Epilogue
In Which an Irishman Makes His Voice Heard; And an English Rose Finds Her Voice, Too …
Much to Mina’s relief, the only thing that had made the newspapers about the Marquess of Kinsale and Miss Hermina Davenport, had been the announcement of their engagement.
There was no mention of any sort of scandalous “muddy” goings-on between the marquess and the Parasol Academy governess in Hyde Park.
No allusion to any unfortunate falls or “not manners” face-planting in laps.
Phinn’s and Mina’s and the Academy’s reputations had remained unsullied.
Mina did wonder if Mrs. Temple had waved her figurative magic wand and had somehow performed a miracle, because the press hadn’t breathed a word.
Everyone that Mina and Phinn had shared their engagement news with had been overjoyed.
When they’d visited St Lawrence House, Emmeline had squealed and hugged Mina.
Xavier had been somewhat more restrained when he’d congratulated Mina and Phinn—although Mina had detected a gleam of genuine warmth in his blue eyes as he’d smiled at her and then offered his gloved hand to Phinn to shake.
As for Mina’s mother and sister … After Mina sent a telegram to Rose Cottage, Edwina Davenport and Dorothea, thrilled beyond measure, jumped on the very next train to London.
They’d resided at Kinsale House until Phinn had generously installed them in their own fully furnished townhouse in Kensington just after the wedding.
Exactly one week after their engagement had been announced, Mina and Phinn, both of one accord, were married by special license in St Paul’s Church in Knightsbridge.
Emmeline had acted as matron of honor, and the very handsome, thoroughly rakish Viscount Hartwell had stood up as Phinn’s best man.
Brutus had even participated in the ceremony—he’d been tasked with the role of ring bearer, and Christopher and Tom, both pageboys, had dutifully led the pug down the aisle, Mina and Phinn’s wedding bands tied to a bright blue satin ribbon around the dog’s stocky neck.
Mrs. Temple had attended the ceremony and wedding breakfast too, and Mina did wonder if the headmistress might actually be harboring a reluctant attraction to Lord Hartwell.
Although the two hadn’t really spoken—not that Mina had noticed at any rate—an uncharacteristic blush had crested Mrs. Temple’s cheekbones when the viscount had once sent a curious, perhaps even speculative glance her way.
Mrs. Temple had promptly looked away from Lord Hartwell and her expression had shuttered.
The change had been so abrupt, it was almost as though she’d cast a Cucumberfy spell on herself.
In any event, Mina thought it had been most curious.
She hadn’t noticed any sort of tension between the two at Emmeline and Xavier’s wedding in June, but then, Mina had been so focused on her best friend’s happiness that day, no doubt she’d been oblivious to anything else.
As for Phinn’s much anticipated parliamentary speech …
he’d made it the following week after their nuptials, when Parliament had commenced its second session for the year in October.
While Phinn maintained his maiden speech in May had been an utter disaster, this speech, he’d proclaimed with a huge grin when he’d emerged from the House of Lords chamber, had been “grand.” Mina, who’d been watching from the public gallery, thought her handsome, fiercely determined yet noble-hearted husband had performed admirably, and she’d never been prouder of anyone in her life.
Especially since he hadn’t tried to hide his Irish accent.
“I’m an Irishman and there’s nothin’ wrong with that,” he’d told Mina before he’d entered the chamber. “If me accent is not to their likin’, well … well that’s on them, not me.”
Mina wholeheartedly agreed.
Of course, Phinn’s word-perfect speech delivery had probably been helped by the fact that he’d kissed Mina quite thoroughly in the carriage on the way to Westminster. And then he’d kissed her again before he’d entered the chamber and she’d headed up to the public gallery to watch.
Even though Phinn would no doubt attest that Mina’s kisses were pure magic, Mina still believed that kissing per se wasn’t really magical—that it was simply the case that when she and Phinn kissed, his whole body relaxed, allowing him to achieve greater fluency for a short period of time.
In any event, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Phinn could confidently employ all the techniques they’d worked on to improve his stammer.
He’d rehearsed and read his speech about tenancy rights and agrarian reform over and over again until it was cemented in his mind.
