Epilogue
“So, the canal will go through to the Mersey, Francis?” Bryght poured coffee for the duke, who had just arrived at Candleford Park, which lay some four miles west of Winchester.
“Aye,” said Bridgewater with satisfaction. “But it was a devil of a trial to get the Bills passed and the money raised, particularly when Walgrave took a hand.”
“My fault, that. He’d not have interfered if I hadn’t been involved.”
It balanced out, for it brought Rothgar in. I’m still not sure why he took such an interest, but I’m grateful.”
“It became a family affair. But when do we see some profit for all our efforts?”
Bridgewater laughed. “Well, that’s another matter. I’m so sunk it debt it’s ceased to worry me. I’m glad you weren’t tempted to sink your windfall into my business though. Candleford is a prime estate, and it suits you.”
“Like a new coat?” Bryght queried.
“Perhaps. You certainly look comfortable enough in it. I can’t wait to meet my godson. He must be beyond lying still and blowing bubbles by now.”
“He’s assuredly that. He is nearly two years old, Francis.”
“Is it so long? Damme, in that time we should have made further progress with the canal.”
Bryght laughed and then heard other laughter. He went to the bay window that looked out over the mellow lawns of Candleford, lawns dotted with spreading trees, and scattered with small daisies. Francis followed him.
Zeno came to rise up by Bryght’s side, and gave a plaintive woof.
“Yes,” said Bryght, ruffling the dog’s fur. “It is certainly our duty to go and make sure they are safe. Come along, Francis, and meet your godson and namesake.”
For out on the lawns Portia ran laughing through the sun, hair escaping its pins, pursuing a merry, twinkle-legged lad with the same bright curls.
The End