Epilogue
Five Years Later
Bobby
It’s giggles that wake them first, followed by a heavy whump and a whispered “Shh!”
Bobby smiles into James’ shoulder and James groans, burrowing into Bobby and pulling the covers over their heads. “James,”
he prompts.
“Sleeping,” James whines, shaking his head against his pillow. “Too early.”
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Bobby says, laughing as James taps feebly at his forearm. “Did I tire you out?”
“Yes,” James mumbles, wiggling back against Bobby in a way that absolutely will not help either of them get out of bed. “The
pint of whisky beforehand didn’t help,” he admits with a groan.
Bobby leans in to kiss the sweaty back of James’ head. “Parker got you, hmm?”
“We weren’t even drinking heavily, but he kept having them delivered to the table, and we were talking about the land for
the orphanage, and did you know that Lady Ashmond could drink us both under the table if she wanted to?” James rushes out,
his voice still a little slurred.
Bobby’s decision to stay home and pass a quiet evening playing chess with Miss Wilson was clearly the better one. “I do want a full report on the progress with the orphanage,” he says.
“When I can think straight,” James agrees, shifting to try to get comfortable again. “Was a good night, though,” he says,
glancing blearily over his shoulder. “With Parker and, you know, after,” he says.
Bobby leans in to steal a kiss. It was a good night. And perhaps they have been going a bit overboard. But James leaves the
day after tomorrow for two months; they have a lot of romping to bank up.
“So what you’re saying is if I go and handle breakfast, you’ll do that thing with your tongue to—”
“Yes, go,” James says quickly, all but forcing Bobby out of the bed, lest they end up tangled in the sheets long enough for
either Beth or Gwen or... tiny eyes and ears to come looking.
“All right, all right,” Bobby says, crawling out of bed and hopping across the floor to don his pajamas and a robe. “I can
buy you another thirty minutes.”
James’ hand emerges from the pile of blankets, a duvet, and scattered pillows. He waves Bobby on and then goes still. Bobby
smirks and heads out of their room, making a note to ensure that no one comes to tidy their suite today. No one need see the
aftereffects of their night.
He forces himself to remain cheerful as he wends his way through the house, arms tucked up to his chest against the coming winter chill. It’s always hard to have James in London, especially so close to the holidays, but it isn’t as if he gets to pick the parliamentary schedule. They’ll join him for the hols and new year, and then hopefully they can all return home until the start of the season.
He passes footmen Georgie and Henry on the first floor, the two of them awfully close together as they work on peeling potatoes
outside of the kitchen. Perhaps there will be some shuffling of staff quarters needed soon.
He nods in greeting, withholding a smirk as they blush. They’ve created a haven not just for themselves, but for all of their
staff as well. A place where they can live as their true selves, in love with whomever they like. As long as impressionable
eyes never walk in on anything untoward, no matter between whom, it works swimmingly.
So far, little eyes have only walked in on their parents, so everything’s fine. The children hardly care; it’s just the mortification
of it for Bobby and James. Though Beth and Gwen really take the cake—found in flagrante in Beth’s tree house by a very confused
little Martha. Beth still blushes every time they take the kids there.
“Daddy!”
Bobby smiles, stepping into the river-stone kitchen where Martha and Sammie are already seated around the large oak table,
jam on their faces and down the front of their aprons.
“Good morning, darlings,” he says, padding across the cool stone floor to press a kiss to Sammie’s messy head and to Martha’s
cheek. “Strawberry jam?” he asks as she giggles.
“MissWilson said we could have the last of it,” Martha tells him seriously, patting the table at her side to get him to sit
down.
He does as told, noting that both children are already dressed. Martha’s little flower-patterned dress goes nicely with her white frilly apron, even marred as it is now with jam. Sammie’s in a simple pair of trousers and a blue shirt, covered with another frilly white-sleeved apron, equally covered in jam. His blue eyes finally blink over at Bobby and he smiles shyly. Something about mornings always makes him a bit timid, but by afternoon he’ll be yelling just like his sister.
“How long until they get here?” Martha asks as Bobby reaches out to butter his own scone.
“About an hour,” Bobby says, chuckling at Martha’s responding pout. With her big brown eyes and curly brown hair, she’s how
he imagines Beth must have looked at seven, which is charming.
“That’s ages,” Martha exclaims.
“It’s still only just daylight,” Bobby argues. “Sammie’s barely awake.”
“Sammie’s never awake before noon,” Martha says simply.
“But we love him anyway. Daddy’s sleepy sometimes too,” Bobby reminds her.
“Of course we still love him, how silly,” Martha says, reaching out to pat Sammie’s head, which smears jam into his hair.
Sammie doesn’t even blink, still making slow progress on his scone. Perhaps they’ll have to squeeze in a bath before everyone
arrives, lest Dashiell and Cordelia think they let their children run around covered in jam.