He knew how to relax his body and make sure he slowed his speaking pace.
He knew when to pause and take a breath and use gentle articulatory contacts when producing certain speech sounds.
Mina truly believed that all of these things had helped him to deliver a smoothly spoken and assured speech.
One that had earned him many a “hear, hear” of approval from fellow peers.
Time would tell if the Marquess of Kinsale’s proposed Irish tenancy reforms would pass into law, but at the very least the process of change had been started.
Phinn and Mina had also discussed ideas for future reforms related to improving the treatment of children in orphanages and workhouses.
“If … if I earn the moniker of ‘that Irish rebel,’ so be it,” Phinn had said to Mina one night while they were cuddling in bed.
“The main thing is, my peers are beginnin’ to listen to me and are no longer dismissin’ me as an ignorant lout with nothin’ but-but stuffin’ for brains. I will make a difference.”
Mina was certain that her clever husband would.
So it was on a fine blustery day in early December, just after Parliament had finished sitting before Christmastide, their little family—Phinn, Mina, Christopher, Tom, and Brutus—had set sail for Ireland on the Kinsale Cloud.
Edwina and Dorothea Davenport were on board too.
When Phinn had first suggested to Mina that her mother and sister might like to join them for their first family Christmas at Kinsale Castle, Mina had been nothing but touched.
Although she had added a small warning. “Don’t let my mother convince you that the castle needs redecorating and that she should have a hand in it,” she’d said.
“Otherwise it will end up looking like the Covent Garden flower market. You’ve seen Rose Cottage and their Kensington townhouse. ”
Phinn had laughed. “I promise I won’t. I especially won’t listen to her if she starts harpin’ on about anyone’s cake or puddin’ consumption. In fact, I’ll-I’ll be packin’ her back to Gloucestershire fast-faster than you can say Ablington Railway Station.”
Dorothea, who’d resigned from her post at the Ablington Parish School, had taken to helping the new, very agreeable Parasol Academy governess, Miss Blythe, with Tom and Christopher’s lessons.
Although Miss Blythe was perfectly capable of doing so, Mina still cast the Guardia Nimbus spell each night after Phinn read the boys their bedtime stories, just to be on the safe side.
Mrs. Temple had helpfully provided Mina with a spool of the same silver Fae thread that Emmeline had been provided with when she’d surrendered her Parasol Academy nannying license; it meant Mina could sew magical pockets into all her gowns, so she’d always have magic on hand to protect her “boys” (as she’d taken to calling Christopher and Tom) if she needed to.
Even though Mab was no longer an immediate threat, according to Mrs. Temple, Good Queen Maeve still wished to err on the side of caution until she was absolutely certain that her sister’s Arctic prison was impenetrable.
Mina had also discovered why Brutus had taken against Mr. Hopwell so vehemently.
It turned out that Mrs. Temple had “ensorcelled” the toy rabbit in her own way.
She’d confessed all to Mina in a quiet moment during Mina and Phinn’s wedding breakfast at Kinsale House.
“You probably don’t know this, Lady Kinsale,” she’d said, “but after I received Lady Grenfell’s letter of warning, I teleported to Highwood Hall in the middle of the night and secretly placed a magic ‘locating’ crystal—an amethyst in fact—inside Lord Fitzwilliam’s velvet rabbit.
I suspected that the boy would always keep it close, so it might be a way for me to keep track of his whereabouts should Sir Bedivere attempt to take him to the Arctic as Lady Grenfell had feared.
That’s how I also knew that he’d been on board the Valiant and the Kinsale Cloud.
And then of course, in Ablington before you began working for Lord Kinsale. ”
Mina, to ensure that Christopher’s rabbit would no longer be the focus of Brutus’s ire, had removed the amethyst. And the pug and Mr. Hopwell had been living in perfect harmony ever since. Which had worked out quite well, all things considered.
A fact that Mina was reminded of when Brutus crossed the deck of the Kinsale Cloud to where she stood, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak of crimson wool with her husband’s strong arms around her.
