Epilogue
One year later, at Blackmere Estate
What are your thoughts?” Helena asked.
“It is spectacular,” Tristan replied. He stood behind her, slipping an arm around her waist as he studied the canvas.
Helena tilted her head, examining the finished oil painting with a critical eye. “I did not overdo the shadowing?”
“My love, I truly do think it is wonderful.” Tristan laughed softly. “I can find no fault with it, even with all the training you have given me.”
Helena smiled and leaned against him, resting her head upon his shoulder. “You are an unreliable critic. You think everything I do is wonderful.”
“Because it always is.” He kissed the top of her head, and Helena smiled.
The old conservatory had become her favorite room in the house.
When they had first arrived at Blackmere, Tristan had insisted that it should belong to her.
He had cleared the long room of the unnecessary furniture that had accumulated there over the years and arranged for easels, canvases, paints, and a proper worktable to be brought in.
The tall windows provided excellent light throughout the day, and Helena had taken full advantage of both the room and his encouragement.
The scent of linseed oil and turpentine mingled with the fragrance of the flowering plants arranged along the windows, while several finished studies rested against the walls, waiting to be framed.
Her portrait of Tristan, completed months before, had pride of place in his study.
He had never offered a formal opinion of it, but Helena had seen his face and proud smile when he first looked upon it and had required no further criticism.
“I thought I might ride to the barn and see how the construction is progressing,” Tristan said. “Would you care to join me?”
“It is a beautiful day outside. I should love to.” Helena looked up at him with a smile. “Give me a moment to change into my riding attire?”
“Of course. I shall have your bay saddled in the meantime.” He kissed her cheek before she could escape his arm.
Helena laughed and slipped from the conservatory, leaving Tristan behind her.
She crossed the hall and stepped out through the front entrance a short while later, pausing on the broad stone steps.
The morning was bright and warm, the gardens already alive with the colors and scents of summer.
Before her, the gravel sweep curved away from the house, bordered by clipped yews and broad lawns, their edges softened by beds of roses and other summer flowers.
Beyond the formal grounds, the park stretched across rolling green fields, the mature oaks standing in full leaf and casting broad patches of shade upon the grass.
A line of trees marked the farther boundary, and beyond them the land rose gently toward the distant hills, softened by the clear June light.
The Blackmere estate stood behind her, its old gray stone walls warmed by the morning light.
From the front of the house, little of the walled garden could be seen, though Helena knew it lay beyond the eastern wing, with the orchard stretching farther beyond.
The stables and newer farm buildings were hidden from view, though the sound of horses and the occasional call of a stable hand carried faintly across the grounds.
Helena smiled, taking in the familiar scene with the peculiar contentment that still surprised her. She soon caught sight of Beatrice approaching the house, a letter unfolded in one hand while Oliver hurried several paces ahead of her.
“Aunt Helena!” Oliver's voice carried across the lawn.
Helena laughed as he came running toward her. She could have sworn he had grown another two inches overnight.
“Lady Pembroke arrives tomorrow?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yes, she does, and she has asked whether you would be interested in a card tournament.” Helena raised an eyebrow, waiting for his reaction.
Oliver planted his hands on his hips. “Shall we practice this afternoon? She cannot win every time. Even when I try to cheat, she wins.” He muttered the last part beneath his breath.
Helena laughed. “I think we should. I am determined to score more points than I did the last time she visited.”
Beatrice reached the steps, smiling. “Oh, wonderful. I love Charlotte’s card tournaments. They are always such fun.”
“That is because you and Uncle Tristan are the only ones who ever come close to beating her,” Oliver said, rolling his eyes.
“I have beaten her, and that is precisely why I enjoy playing.” Beatrice gave him a pointed look. “And losing only serves you right for trying to cheat last time. Where did you learn that trick, anyway?”
“Uncle Nathaniel.” Oliver grinned.
Helena and Beatrice exchanged a glance. “Of course,” they said together.
A moment later, Tristan appeared around the side of the house, leading two horses toward them. He had changed into his riding attire, his dark coat fitting neatly across his broad shoulders, his polished boots catching the morning light.
“Are we ready?” he asked.
“You are going riding?” Oliver's eyes immediately brightened.
“If you are quick about it, you are more than welcome to join us,” Helena said.
Oliver needed no further encouragement. He ran toward the stables, passing Tristan at full speed.
Helena stepped down from the last step and slipped her arm through Beatrice's. “So, how is our friend Mr. Frome?” she asked, giving her a teasing smile.
Beatrice's cheeks colored. “He is very well.” Her gaze shifted toward Tristan, who was occupied with checking the saddle on Helena's bay. “I mean for him to visit while Charlotte is here. Is that a wise idea?”
“If he can hold his own at cards, it is a marvelous idea.” Helena smiled. “Yes, I think it would be lovely. Georgiana and Nathaniel will arrive the day after tomorrow to stay, and we shall make a rather merry party of it.”
