Epilogue
Seven years later
‘Mother, I really must go—’
‘One more.’ Lorelei pulled Arley into a hug. He’d grown so tall, well over six feet, and her cheek squashed against his chest. He huffed, patted her back twice, then squirmed out of her grasp like an embarrassed boy instead of a grown man of twenty-one.
‘It’s only London. I’m not moving to another country,’ Arley said gruffly.
‘I suppose not.’ Lorelei tapped his side and forced a smile.
No, it wasn’t that far. Two days in the carriage, or a few short hours by train.
How to explain that, for her, it might as well be another world?
For all his intelligence, Arley seemed determined not to acknowledge what marrying outside the peerage had done to her reputation.
He was so uninterested in society that he failed to grapple with its nuances and unwritten rules.
Although he was a duke. He had the luxury of being blasé.
‘You’ll come home for the summer picnic, won’t you?’ she asked. ‘Everyone in the county would love to see you.’
‘If I’m not too busy.’ He pulled himself up into the carriage and settled in the centre of the seat, facing forward.
Cecil passed him his leather satchel, stuffed with books and notes and all the things he carried about with him.
‘I always found the summer picnic a bit… overwhelming. Too many people. And the older farmers, they’re always trying to corner me to talk about their daughters.
’ He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not me they’re interested in. Just the title.’
Tillman, who had been checking the horses, sidled up to her with a chuckle.
He thrust his palm into the carriage, and Arley gave it one firm shake.
Far from enemies, but not quite friends, an odd, quiet respect ran between the two men.
They were not simply employer and employee or mere colleagues—but they weren’t quite family to one another either.
Tillman folded the steps away and shut the carriage door. Arley pushed the window open.
‘Don’t fall in with a bad crowd,’ Lorelei called up to him. ‘And don’t drink the water straight from the river. I’ve been reading the latest news about it, and you should boil it first. And be careful of—’
‘Travel safe, Your Grace.’ Tillman nudged her side. Behind her back, he grasped her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. ‘I’ll send a report on the estate every week.’
At the back of the carriage, Cecil checked the straps that tied down the wooden trunks. He paused before the two of them, then gave a short bow and a rueful, if somewhat excited smile. ‘You’ll manage without me, Duchess?’ he asked.
‘If Arley says he’d like you to run his household in London, then manage I must.’ She leant in a little. ‘But tell me if he is stubborn and sullen. In case I need to prod him to get out and meet people.’
Cecil’s lips twitched. ‘It’s not his favourite pastime. But I shall try.’
He bowed and gave the house one long look, tipping his hat at the gables in a silent goodbye.
It had been his home for more years than it had been hers.
Then he climbed up the side of the carriage and took his place beside the driver.
Even if Arley had requested his company inside the compartment, he’d likely have refused, old stickler for propriety that he was.
Arley’s fingers tapped against the lowered window, as if he was impatient to leave.
Lorelei drew a bitter breath. The years since she’d pulled him out of school to bring him home had been so short.
Too soon, he’d scampered off to Oxford, and then abroad.
He’d grown and laughed and learnt, but beneath it all, the two of them had never fully settled, had never quite established a peace between them.
Maybe he’d not forgiven her. Or maybe he’d not forgiven her yet.
She squeezed Tillman’s hand and let the grief for the lost years roll in, then ebb away.
He was still thoughtful. He was still quiet.
If nothing else, she’d given him space to be himself.
Arley waved. Tillman nodded at the driver. The reins flicked, the horses pawed, then tugged, and the carriage jerked forwards. Arley snapped the window shut, and there was nothing left to do but watch the carriage roll away. Soon, it was hidden by the curve and incline of the drive.
‘Did you really ask Cecil to spy on your son?’ Tillman asked.
‘Not spy. I just don’t trust him to tell me himself if something’s wrong. He is stubborn, like his father.’
‘That comes only from his father?’
‘What are you implying?’
‘Nothing, my wife.’ He chuckled. ‘Nothing at all.’
Lorelei leant against him. They stood like that, her relying on his steadiness to bolster her as the sound of the horses’ hooves faded. Red and orange leaves scattered over the drive, ushering in another autumn for the estate. And, perhaps, a longer season of autumn for herself.
‘Are you going to cry?’ Tillman asked.