“Oh, how delicious.”
“Mama!” Martha exclaims, bouncing in her seat.
Beth smiles as she comes in through the outer door to the kitchen, little Louie on her hip, still rubbing his eyes. She squeezes through, adjusting her large hoop and bumping the stack of empty crates by the door as she turns, not quite used to the new extended oval of her hoopskirt, highly in fashion and often cumbersome in small spaces. But her ensemble is casual, an afternoon robe over a simple green skirt and white shirt waist, which makes him feel a smidge better about potentially greeting their guests in his pajamas.
“See you’ve gotten a late start too,” Beth says, smiling at him as she deposits Louie in his high chair. “Good morning, lovelies,”
she adds, coming around the table to greet Martha and Sammie.
“Daddy says it’s less than an hour now,” Martha informs her.
“That’s right,” Beth says, rounding the table again to settle beside Louie and pass him a plain scone, which he clumsily begins
to tear into pieces.
“Goodness, still in your pajamas, how untoward,” Gwen announces as she comes through the outer door. Her ensemble matches
Beth’s, just in blue instead of green, and with a riot of blond curls she hasn’t bothered to tame.
“We’re not really standing on ceremony, are we?” Bobby asks as Gwen greets the children.
She ruffles his hair as she goes to claim her seat beside Beth. “Father absolutely won’t care. Meredith will tease you, though.”
“I can take it,” Bobby decides, sharing a smile with Martha. “Look, Martha, Mummy has your curls today.”
Martha beams over at Gwen, who blows her a kiss. “Why can’t Mama have our curls too?” she wonders, looking to Beth.
Beth laughs. “Some of us just weren’t blessed with your pretty hair.”
“Or the patience to let MissWilson try it with hot combs,” Gwen mutters.
Beth nudges her. “But I love your curls, darling,” Beth tells Martha. “And Mr.Sammie, how are you?”
Sammie looks up at Beth with a shy smile. “Good,” he whispers.
“Did you sleep well here with your fathers?” Gwen asks, winking at Bobby.
They usually swap the children every few nights, but Louie was feeling clingy last night, so Beth and Gwen kept him at Drightmore Cottage just down the front drive. Technically, it’s his and Beth’s house, while James and Gwen officially inhabit Demeroven Hall, but they quickly decided that Beth and Gwen were better suited to the cottage.
The children shift between both houses, so they all get a few evenings a week to themselves, but it hardly matters. They’re
all Mum and Dad, and the children love having two grand houses in which to play the world’s most anxiety-inducing games of
hide-and-seek. Martha holds the record at eight hours unfound. They nearly had a collective heart attack that day. And she
was only four then.
“Does Papa really have to leave?” Martha asks quietly while Beth and Gwen pull more answers and smiles out of Sammie.
Bobby turns to find Martha looking up at him. Her little face can be so serious. “He does, but we’ll write him every week,
and see him for the holidays,” Bobby says.
Martha’s face droops and she looks back at her breakfast, no longer bubbly. “Okay,” she whispers.
“But hey,” Bobby says, his heart breaking for his daughter, who is absolutely Papa’s little girl. “You, me, Sammie, and Louie
are going to have a marvelous time here. We’ll make forts, and stay out in Mama’s tree house until our lips turn blue, and
play all kinds of games. And your mothers will play with us. You’ll be having so much fun the months will fly by, and then
we’ll all be in London with Papa.”
“And Johnnie and Frederic?” Martha asks, looking up at him with a little sniffle.
“And Johnnie and Frederic too,” Gwen says. Martha looks across the table at Gwen. “And that means Auntie Meredith and Grandma Cordelia too.” Gwen winks at Bobby as Martha’s smile returns. “And, even better, you know who’s going to stay the whole two months?”
“Who?” Martha asks, wiggling in her seat.
“Mrs.Stelm and Mrs.Gilpe,” Gwen says theatrically.
Both Martha and Sammie yell in excitement. Louie joins in, shrieking at them with jam all over his cheeks.
“They’re so excited to see all of you,” Beth adds.
“Are they still thinking they’ll arrange with Lady Ashmond to adopt their own?” Bobby wonders.
Beth shrugs. “Not sure. I know Mother and Dashiell could live without them, but I’m not sure Mrs.Stelm and Mrs.Gilpe want
to give up their London life.”
“And there’s no way for it to work in the London house, is there?” Gwen asks.
“It would be much more difficult,” Beth agrees. “But the Marchston Cottage is up for sale still, isn’t it?” she asks, looking
to Bobby.
“It is, and that’s right next to the plot of land James and Parker are considering for the orphanage. It could be perfect.”
“I’m sure Lady Ashmond would hire them on. They’d be excellent,” Gwen says, smiling. “The best caretakers, outside of us,
of course,” she adds, looking around at the children and pulling a silly face.
