Epilogue
The celebration of the union of Richard Percival and Rosalind Hemmings was an unusual event. To begin with, for a ton wedding, the guest list was surprisingly short. For another, many of the guests hailed from strata of society not normally seen at ton gatherings.
And then there were the children.
Not only were Richard’s much-loved nephew and niece there, but they were joined by a coterie of others drawn from both the Percival and Hemmings families and the Percival-connected Glendowers.
The small army ranged in age from twelve down to infants-in-arms, and Barnaby and Penelope’s sons, Stokes and Griselda’s two, and Montague and Violet’s children readily joined with Rose and Thomas’s brood in flinging themselves into the festivities with unrestrained abandon.
The ceremony, held midmorning in the small church on the grounds of the Grange, had been attended by many locals and staff as well as the invited guests who had traveled from London and elsewhere for the event.
With so many children among the congregation, the proceedings were necessarily short and to the point and had culminated in Richard and Rosalind leaving the church under a hail of rice with huge smiles on their faces.
After half an hour or so of chatting and exclaiming—and with much made of the laudable good sense displayed by the bride and groom in acknowledging the wisdom of their elders who had suggested they would suit—the guests joined the wedding party in streaming over fields carpeted in late-summer wildflowers to the clipped lawns that surrounded the grand old house of Seddington Grange, Richard and William’s ancestral home.
The wedding breakfast, held in the first-floor ballroom with its long windows framing a spectacular view over the nearby sea, was an unabashedly joyous affair, brimming with laughter and good cheer.
It was patently clear that, as was the case in the bright-blue sky outside, there were no clouds hovering on Richard and Rosalind’s now-shared horizon.
After the sumptuous feast was dispensed with and the toasts were duly made, while those inclined to dance circled on the parquet floor, Penelope, Griselda, Violet, and Rose, dutifully followed by Barnaby, Stokes, Montague, and Thomas, took their children out to run and play on the balcony outside the ballroom’s long windows.
The sunshine was simply glorious, and a light sea breeze flirted with the ladies’ ribbons and curls.
The eight adults stood and idly chatted while they supervised their children gamboling and frolicking on the flagstones.
Gradually, Penelope, Barnaby, and Stokes gravitated together.
Barnaby and Stokes leaned against the balustrade, while Penelope stood in their wind-shadow and, with a maternal smile lighting her face, watched Oliver and Pip as they helped the other boys and girls build a fort from the chairs and tables that had stood at one end of the balcony.
Despite her preoccupation, she spared a glance for Stokes. “Have you heard when Leith will go to trial?”
“They’ve just set the date for late October,” Stokes replied.
“His case threw the Law Lords into a bit of a quandary. Should he be tried as a lord or not? But now, they’ve heard from Jonathon Armstrong, the legitimate Earl of Leith.
Apparently, he’d had no idea his father had died nor that he’d been declared dead, let alone formally resurrected and reinstated as the earl’s heir.
After learning of Frederick’s usurpation of the title, Jonathon decided to return to England and step into his father’s shoes, so Frederick is back to being Mr. Armstrong, and his trial will therefore proceed at the Old Bailey. ”
Pensively, Barnaby murmured, “If only he’d done the right thing as soon as he found that will.”
“But he didn’t,” Penelope said. “And with him and Monty both doing the wrong thing, one might say they’ve ended up doing for each other.”
Stokes nodded. “Leith will definitely hang, so they’ve effectively killed each other.”
A gruff voice said, “It’s too beautiful a day for you lot to be discussing murder.”
Penelope turned, and Barnaby and Stokes straightened and looked at the newcomer.
All three smiled at the stocky, neatly and conservatively dressed man, and Penelope held out her hands. “Curtis! We saw you slip into the chapel at the last minute. You’ve been playing least in sight.”
Curtis squeezed her hands and released them and nodded to Barnaby and Stokes.
“Gents.” Returning his gaze to Penelope, he admitted, “Ton weddings are a little out of my league, but after what Percival and I went through that time we crossed paths with you three, when he told me you’d all be here—friendly faces and all—I decided I should come and support him.