“What is this?” Tristan had returned from the stables and was walking toward them. “What have I missed?”
“I think I shall invite Mr. Frome to visit for a few nights while Charlotte and Georgiana are here,” Beatrice explained.
“The poor man.” Tristan glanced at his sister with dry amusement. “At least give him an easy way in. You, Helena, Georgiana, and Charlotte together make a formidable party. Nathaniel and I barely survive as it is. Though having another ally on our side might improve our chances.”
Beatrice turned toward Helena. “He says such manly things, but I recall finding him playing with my ribbons and bonnets when he was a boy. And he finds gossip enticing, regardless of what he claims.”
Tristan gave his sister an incredulous look.
“He is a tease,” Helena agreed.
“I am standing here, you know.” Tristan retorted.
“That has never prevented us from discussing you before,” Beatrice replied and Helena laughed.
“We are riding to the barn to see how the work has progressed,” Helena said, turning back to Beatrice. “But perhaps you would send a note to Georgiana and ask whether they would like to dine with us tonight? She will be most excited to hear about Mr. Frome's visit.”
“I shall.” Beatrice smiled and turned back toward the house.
Helena mounted her bay, gathering the reins as Oliver came trotting from the stables on his own horse. He was grinning broadly, evidently delighted to have been included.
Tristan mounted beside Helena.
“Try to keep up, Ollie,” he called.
“I always keep up!” Oliver argued.
“You did not yesterday.” Tristan quipped with a grin.
“That was because my horse wanted to stop,” Oliver retorted.
“Your horse wanted to eat,” Tristan corrected.
Oliver considered the remark. “He was hungry!”
Helena laughed as Tristan shook his head, and together the three of them set off along the path toward the farm buildings.
The morning air carried the scent of freshly turned earth and young grass. Birds called from the hedgerows, and somewhere beyond the fields laborers shouted to one another as they went about their work.
The horses' hooves struck a steady rhythm upon the packed earth while Oliver continued talking between them, moving from Charlotte's card-playing abilities to the names of every horse in the stable, and eventually, to an elaborate theory concerning why one of the farm dogs was secretly afraid of ducks.
Helena listened smiling softly to herself. A year ago, she could not have imagined that such an ordinary morning would feel like happiness.
She had witnessed Georgiana marry Nathaniel in the autumn, and Helena still could not decide which of them had been happier to find themselves at the altar.
They had taken a house in the village bordering Blackmere, close enough that Georgiana could visit whenever she pleased, and her letters remained full of opinions, observations, and details that Helena read with equal affection.
Beatrice, too, had surprised them all. Her correspondence with Mr. Gerald Frome, a widowed landowner from the neighboring county, had begun cautiously and developed into something neither of them had attempted to disguise.
He was thoughtful, capable, and possessed the rare good sense to admire Beatrice's competence rather than regard it as a challenge. Oliver adored him.
Charlotte visited almost every month, bringing the latest gossip from London, a supply of homemade cookies, and enough energy to enliven the house for several days after her departure.
Even the darker events of the previous year had, in the end, reached their proper conclusion.
Baron Ravenscroft had been convicted of his crimes. His title and remaining property had been forfeited, and he was sentenced to death for the murders for which he had been found responsible. He was hanged at Newgate before the year was out.
Helena had not rejoiced when she heard the news. There had been too much death already. Yet neither could she find sympathy for a man whose actions had destroyed so many lives. Justice had been required, and it had been served.
Mr. Pritchard's fate had been different.
His part in Ravenscroft's crimes had been grave, but so too had been the evidence he provided once he finally found the courage to come forward.
Mr. Markham had put the matter before the crown and argued that Pritchard's cooperation ought to be considered.
Clemency was granted on the understanding that he would assist Markham in uncovering further smuggling operations.
And so, Mr. Pritchard had been given another chance to make amends. He had returned to an honest life, continuing to raise his son while doing work, that in some small measure, helped undo what he had once been forced to participate in.
Mrs. Fenwick had received clemency as well.
Her testimony had been essential, and her own circumstances had been taken into consideration.
She had left London with her daughter and settled in a village in Dorset, where she had been able to build a modest life away from everything that had once frightened her.
Helena still exchanged letters with the woman.
Helena breathed the country air as the new barn came into view beyond the fields.
Its stone walls were already rising, with several men working on the roof and others carrying timber across the yard.
Tristan had been speaking about the improvements for months, and Helena knew he was already considering what should be undertaken next.
She glanced back at Oliver, who had not stopped talking once since they had left the house. Tristan reached over and took her hand, smiling warmly at her.
She returned the smile, and for a moment neither of them said anything.
Ahead of them, the men continued their work. Behind them stood Blackmere, with its gardens and fields, its stables and old stone walls, its memories, and its future.
It was home, her home, and Helena had never been happier to be there.
THE END