“I know MissWilson would love to have them here,” Beth says.
“We could have Gilpe and Stelmie here all the time?” Martha asks. Perhaps the days of serious breakfast discussion are starting
to wane.
“Maybe,” Beth says firmly. “Don’t get your hopes up, and don’t bother them about it. They need to make their own decision about how they want to live.”
“But everyone should live here!” Martha insists brightly. “Then we can all play, and everyone can kiss who they want.”
Bobby snorts into his tea as Gwen turns a laugh into a cough.
“Yes, well. We’re all very happy here, and that’s what matters,” Beth says, totally serious. She’s always best at dealing
with the children when they’re discussing something important. Bobby and Gwen still just dissolve into giggles, even four
years in to being parents.
“What’s all this noise, then?”
Martha turns and squeals, spotting James leaning against the doorjamb into the kitchen. He’s wearing a simple pair of trousers
and a green frock coat, and now Bobby is starting to feel a little silly staying in his pajamas with company soon to arrive.
“Papa, Papa, Daddy says we can build forts with Johnnie and Frederic,” Martha announces.
James smiles at Bobby and scoots in between Sammie and Martha, pulling Sammie up onto his lap, where he promptly cuddles into
James, taking refuge. James listens to Martha and answers her questions, while making silly faces across at Louie. Beth and
Gwen fall into their own discussion about activities and Bobby just sits there, taking it all in.
He doesn’t want James to leave for two months either. Had to stop himself from asking him to stay more than once last night
as they lay tangled and sweaty. But this is his job. He goes into the world for them, making laws and working with Albie to
grow their fortune.
Uncle Dashiell hasn’t given up hope, but even he isn’t confident that a proposal to give adopted children the right to in herit a title could pass either chamber. So they’ve collectively decided to make the most of the Demeroven title while they have it—big swings, big efforts, big risks. They want to make the world a better place for their children, and all children, for that matter. The businesses James has started with Parker have already created a good fund, and they’ve time to grow it into a fortune, so their children can someday carry on their charity work, even once the titles and estates have returned to the crown.
The doorbell rings and Martha immediately jumps up, tugging Sammie out of James’ arms so they can run toward the front of
the house. Gwen hoists Louie into her arms and she and Beth follow them out, leaving James and Bobby sitting at the table.
“Can I just say how much I really don’t want to leave?” James asks.
Bobby smiles sadly and stands, helping James up so he can wrap his arms around him. “I don’t want you to leave either,” he
admits. “But you’ve work to do, and we’ll be all right. Full house, and all.” They hear commotion erupt from the front hall.
“Still,” James says, wrapping his arm around Bobby’s waist as they head for the foyer.
James leans into Bobby and brushes his fingers up and down Bobby’s side as they come to the end of the hall, listening to
their family chattering on the other side of the doorway.
“I’ll write you terribly filthy letters,” Bobby says, turning to meet James’ eyes.
James snorts and then rises on his toes to press a kiss to Bobby’s lips. “You’d better,” he says as he pulls away.
“It’s a promise,” Bobby decides, taking James’ hand to head into the foyer.
It’s like walking into a wall of sound. Martha and Sammie, now fully awake and totally hyper, bounce around with Frederic and little Johnnie, who’s not so little anymore. He’s had his five-year-old growth spurt, it seems, and now looks like a mini-Albie. The four of them run among the adults’ legs while Aunt Cordelia greets Beth, Gwen, and Louie. She immediately steals their youngest, cuddling him while Louie plays with her frilly collar.
Bobby’s learned there is nothing quite like the cuddle of a two-year-old. Nothing quite like a two-year-old screaming either,
but he loves Louie no matter what. And honestly, he’ll probably be their quietest child for the duration. What have they done,
inviting a little Bertram and a little Mason for the whole winter?
Albie and Meredith divest themselves of their coats while chatting with Uncle Dashiell, who’s pulling a seemingly endless
stack of presents through the front door. Frederic has a normal, respectable amount of toys at Havenfort Manor, but Uncle
Dashiell clearly doesn’t know how to stop buying for his grandchildren.
Mrs.Gilpe and Mrs.Stelm wave at them, chatting in the corner with MissWilson. Bobby smiles at them, hoping that they do
end up deciding to come live nearby. They would make excellent matrons for the proposed orphanage, and he knows Gwen and Beth
would love having them so close. MissWilson clearly would as well. And Parker probably wouldn’t mind. He’s getting tired
of the weekly Mason/Demeroven house card games—knows all their tells, apparently.
And even though it’s loud and frenetic, Bobby wouldn’t want to be anywhere other than here, with his whole motley family. They’re all older, wiser, and so much happier than they were just five years ago. He’s looking forward to being happier for the rest of his life.
“I can’t wait to come back,” James says, leaning into him.
Bobby smiles and turns to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Yes. Please, hurry home.”