Epilogue #2
They emerged from the woodlands and into the stretch that turned into the main street for Marrawton. Eric laughed suddenly. “Oh gods! This is all Petra’s doing, that sly cow! Look.”
Ix leaned over. It was perhaps unnecessary for him to press against the length of Eric’s entire body from shoulder to knee to look out of the window, much less steady himself with a hand curled against Eric’s waist, but Eric wasn’t going to complain.
He had never visited Eric at the country house before, but what he was looking at was obvious enough.
The fair was suddenly visible, the tops of tents and stalls, colorful flags and banners waving in the air, steam and smoke from fires and food vendors rising, and right behind that cacophony of life rose the walls of Marrawton Hall.
Eric fished out the latest letter from Petra, the one inviting him and their friends to come visit:
Dearest Eric,
I am quite settled at the Hall now. I fear I’ve sent the servants into despair with the number of changes I’ve requested.
I don’t feel any are unreasonable, but it must seem a lot after Father’s habit of not changing anything for the last thirty years.
The new housekeeper, Mrs. Trundle, said it reminded me of Mother, a compliment I’ve been chuffed by for the last two weeks.
My plans for the gardens are well under way too and I think you’ll like what I’ve done. Why don’t you ask everyone to come visit now the weather is turning? You’ll be just in time to see the trees blossom.
Your favorite sister,
Petra
She was, of course, his only sister. Regardless, even after rereading the letter, Eric knew he couldn’t have guessed that this was what she had meant.
“There you are!” A familiar voice sounded from the other side of the carriage, and Eric started. Ix squeezed his thigh, and then moved back to his own side of the carriage, a respectable two inches of propriety between them.
“Petrella, what a surprise,” said Ix as he opened the door. Petra smiled back up at them from where she’d been waiting at the side of the road.
“Yes,” Eric chipped in pointedly, gesturing vaguely to the fair. “What a surprise indeed.”
Petra cackled, in the usual way of one sibling managing a clear point on the other. “Why do you think I lugged myself all the way to the far edge of town, if not to intercept you and see your reaction?”
Despite himself, Eric found himself grinning.
Ix helped her up into the carriage as they carried on toward the house.
Petra had noticed that a lot of the visitors to the town had been people from the ports stopping on their way to the capital so she’d had the idea to use the gardens as a market space; somehow that had grown and now there were people from all over.
She pointed out stalls as they trundled past: some were traders with wagons of goods, others local farmers with seasonal produce and cloth covered cheeses, others merchants who would usually have to travel all the way down into the capital to pick up goods, entertainers, and so on.
George Williams, Ned’s brother and the final s in ‘Williams & Sons’, was an accountant and had come up for a few weeks to help Petra calculate rents and maintenance for the house and the like, and her early numbers were promising.
As well as income from the fair, the increased business for the rest of the town and along their country roads would give Marrawshire an edge over Questby.
But more importantly, this was the Petra that Eric knew.
They spent the rest of that afternoon exploring the fair, then being shown the changes Petra had made to the house with glee.
As they finally separated to get ready for a late dinner, Eric and Ix were both shown to Eric’s bedroom.
The servant left before Eric could ask if that was correct.
He hadn’t lived in this bedroom since he’d been a child.
It was small, and felt even smaller now Ix’s four trunks took up most of one wall.
“When I imagined what might happen if people heard about us, I thought there would be remarks and questions and the like,” said Eric eventually as he surveyed the scene. “I wasn’t prepared for no one to mention anything at all.”
The look Ix gave him was pitying. “Eric, they think we’ve been fucking for years. They just think we’ve stopped hiding it now Lydia of Questby has run off and eloped overseas.”
“I – no. Surely not?” Eric was taken aback. He’d been hiding it so well.
“Why would you still be by my side if you were not desperately in love with me?” said Ix. “Is what people think.”
“Well, they’re right. You’re bullish and crass and have no sense of inappropriate behavior.
And I am desperately in love with you, so there,” said Eric as if that would win this nonexistent argument.
Mostly he was annoyed that Ix had somehow known this before him.
Ix laughed at him and then tilted his face down, and Eric let him pepper him with kisses to make up for it.
“I have a present for you, by the way.” Ix tapped a small box on the bedside table. “Petra is the one who made it, so thanks ought to go to her.”
Eric opened it curiously. Ix got him a lot of presents and mostly got away with it by sliding it in with Eric’s belongings until Eric noticed days or weeks later that he had a new waistcoat or ring or pair of gloves. It was deeply aggravating, but also made the announcement intriguing.
A dove-gray cravat, neatly folded. Embroidered with little vines. It was not exactly the same as the old one but Eric teared up anyway. He touched the tiny flower buds with his fingertips as his vision clouded over.
“It’s just seasonal allergies,” sniffed Eric as Ix folded him against his chest. Thank you, I have no words.
“I hate it when people sniff,” said Ix gruffly. None needed.
End.