The sky over the Bristol Channel might be gray and lowering, the sea might be choppy and the icy wind might be nipping at her cheeks and tugging at her hair and clothes, but Mina had never been happier.
Got any pups in the oven yet? the pug asked, pointedly staring at Mina’s middle.
She rolled her eyes at the dog. He’d really become quite obsessed with the idea that his master and new wife might be producing their own “litter” before too long.
You know that you’ll be one of the first to know should that happy circumstance eventuate, Mina told him.
You don’t have to keep asking. Besides, I thought the idea of your master and me ‘breeding,’ as you put it, was objectionable to you.
Brutus gave a snort through his black snub nose. It’s not the idea of ye havin’ pups, milady. It’s how you humans beget them that’s the objectionable part.
After Mina and Phinn had wed, Brutus had, in fact, taken to sleeping in the boys’ bedroom.
Mina, of course, had been quietly relieved.
If the dog was at the end of a long hallway on the floor above, it meant that she didn’t have to be as careful with masking her thoughts when she and Phinn were intimate.
When the pug had announced his decision to Mina, he’d even said, I’ve got excellent hearin’, milady.
And I don’t want to hear you two goin’ at it hammer and tongs on yer weddin’ night.
Or ever for that matter. He’d given a dramatic shiver that had even set his curly tail aquiver. It’s enough to give a dog the willies.
Before Mina could respond to Brutus, Phinn’s arms tightened around her. “You’re … you’re talkin’ to me dog, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice warm and low in Mina’s ear.
Mina turned in his arms. “How do you know?”
He grinned. “Brutus gets a certain look on his face. And so do you.”
“We do?”
“Aye. He looks disgruntled and you look mildly disapproving.” Phinn raised a dark brow. “What … what did he say?”
She laughed. “You really don’t want to know, my darling husband.”
Phinn lifted her chin with a gloved finger. “Tell me. It-it can’t be that bad.”
Mina pushed her hands into Phinn’s greatcoat, seeking his heat. It had begun to snow and tiny snowflakes were settling on her husband’s dark hair and wide shoulders. “Well, if you insist … He asked if I had a pup in the oven. I do think he’s very excited about the prospect of being an ‘uncle.’”
Phinn chuckled. “The cheeky sod. At least he hasn’t heard us at night.
” His mouth slid into a wicked grin. “Or at other times for that matter.” Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “I’m-I’m lookin’ forward to christenin’ the bed in our cabin a bit later on when everyone’s retired for the night, me darlin’ lady-wife. ”
I can hear you two, you know, grumbled Brutus.
But as Phinn kissed Mina, the pug ambled off to where Tom and Christopher stood a few yards away, catching snowflakes on their tongues as Miss Blythe looked on.
Mina’s mother and Dorothea had opted to stay below to take tea and try the cook’s excellent Bath buns and pound cake.
So aside from Brutus, there really was no one who would look askance at them for stealing a kiss or two.
They were practically newlyweds after all.
And this trip to Ireland could be looked on as a belated honeymoon. That’s how Mina was viewing it anyway.
After a while, when they drew apart, Mina captured her husband’s gaze. “You know, I’ve decided I have a new favorite romantic hero. It’s no longer Mr. Rochester.”
Phinn laughed. “So, milady, you’ve decided that a man who locks his wife in an attic and attempts bigamy is not hero material?”
She smiled. “Not to mention the fact that he doesn’t fancy Ireland. What a foolish man.”
Phinn’s hands pushed beneath her cloak and he pulled her even closer. “Well, what about Mr. Darcy? Or Mr. Knightley? Or … or Heathcliff?”
Mina raised a gloved hand and ticked off what she thought of each suggestion. “Too stuffy. Too prudent. Too vengeful.”
Phinn’s mouth inched into the most heart-stopping smile Mina had ever seen. “So who is it, me darlin’?”
Looking up at her handsome husband through her lashes, she whispered, “You, my lord. Since the moment we met on this ship, it’s always been you.”
And if anyone on deck—Christopher, or Tom, or Miss Blythe, or the crew, or Brutus—objected to the passion of the Marquess and Marchioness of Kinsale’s kiss—Mina did not give a flying feck.