Epilogue
“My congratulations, duchess. I have attended rather a lot of balls in my time, and this is an uncommonly good one.”
Jane turned around as Edward approached her, smiling bashfully as he raised a glass in her direction.
She had spent the better part of a fortnight overseeing the preparations for this, and she was proud of it, thankful to have not yet grown tired of it.
The decorations had come together nicely, the food was delicious and her guests seemed rather pleased with what she had provided.
Receiving compliments for such a feat felt foreign, but she was not one to turn down praise.
Jane laughed. “You are too kind, Your Grace. I am not certain I did very much.”
“Do not be ridiculous,” Edward said pleasantly, looking amused by her humility.
He turned to look across the room, and his expression shifted into something more sincere.
He nodded in the direction of her husband, who was standing near the door with his hands clasped at his back, speaking to someone Jane did not recognize, looking so at ease in his own home that it still occasionally surprised her. “Have a look at him.”
Jane did. She could not help it.
“I have known that stubborn bugger for a long time,” Edward sighed, “And I have never seen him look like that. Not once. I was under the impression that it was simply impossible for him to have an existence that was not tightly wound up and weighed down by the past. Not until you. You gave him his life back, Jane. And you gave him back his son. That is no small feat. You ought to be proud.”
She felt warmth spread through her chest and she beamed appreciatively.
“More than anything,” she told him honestly, “I am simply glad that I get to be with them. That is the thing that I am proudest of. That they are mine, and I am theirs. I had not thought I wanted it. I had been so certain that what I wanted was the opposite of this.”
“And now?”
“Now I cannot imagine the opposite,” she admitted. “I find I have very little interest that possibility and I am thankful I had taken a chance on the choice I made.”
Edward smiled at her as though he had something to brag about and had decided to be gracious about it.
“Well,” he smirked, lifting his glass again, “Here is to you, then. You deserve every bit of happiness this life has to offer. Every last bit of it.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Edward,” he corrected with a squint of caution.
She amended quickly, already fond of him. “Thank you, Edward.”
He nodded in approval, then turned and crossed the room toward Thomas.
Jane watched him lean close to her husband’s ear once he arrived at his side and was entertained swiftly by the change of expressions across her husband’s face.
It was quite the sight, to witness, as Thomas’ look of contentment shifted to mild attention, then finally settled on something that looked very much like exasperated resignation.
He turned to look for her across the room and, finding her watching, gave her a look that communicated plainly that their friend was insufferable.
She laughed, tilting her head placatingly before she continued to mingle among her guests.
Penelope found her next, coming across the room with her husband Cecil at her side, her pleased expression hinting that she was satisfied with more than just the ball.
“Jane,” she greeted warmly, reaching for her hands. “You look wonderful. And this – is absolutely lovely.”
She glanced around the ballroom with evident delight and Jane felt her heart swell with pride.
“I am glad you think so.” Jane looked past her as Cecil slipped away, headed in Thomas’ direction.
Godric was already there, engaged in a conversation with Thomas and together, the three of them seemed to immediately fall into easy conversation.
It warmed Jane’s heart to see her husband making more friends, content to observe and wish him more happiness as he tried to lower his boundaries and let more, good people in.
“That is quite a sight. It surprises me as much as I enjoy it,” Jane remarked, as her lips pulled into a fond smile.
“That is a sentiment I share deeply,” Nora told her, appearing from nowhere in the way she occasionally did. “I do have some concerns about the potential attempts to oppress your husband made by my brother, but I am sure everything will be fine.”
She waved a hand in the air dismissively and Jane chuckled, understanding that it was a likely occurrence, but her husband was perfectly capable of handling himself.
Being here, with her own partner whilst surrounded by the same friends she had once felt separated from because she did not share the same attachments they did and feared she never would, was a surreal experience.
It felt as though that was a lifetime ago now, and she found herself thankful for how far she had come now.
