Epilogue
The fluffy snow patters against the windows of the Apothicaire while my sisters and I set up for the day.
It’s just us three here for now, until I go to the Clover to dance later.
Tomorrow, as she does a few days a week, Pearl will take a shift so Aven can go work at the mansion.
Even in early March there are steps forward to revive a garden, apparently.
Not just in the repairs of the greenhouse, which is nearly complete—mostly at the hands of handymen—but in propagating seeds and planning beds, both inside the greenhouse and outside.
It has been months since Orrin’s proposal.
Christmastime has come and gone. Sélie has had her twenty-first birthday.
Aven has gotten stronger every day. The nightmares of my encounters with Elisavet and her court come less and less.
And my fiancé, my wonderful fiancé, continues to astound and delight me, continues to grow into his most alive and grateful self.
Behind the counter, Sélie and Aven giggle over something while I happily sweep the floor. I get a sudden sense they’re laughing at me.
“What?” I turn in suspicion, one hand on my hip.
“Nothing,” Aven clucks, eyes happy. “I love seeing you this way. You’re thinking of Orrin, aren’t you?”
“No.” I pause, finally admitting, “I was thinking of that lemon cake.”
The three of us laugh, and I shrug, taking up the broom again. “You would too, if you’d had the sample! I had some this morning and I can still taste it!”
Aven holds back a naughty retort, I can tell.
“Soon, we will,” Sélie replies, agreeably. “Summer can’t come soon enough for you, I’m sure. Or even next month! I cannot wait for the party.”
“Me either.” I sigh in contentment, anticipating April. “The renovations seemed to take forever, but it’s all finally finished. Just wait until you see everything.”
The mansion has been transformed, every room, every closet, every nook and cranny, and on top of that reason to celebrate, there will be the party—our engagement party.
A few months delayed, but for purely practical reasons.
Orrin and I wanted to wait until the place was in its former glory.
We wanted to sink into our engagement together, in each other’s arms, and enjoy it before opening up our home and lives. But in only three weeks, we will.
Everyone in The Pins—even the gossips—are invited. We wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sélie echoes my sigh and says, for the millionth time, “I’m just so happy for you, Corliss.”
The wind picks up outside, the snow flurries swirling wildly, but in our shop we are cozy and dry, everything smelling like zest and rosemary.
I’m so happy too, so incredibly happy that I could burst. However, I look to Aven, as I always do.
Making sure it’s not too much for her. That my happiness won’t drag more grief out of her—not because she doesn’t want such a thing for me, but because of all she went through, mere months ago.
Things are better than they were, though she has her low days, still.
But today is not one of them. The lightness in her gaze as she agrees with Sélie has me sweeping happily again, the taste of lemon curd—and Orrin—on my tongue, my sisters’ merry conversation the most comforting background noise as I tidy and they brew face cream and hair oil.
I’m cleaning near the door when the bell rings, and someone enters.
“Hello, Bells!” a jolly voice booms. The courier, a Mr. Hoblan. His black hair is dusted with snow, and his eyelashes are wet.
“Hello,” I greet him, smiling. My sisters echo my sentiment. “You have something for us?”
“I have mail.” He shakes his head, rifling through his bag. “Such a fine looking letter. Gold seal and everything!”
When he pulls it out to flash it my way, a twinge of curiosity runs through me. This isn’t our usual invoice or order-by-mail. It is fine. The envelope feels important, somehow.
I reach out my hand, impressed—my pink diamond sparkling—and he gives me a coy smile.
“Oh, it’s not for you, or the shop, Miss Corliss.” I get a glimpse of delicate, elegant script before he whisks it out of reach.
“Who is it for?” I ask him.
He gives me a smile, turns from me. “It’s for her.” And he hands it to Sélie before tipping his hat and heading out with a cheerful hum, leaving snow tracks on our floor, which I’ll have to dry up so nobody slips. But that can wait.
I step closer to the counter, curious. “Well?”
Sélie looks at the almond-colored envelope and then at both of us, exasperated. “Stop staring at me. It’s only an envelope, not a singing bear!”
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Aven asks.
“I think I’ll keep you both in suspense and save it for when I’m alone,” Sélie teases. She tucks the letter into her apron pocket, only one edge sticking out.
“You…are a brat,” I tell her, returning to my broom.
“I learned from my sisters,” she retorts, spirits high, cheeks flushed as peach as her dress.
“You are cheeky!” Aven bursts into a laugh. I twirl to watch her.
The sound of it, the sight of her, head tipped back with wicked glee, fills me with such joy.
We’re here, the three of us. We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.
I might not live at home anymore, and Sélie’s already talking about moving in with Pearl to her rooms above the fishmonger’s shop.
But not living in the same house won’t change us.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them. Nothing they wouldn’t do for me. Nothing—not even hell—could part us.
Dropping my broom with a thud, I stride over and reach across the counter to hug them both to me, so eternally thankful to have them back. Aven laughs again, open and gay.
You were embracing. She was laughing, Marieta’s premonition echoes, one I’ve so far kept to myself.
I pull away, startled, and they stare at me.
“What is it?” Sélie asks.
“Nothing.” I only shake my head, smiling. I tug them in again, gratitude filling me once more. I’ll tell them the whole story, one day.
THE END