‘I didn’t cry when he went to Oxford. And I didn’t cry when he went abroad.’
‘This is a little different…’
‘Not in front of everyone. Maybe later. When I am alone.’
‘We could visit. In a few weeks, to make sure he’s settled. You don’t have to stay at the house.’
‘It’s not the house that’s the problem, and you know it.’ Lorelei shook her head. ‘I’ll not ruin his chances to make his own way.’
Tillman, beautiful stalwart Tillman, nodded with understanding.
All those years earlier, she’d known what would come of marrying a common man, but the coldness of the cut had still hurt.
The turned backs. The whispers. The awkward hellos and broken goodbyes.
The same people who had smiled and made small talk while a duke had humiliated her possessed no tolerance for her happiness.
One trip to London had been sufficient to show her that, unless she gave up Tillman, she would remain forever banished.
And she had no intention of giving him up.
‘You did good with him. He might not know it yet, but you did.’ He pulled her against his side and kissed her forehead. ‘Come check the fields with me?’
‘I am not dressed for riding,’ she protested.
‘That’s never stopped you before,’ he said with a smirk. ‘I’ll tuck up your skirts. We’ll make the horses go at a walk, and besides, Melody has never been spooked. It’s a glorious day. We should enjoy it while it lasts.’
They wandered across to the stables. Sunlight painted a path between the puddles, and they picked their way along the dry patches together.
Melody whickered and nuzzled into her shoulder when they arrived, and Lorelei stroked the mare’s nose as Tillman fixed her saddle.
There was no point protesting and getting him to call a groom—he’d not allow anyone else to do it.
As always, her chest tightened and her knees turned weak as she watched him. Still, even after all these years.
Her protector.
Her everything.
At last, Tillman knelt and interlaced his fingers to boost her into the side saddle, then tucked her skirts beneath her as she hooked her leg around the pommel.
He pulled himself onto Buttercup, and with a click and a light tap, the horses moved out of the stables and onto one of the paths that ran along the edges of the fields and hedgerows.
Robins chased bugs, leaves slipped and spun, and in the late yellow sun, Tillman’s salt-and-pepper hair, worn long and loose today, shone with a golden hue.
Not for the first time, Lorelei wished she could have given him a child.
She would have loved to have filled the manor with small feet and little giggles, with magic and young voices.
Was the problem her or him? They would never know.
The truth became its own answer—it wasn’t meant to be.
‘Your boy is grown now.’ Tillman sneaked his observation into the quiet. ‘He’s paid attention and studied. He could manage the estate on his own, even from a distance. Or hire someone and know if they were doing a good job.’
‘Did he say he wants to run things himself?’ she asked.
Tillman laughed. ‘No. He knows his wheat from his chaff, which is more than you could ever say about William, but the land is not in his heart. He asked me if I’d keep managing everything while he’s away. I said I’d talk to you about what you wanted to do, now he’s grown.’
Lorelei rolled with the horse’s steady walk. ‘Do you want to leave?’ she tried, testing his question for some hidden meaning.
‘The question wasn’t about me.’ He spoke with a hint of impatience and collected the reins so Buttercup slowed to a stop.
Lorelei reined in Melody beside him. ‘I’m asking you.
Not the duchess. Not the duke’s mother. I am asking my wife, Lorelei.
You’ve lived your life around others. What do you want for yourself? ’
‘Myself? I scarcely know.’ Despite the fact that it was Tillman asking, her heart still leapt with fear at confessing to such uncertainty.
And so she did what she always did in these moments: seek his reassurance, his gentle smile, his dark eyes, and patient countenance.
Her heart slowed, and her blood settled.
While doubts like this struck her far less often than they used to, they still surfaced from time to time.
But a little indecision didn’t bother him, because nothing bothered him.
‘I like to ride. Daily, when the weather is good.’
He clicked his tongue, and the horses fell into their gentle motion again.
‘Nothing more? Just riding?’ he asked.
The path wound along the hedgerows, thick with tangles.
Small birds leapt about and hid between the branches, making the outer twigs tremble.
On their other side, dry heads of barley scratched against one another.
They’d start the harvest in a few days if the sky stayed clear, and thank the heavens, it looked clear.
Tillman watched her, waiting.