“I am very glad that I changed my mind,” Jane exclaimed suddenly.
Nora reached for one of her hands and held onto it while Penelope spoke,
“We were worried. It is not as though we doubted you or your ability to take proper care of yourself and make the right choice – but we could see what you were doing to yourself. Letting fear make your decisions.”
It was easy for Jane to agree, because she had nothing to hide anymore.
“It was fear, entirely. I knew it, even at the time.” She glanced down at her glass, then up again.
“I had seen what marriage could look like – how much it could take from you, and I did not understand then that the shape of a thing depends enormously on who is holding it. I thought I was protecting myself. I was only denying myself.”
Penelope tilted her head thoughtfully. “And what changed your mind, in the end? Was it Reuben?”
Jane considered the question and then slowly smiled.
“It was all of it, I suppose,” she responded slowly.
“Reuben. Thomas. The way the house felt – alive, after it had been so quiet for so long. I think – I think I had believed, for a very long time, that loving someone required losing yourself. That being a wife meant becoming an echo. And then I was one, in practice if not in name, and it was not like that at all. I argued. I disagreed. I made decisions without permission and was not punished for them. I did not become smaller. If anything –”
She stopped, blinking as a realization took shape in her mind.
“If anything?” Nora prompted.
Jane looked across the room at Thomas, who was now clearly in the middle of a conversation that required him to use both hands to illustrate something, while Cecil nodded with great seriousness and Godric appeared to be attempting to keep a straight face.
“If anything,” she said, “I became more myself than I had ever been.”
Nora smiled, slow and satisfied.
“Good,” she nodded sagely. “That is exactly what we hoped.”
The ball continued and Jane continued to float contentedly, from one end of the room to the other, greeting guests and appreciating them for their attendance.
Just as she had begun to think the night bore no chance for any sort of surprise, her mother appeared.
Harriet without her husband, which Jane noticed immediately and she stood a little apart from the crowd for a moment, looking very unsure of herself and the decisions that had led her there. Eventually, she spotted Jane, and when she did, something like relief flickered across her features.
Jane felt her own chest tighten as she remained rooted on the spot, not move toward her mother, or moving away either.
Harriet came to stand before her, her hands folded neatly in front of her, and she was quiet for a moment before she spoke.
“The ball is beautiful,” she told Jane quietly. “You have done very well.”
“Thank you,” Jane said carefully.
There was a long pause that weighed down the air between them.
“Jane,” Harriet began, and then stopped, pressing her lips together, before she tried again. “I had an argument with your father. After you left. I told him – I told him that you were right.”
Jane said nothing, and her silence urged Harriet to continue.
“You were right,” her mother said again, more quietly. “About all of it. About me. I forgot myself. I cannot tell you when it happened, or exactly how, but I looked up one day and realized that I had not said what I thought in so long that I was no longer certain what I thought about anything.”
She exhaled slowly, her eyes pleading as she continued, “You do not have to be like me. You never did. And I should have been the one to tell you that, not the one who gave you reason to fear it.”
Jane felt the complicated weight of her mother’s words settle in her chest – the hurt of years, the love that had never entirely gone away, the grief of having needed a mother and found only an echo of one.
“I have no intention of being like you were. I will not hurt my child the way I was hurt. I will not give up who I am for anyone.” She held her mother's gaze. “And I will not pretend that what you did – what you chose, all those years – did not harm me. Because it did.”
Harriet's eyes filled with pain, but she took it all gracefully with a nodded.
“I did not expect anything less. I was awful to you – I acted abhorrently and I betrayed and hurt you severely,” she said.
“I know it was hard to endure all of that as long as you did. And I am sorry, Jane. Truly. You have always been the best part of me, regardless of how poorly I showed it. You are the only good thing I have gotten out of that marriage, and I spent years failing to protect you from the worst of it. I only hope – if you will allow it – that I might have another chance. To be your mother properly. And to know my grandchild, if you would permit it.”
