Epilogue
Two Years Later
Blackthorn Park, country estate of the Earl of Sculthorpe
Half-past ten in the morning
“Come on, William! Stop dawdling!”
Judith watched from her bench in the garden as Olivia twisted in her saddle, urging William to drive his Highland Pony a little harder toward the back of the property.
Olivia’s pony—a sturdy, plodding mount—also moved with a constant steadiness, ignoring her urging for more speed as well.
But she had gotten a head start on William, who had been helping the groom saddle his pony, his eyes squinting as he approached the task with a determined precision.
Over the past two years, as William had become more judicious and studious—like his brothers—Olivia’s contagious energy had urged him into ever more adventurous play.
William had ridden far longer than Olivia and had the better seat, but she maintained more control.
Her cleverness seemed to spark livelier every day, especially since they had asked Mr. Thompson to take her on as a student as well.
The two had become remarkable, devoted, and mutually beneficial friends.
Mark, observing the children from a more agile and restless steed, called out instruction to both, correcting their posture and handling of the horses, as they rode away.
Judith’s heart swelled as she watched her family, bundled up in their woolens even in May, their faces red, eyes bright. In the strange, unrelenting cold of the year the breaths of children and ponies fogged around their heads like clouds.
As the sounds of children and horses—and her husband’s voice—faded, Judith tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders and turned her attention back to the letter she had been composing for the past three days, following the receipt of one from Mark’s sister, Daphne, who had returned from Greece the past Christmas with a surprise in tow.
Now the Rydell family experienced an unfamiliar turmoil and division.
Their stubbornness and pride fueled a rift that could not stand.
Judith felt it in her bones; family was far too important to let this go unanswered.
But any resolution would require tact and diplomacy.
Judith read both letters again—she had to make this reply absolutely perfect.
Dear Daphne,
I truly enjoyed meeting you and Sophia this past Christmas.
I had not realized that Mark had not told you about me—or Olivia—or I would have contacted you sooner.
No one should come home to find so many brothers unexpectedly married, some with children already running about.
As I love all my family beyond reason, I hope that you and Matthew especially can make amends in the future.
I realize that as head of the family, he takes his responsibilities seriously, but I also know he loves all his siblings without reserve.
Until then, please feel free to write me at any time with questions, and I will return the favor by offering as much information as possible. I have already broached with Mark the idea of us visiting you and Sophia once you have settled at her estate in Yorkshire.
I am not sure, however, how many details I can offer.
Since Mark, William, Olivia, and I have retired to Blackthorn, we do not see London much nor the rest of the family.
You know that Sarah and Matthew had their Robbie (named for your father) last year.
Sarah is with child again, with the arrival to come later this summer.
Mark is forever grateful to have shed his designation as Matthew’s heir and seems rather content these days with the horses and the business of the Blackthorn estate.
Like you, his disdain for London Society grows ever stronger the longer he is away.
And this seems to be a family trait. Timothy, of all people, has traipsed off to America, and Paul has retreated to your family’s country property.
My Robbie and George have done well this term and will spend this coming summer here.
Mark runs Blackthorn on his own, as Edmund has made him its manager. My oldest seems relieved not to have the responsibility on his mind. He still has fences to mend in London as well as things to prove to those around him.
Judith paused, looking again toward the direction her children and husband had taken, and tried to decide how much to tell Daphne.
Blackthorn, for all its size as an aristocratic country home, had a relatively small back garden that overlooked the rolling fields of the main grounds.
In the distance grew the scrubby blackthorn trees that gave the estate its name, and beyond them the first of the tenancies that helped the property earn an income.
In just two years, Mark had been instrumental in turning the Sculthorpe finances around.
He had sold At Wheel’s End, using the proceeds to invest in the Sculthorpe estate.
He had established close relationships with the tenants, and last year’s income from the farms had been double of the year before.
Which, given the current weather, looked to be beneficial.
If this year’s crops failed, they still had some in store and a reserve to keep the tenants solvent.
Judith doubted Daphne would want to hear all that, nor would she care about Atkinson, who had been convicted of his attempts at coercion as well as the murder of Stella Ashley.
His wealth and connections had eased the blow somewhat; he wound up being given the option of transportation instead of hanging.
He had obviously chosen to live, and he now existed somewhere in Australia.
Most likely running a gaming saloon and bilking the locals.
“Judith?”
Judith folded both letters before turning around.
Phyllida strolled the one narrow gravel path of the garden, the skirt of her thick green woolen riding kit brushing her ankles. “I wish to join the children. Will you not ride with me?”
Judith shook her head. “Not today.”
“Still not feeling well?”
“Just a bit queasy. I do not think riding a horse would be a good idea.”
Phyllida peered at her. “And probably not a good idea for a while.”
Judith smiled but said nothing.
“Is that letter from my daughter?”
“It is.”
“And you are responding?”
“I am.”
Phyllida sniffed, then turned on her heel and headed to the barn at the far end of the garden.
Judith sighed. By showing up with a woman at Christmas, Daphne had sparked a rift in the family that would most likely take years to heal.
She could have simply declared her companion to be a close friend, but that type of discretion did not seem to be a part of Daphne’s constitution—she was far too like her brothers and her mother for that.
The result had been volcanic, after which the two women departed, with only Judith and some of the children seeing them off.
Sophia had an estate in Yorkshire, and Daphne had gone there to live.
The rest of the family now tried to behave as if their sister no longer existed.
Judith was not having any of that. Family was family. Mark and Phyllida knew that she wrote to Daphne, but they did not want to hear about it. But Judith knew people could change; she would not give up on this.
After all, Phyllida herself had made a major change in her own life after the Blackwell ball.
After disappearing that night, she had emerged a week later with the first of several day gowns in every color of the rainbow.
She had thrown off her clothes of mourning and emerged as one of the most vibrant dragons of the ton.
The widowers of the city flocked after her but left unsatisfied.
Then, after two London seasons, she had started spending more time at her own country estate as well as Blackthorn.
Judith suspected this had more to do with Matthew’s growing family and Sarah’s astute running of the Embleton household than Phyllida’s need for fresh air. No one liked to feel as if they were in the way.
As Phyllida on her thoroughbred cantered across the fields, Judith pulled the letters out again, deciding to save the rest of the information for a future missive, closing quickly.
Your mother is also staying the summer. London also seems to bore her these days, something I never thought I would see.
Please know that I wish you and Sophia well, and I hope we may visit someday soon. Please write whenever you feel the need.
Your loving sister-in-law,
Judith
Judith folded the letter, tucking it away again.
She would seal and mail it later. For now, the chill of the morning air had eased her upset stomach.
She wanted tea and toast, a bath, and a fresh gown.
Epworth, whose knowledge of Judith had already alerted her to what lay in store for the next few months, would pamper her appropriately.
Judith wanted to be at her best for her husband tonight, for the moment had come for her to explain to him exactly what could happen when he claimed her as his first choice. His only and forever choice.
The End