her. “Whenever one sets out on a long journey into new territories, it is crucial to plan for as many possibilities as you can think of. You never know what might confront you on any given day, and you must be prepared for anything. Yes, I had the forms prepared. I also had a license in England, and the necessary papers in France.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“When—or rather, if—the proper moment ever arrived, I was determined to be prepared to meet it, without hesitation or delay,” Richard went on. “Fortunately, I am also a Protestant. It would have been considerably more challenging if I were Catholic.”
Words failed her for several heartbeats. “All this time,” she murmured, feeling her face grow hot, “I made you wait—”
“No, no.” He covered her hand with his. “I told you, this is merely a formality, to please the rest of the world and, I hope, to resolve any fears you may have. You and your love are all I want.”
Evangeline looked at him, the most remarkable man she had ever known. He’d followed her lead from the first moment they met, not from weakness but from deference to her desires—always. “I do believe I love you more than ever,” she whispered.
He leaned closer, his blue eyes twinkling. “Then my plan for our journey together has come off perfectly. Being with you is the most exciting adventure I could ever dream of.”