Jane looked at her for a long moment. Then she said, “One chance, Mother. That is all you get – perhaps more than you deserve. Do not waste it.”
Harriet nodded, pressing her lips together against what might have been a sob.
“I won't,” she shook her head vehemently. “I promise.”
Jane reached out briefly and held her mother's hand, and then she turned and looked around the room until she found Reuben – who was, as she had expected, at Thomas' elbow, solemnly accepting the attention of several guests.
He had blatantly refused to retire for the evening, insisting on staying with his parents, regardless of how many times they had begged or coaxed him.
Inevitably, his nanny had to watch him in a corner so he would not bother the guests, but it seemed as though that plan had failed eventually, like they expected it to.
“Come,” Jane said to her mother with a small smile. “I would like you to meet him.”
She brought Harriet across the room and felt the moment Reuben noticed her approach, the way his small face lit up as she drew close, as it always did.
“Sweetheart, there is someone I would like you to meet,” Jane told him. “This is my mother, Harriet. She very much wanted the opportunity to know you.”
She glanced at Harriet. “This is Reuben Wetherby, our son.”
Harriet's face crumpled just slightly at the sight of him, and she took his hand very carefully, as though he were something precious and easily startled.
“Good evening, Lady –” Reuben faltered, looking to his parents for assistance.
“Oh, goodness, no dear. You may call me grandmama,” Harriet urged gently.
Reuben’s face lit up again and he nodded.
“Good evening, grandmother. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Harriet laughed, the sound coming out watery and weak.
“The honour is mine, dear.”
And for once, Jane believed that she meant it entirely.
Soon after the introductions had passed and Harriet had become utterly smitten with her grandson, Thomas approached Jane held out his hand.
She took it without hesitation and followed eagerly as he led her to the floor.
They danced slowly, her hand in his, his other hand warm at the small of her back, and the room moved around them in a pleasant blur of candlelight and distant music.
She was aware, in a comfortable and peripheral way, of all the people in that room – her friends, her mother, Edward, Reuben tucked close to Mrs Greene and watching them dance with wide and bright eyes – and she was aware that all of it was hers.
Not because it had been assigned to her, or bartered for, or taken. Because she had chosen it, freely and with full knowledge of what she was doing.
“You arranged a magnificent ball,” Thomas commented.
“I did,” she agreed pleasantly.
“Excellent work, duchess. And might I add that you look rather breathtaking tonight.”
“Why, thank you, kind duke. You look quite dashing yourself.”
He smiled. “I love you.”
“I love you,” she echoed easily. “Immensely.”
“Good.” He turned her gently, then drew her a fraction closer. “I have a request.”
She looked up at him. “Oh?”
“I should like,” he said, perfectly seriously, “To paint you again.”
Jane blinked, her cheeks growing warm, just like she knew he would like.
“Thomas, again?” she sighed in a teasing manner. “My love – what will you do with all of those paintings? You are building quite the collection.”
“I intend to have a room entirely to myself. Filled only with paintings of you.” he informed, entirely unabashed
She laughed, unable to help herself. She pressed her face briefly into his shoulder and laughed until her eyes watered, and he held her there, patient and warm.
When she looked up, she found him watching her with such open adoration that it stopped the laughter in her throat and replaced it with something altogether different.
She kissed him. Right there, in the middle of their own ballroom, with their guests around them and their son watching from across the room and her mother catching herself smiling before she could help it.
Thomas kissed her back without a single moment's hesitation.
“Yes, then,” she told Thomas, after she had pulled back just enough to see his face. “You may paint me again. Whenever you wish.”
He smiled – that slow, entirely unguarded smile that she had come to think of as hers alone, and she returned it with a loving one of her own.
She tucked herself into Thomas' side, and they stayed on that floor long after the song ended, and neither of them thought to step away as they swayed to the sound of their hearts beating as one.
The End?