Epilogue
Ivy and Owen’s wedding was simple but beautiful. It took place in a field while red, orange, and russet leaves drifted over them. The girls carried baskets of flowers, and they dashed around in little white dresses, leaving trails of mum petals wherever they went.
Barnes attended, along with Diane, and rather than their usual fighting, there was an awkward air between them.
Ivy wondered what had happened, but before she could ask, the dowager swept into the banquet room and stiffly congratulated them.
She had decided to move to the dowager house tucked farther back on the property, and had readily agreed that the girls would remain in the main house.
Everyone was delighted with the arrangement.
Hours of feasting followed the ceremony. By the end of the afternoon, Ivy’s cheeks felt like they were going to crack from smiling, and she wanted nothing more than to go upstairs with her new husband, but he was nowhere to be found.
A short walk later, she discovered him behind the stables with his eight sisters.
“No, no, Ollie,” he said. He strode toward his sister, his cravat loose around his neck and his hair tousled.
“You must embrace impact. I know it is frightening to be hit, but once you are struck a few times with the foil, you will realize it is not so painful, and it will allow you the freedom to practice braver attacks. Here, let me show you.” He opened his body to her, and Ollie gripped the fencing foil with a giggle, her ribbons trailing from her hair and her dress askew. “Go ahead, strike me.”
Ollie exchanged an unsure look with Ophelia, who nodded her approval.
“Do not worry, Ollie. It will not hurt me. You will see. Go ahead.”
Ollie leaped forward and thwacked her brother solidly across the chest. He staggered backward, theatrically clutching his coat. “My God,” he gasped, “I have been proven wrong. I think… I have been killed.”
The girls squealed and raced toward him, piling on top of him until he fell over. They pretended to nurse him to health, while Ophelia came to stand at Ivy’s side.
“You do not want to join in?” Ivy asked the eldest girl. She wrapped her arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.
“No, I am too old now.”
“One is never too old for fun.”
Ophelia bit her lip and turned her face to Ivy. “I think we will be happy now, Miss Bennett. I feel happy. And hopeful. I have not always.”
“You must call me Ivy,” she said. She brushed aside one of Ophelia’s curls. “And, yes, Ophelia. As long as we all have one another, we will be very happy indeed.”
By the time the nursemaid came to collect the girls, the foil was in Owen’s hand and no one was the wiser. They raced into the house after kissing both Owen and Ivy good night, exhausted but smiling.
Ivy walked toward Owen, and he tossed the foil aside. It was dusk, but she could still hear music and laughter in the direction of the feast.
His green eyes shone in the light of the glowing lamps set around the barn as he wrapped his strong arm around her waist and pulled her close, as naturally as if he had done it a thousand times before.
She felt as if she belonged here, wrapped in his embrace, breathing in his scent, and soaking in his love.
Because Owen Brackley, as grouchy as he was, had a lot of love to give.
“I must soon share the good news of our wedding with Saxony,” he murmured in her hair, nodding toward the barn behind them. “If he is lucky, he might one day find a mare as clever and spirited as my wife. Perhaps Olivia Peppersnort the Third.”
Ivy laughed and lifted her face to press her lips to his jaw. “I love you, Lord Owen Brackley the Scowly.”
He bent his head and ran his nose down her neck.
“And I love you, Lady Ivy Brackley, the Lantern of My Life. You have lifted the darkness for all of us, and I…” He paused, his throat working.
“I cannot believe I have the honor of basking in your sunshine and being your storm cloud when you need one.”
She met his mouth in a soft, lingering kiss. Then he swept her into her arms and carried her to Brackley Manor, which they planned to crowd with many, many happy memories.