Epilogue
Apollo and Athena draped themselves lazily across the sitting room of Hartwell House, and Emily stepped over the large dogs carefully as she made her way back to the table where she and Lyness were sitting together.
Outside, the city hummed with its usual bustle, but inside all was calm and perfectly comfortable.
She sat at the small writing table Lyness had commandeered for her, pressing it up against his own—because she preferred a place near the windows, and because he liked to be where she was.
Half-finished sketches lay scattered before her: herbs, apothecary jars, flowers newly dried from Lady Hartwell’s garden.
Across from her, Lyness bent over a sheet of ivory paper, carefully shaping calligraphy labels for more herbal bottles.
His brows furrowed in concentration, lips pressed together as though each stroke of the quill mattered more than the last. Emily suspected, with a warm flutter in her heart, that to him it did.
“You write ‘elderflower’ more beautifully each time,” she teased lightly.
He glanced up, eyes shining. “I have a very important patron to please.” His smile grew crooked. “Also a very lovely one.”
Heat spread through her cheeks and pleasure bloomed in her heart. She pretended to examine her sketchbook to disguise the obvious signs of her affection. She was not yet used to being openly adored, but she doubted she would ever tire of it.
Roman sat nearby in an armchair, reading the York Gazette, though Emily suspected he was truly watching the two of them over the paper’s edge.
He hid it well—Roman hid everything well—but she’d learned to spot the telltale crease near his temple that meant he was listening.
It was strange, but now that she knew he would be as a brother to her, she had a much easier time interpreting his expressions and silences.
Lady Hartwell swept into the room then, her gown rustling like the petals of one of her own prized roses. “Children,” she announced, because she seemed determined to call them that until the end of time, “we must discuss the wedding. Again.”
Folding her hands in her lap, Emily looked up with a smile. “Of course, my lady.”
With a sigh dramatic enough to shake the curtains, Lady Hartwell sat upon the chair that matched Roman’s.
“I simply cannot understand why Christmas.” She clasped her hands.
“Think of the roses I have at this moment ready for a September wedding! White roses, Emily. I have none in my glasshouse. They will not be available in December.”
Lyness looked at Emily, waiting for her to answer. Trusting in whatever she said. The thought made her heart warm.
Emily folded her hands atop her sketchbook. “We are waiting because we want time for a proper courtship.” She darted a shy glance toward Lyness. “I want to enjoy this season of learning one another. Without rushing to the end of it.”
Lyness’s quill paused. He lifted his gaze to hers, that quiet, earnest warmth she had grown so attached to shining in his dark eyes. “As do I,” he said. “Very much.”
Lady Hartwell pressed a hand to her heart. “Well. The two of you make planning terribly inconvenient, but I suppose you make up for it with your sweetness.”
Roman cleared his throat and rose abruptly. “I must leave you all to your discussions.” He folded his newspaper with meticulous precision. “I believe the dogs need a walk.”
“They are asleep,” Lady Hartwell pointed out.
“Then I need a walk,” he corrected.
Emily gave him a gentle smile as he bowed slightly to her, then to his mother, and departed the room. Athena and Apollo, roused by the hint of departure, scrambled after him with cheerful clamor.
As the door closed behind them, Emily looked at Lyness again. He had resumed his lettering, but his smile had deepened at the edges. One chestnut lock of hair fell across his forehead and she itched to smooth it back, though propriety demanded restraint with his mother present.
Someday soon, she would not have to restrain herself at all.
“December is not so far away,” she said quietly.
“No,” he agreed, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “But long enough to savor everything before it.”
She traced a line in her sketchbook, her heart full. “I never thought happiness could feel like this.”
Lyness’s voice softened. “Nor I.”
The sun shifted. The room glowed. Emily’s world, once an uncertain jumble of expectations and missteps, now felt as steady as his presence beside her, and warm as the look he gave her every time she spoke his name.
She closed her sketchbook and let herself enjoy the quiet of the moment.
She was loved.
And she had found her home.
Roman stepped out into the crisp September air far more briskly than the dogs, though Athena and Apollo trotted at his heels eagerly enough. The street was quiet, with sunlight flickering through the branches of the lindens lining the walk.
He inhaled slowly.
It should not have caught him off guard, the sight of his younger brother alight with happiness, that soft, private smile Lyness wore now in Lady Emily’s presence. Roman had always known Lyness capable of great feeling, if given room to express it.
But knowing and witnessing were not the same.
A few weeks ago, he’d thought Lady Emily’s gentle kindness might be something he could grow into.
Something steady, sensible, and that an affection would blossom between Roman and Emily in time.
He had admired her. He had respected her.
He had even wondered, once or twice, whether a future with her might hold more comfort than duty.
But now? He saw the truth plainly. She and Lyness fit together.
“I am glad for them,” he murmured under his breath. And he meant it.
Apollo nudged his hand in his insistent, hopeful way. Roman scratched behind the dog’s ears.
But he wondered when he would find his own contentment. Lyness had earned every ounce of his happiness. And Lady Emily deserved a man who would walk through fire for her without hesitation. Roman’s affections had always been careful and measured.
Athena pressed her large head against his knee, sensing some shift in his mood. Roman exhaled, long and slow.
He had responsibilities. Duties. Enemies still to contend with and political battles to wage. There was more than enough in his life to keep him busy in the city that he loved.
Still. He wondered what it might feel like to be looked at the way Emily now looked at Lyness. The tenderness and affection she held for Lyness had done wonders for his brother’s confidence.
Continuing toward St. Helen’s Square, he said to the dogs, “Someday.”
Athena barked once, sharply, as if in agreement. Roman smiled despite himself.
Today belonged to his brother. And Roman, for all his quiet yearning, found himself rather proud of the man Lyness had become.
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