” He glanced through the windows into the ballroom, still crowded with happy, laughing guests.
“But if those two old-lady aunts of his—Lady Campbell-Carstairs and Lady Kelly—are to be believed, it seems he’s made a wise choice.
And I have to say, Rosalind seems a good sort all around—friendly and not superior. ”
“She is, indeed,” Penelope assured him. “She’s exactly the sort of wife Richard needs. She and I are encouraging him to stand for Parliament.”
Curtis thought, then nodded his large head. “Aye. I could see him there. He’d be good at it, too.”
“So we think.” Penelope beamed.
Curtis studied her for a moment, then looked at Barnaby.
“Those lads of yours are working out a treat. Quick-witted, all of them, and they certainly know London’s streets.
Off their own bats, several of my agents have taken one of the lads under their wings to see how they do and train them up, as it were, but most are too young to be sure of as yet. We’ll see how things pan out.”
Barnaby was pleased, and Stokes looked approving as well.
Curtis owned and ran the Curtis Inquiry Agency, which specialized in making discreet inquiries for London’s wealthier citizens.
His experience was considerable, his expertise unparalleled, and circumspection was the watchword for him and his men.
If a lord wanted information on his son’s acquaintances, or a banker wanted intelligence on a large debtor, or a company director had questions regarding another director, it was to Curtis they turned.
“And I wanted to mention,” Curtis went on, “that older lad—Julian Alder—is one I’m definitely keeping on. He’s beyond sharp-eyed, and his brain is, far as I can tell, always engaged. He sees and puts things together far beyond his years. I’m taking him on myself.”
Barnaby smiled. “Excellent.” To Stokes, he said, “Julian was the lad who brought us the information on Sir Ulysses Moubray in the Thomas Cardwell case.”
Stokes’s expression cleared. “The very prompt alibi that helped us get along rather faster.” He looked at Curtis. “You’re right. He’s a promising lad for your business.”
“So I think.” To Penelope, Curtis added, “Julian’s a good lad in other ways, too. Devoted to his widowed mother, it seems, so there’s a solid family foundation there, which I always find bodes well.”
Penelope nodded. “I quite agree.” She glanced at her sons, still busy with engineering works, then smiled a touch impishly at Curtis. “But, Curtis, where’s your hat? I almost didn’t recognize you without it.”
Barnaby and Stokes chuckled. Curtis invariably wore a low-crowned hat, a particular style that had become something of a personal hallmark.
Curtis mock-glowered and growled, “Aye, I feel half dressed without it, and my head is cold in this sea breeze, but that damned butler insisted on taking it. All I can say is he better give it back!”
Penelope, Barnaby, and Stokes laughed, then Thomas and Montague, having noticed Curtis, came up to shake his hand, and the conversation spread to wider fields as the ladies came to join them, and the children cavorted and played knights and castles at the other end of the balcony.
Surveying the scene, Penelope leaned against Barnaby.
When he glanced down at her and arched an inquiring brow, she smiled and murmured, “Friends, family, a wonderful wedding. This is the life. May it never end.”
“Amen,” he whispered.
The smile they shared was private and full of mutual satisfaction, then they turned back to the discussion and this group who were now such a large part of their lives.
Dear Reader,
The Honorable Richard Percival first appeared in one of the early volumes in The Casebook of Barnaby Adair series, Loving Rose: The Redemption of Malcolm Sinclair, and was always destined to have his day in the sun, romance-wise.
Given Richard’s degree of involvement in that long ago case and his consequent connection with Barnaby, Penelope, and Stokes, then it was always likely that Richard’s wider life would, once again, cross the investigators’ paths.
And where more likely than at a summer house party for Richard, the erstwhile rakehell, to stumble upon the fated love of his life, along with a dead body, a situation that immediately triggers Richard’s protective instincts?
And naturally, those instincts would prompt him to send for Barnaby, Penelope, and Stokes with all speed.
I hope you’ve enjoyed returning to one of the classic venues of ton life in this latest installment in the continuing adventures of Barnaby, Penelope, Stokes, and friends.