Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
“Uncle Hugo, I brought you something from the lake.” Oliver stood on the garden terrace with his hands cupped together and a grin that suggested the contents were either magnificent or disgusting.
He was nine now, his freckles darkened by a summer spent outdoors, and the wooden sword had been replaced by a real one, blunted and age-appropriate, which he wore strapped to his belt with the gravity of a knight errant.
Hugo crouched in front of him. “Show me.”
Oliver opened his hands. A frog sat on his palms, green and glistening and profoundly unimpressed by its captors.
“His name is Wellington,” Oliver announced.
“A strong name. After the Duke?”
“After the frog I had last summer. He escaped. This is Wellington the Second.”
“A dynasty.” Hugo examined the frog with focused attention. “He looks healthy. Good coloring and strong legs.”
“I am going to teach him to jump on command.”
“An ambitious undertaking. Does your mother know?”
“She said I could keep him if he stays outside.”
“A wise policy. I suggest a habitat near the rose garden. The insects there are excellent.”
Oliver beamed and charged off toward the garden with Wellington cupped against his chest. His younger brother Leo trailed behind him, clutching a stick he had been carrying for the past hour with no discernible purpose, his dark hair falling into his eyes.
Leo was beginning to develop a vocabulary that was precise, economical, and occasionally devastating.
“Frog will escape,” Leo observed as he passed.
“Probably,” Hugo agreed.
Lily watched them from the blanket spread beneath the old oak tree, where the afternoon sun filtered through the leaves and threw dappled shadows across the remains of a magnificent picnic.
Mrs. Aldridge had outdone herself. She had packed cold roast chicken, summer salads, strawberries with cream, three kinds of cheese, and a lemon cake that Lady Brimsey had already consumed two slices of while insisting she had only taken one.
Sophia sat beside Lily with Jane on her lap. Jane was eighteen months old now, dark-haired and round-cheeked, and she was engaged in the serious business of dismantling a bread roll into the smallest possible pieces and distributing them across Sophia’s skirt.
“She has been doing that for twenty minutes,” Sophia said. “I believe she is conducting an experiment.”
“On what?”
“My patience.” Sophia brushed the bread crumbs from her skirt and smiled. “I have some news, though. Lord Wilfrey married his Charlotte Pembroke last spring. They are in Egypt, apparently. She insisted on seeing the pyramids, and he insisted on cataloging every insect between Cairo and Luxor.”
“A perfect match,” Lily said. And she meant it.
Edward appeared with two glasses of lemonade and handed one to his wife. He settled onto the blanket and stretched his legs.
“Your gardens look well, Hugo,” Edward said.
“I hired a new groundskeeper.” Hugo dropped onto the blanket beside Lily and leaned back on his elbows. “A man from Kent who believes in letting things grow wild rather than trimming them into submission. I find his philosophy appealing.”
“You would.”
Lord and Lady Brimsey occupied the bench beneath the rose arbor, Lord Brimsey with his hat tipped over his eyes and his hands folded across his stomach, Lady Brimsey with her embroidery and a handkerchief tucked into her sleeve for deployment at the first sign of emotion.
Aunt Margaret sat in the garden chair nearest the cake, her opera glasses resting on the arm despite the fact that there was nothing to observe but family, and a glass of the Burgundy Hugo had brought back from France balanced on her knee.
“This wine is exceptional,” Aunt Margaret said. “Better than the last bottle you sent.”
“That one was from Beaune. This is from Volnay. The slope faces south, and the soil is pure limestone.”
“You inspected the drainage?”
“Naturally.”
“Good. I have trained you well.” She took a sip. “Now. I believe you mentioned gifts.”
Hugo looked at Lily. She smiled.
“We did,” Lily said. She reached behind the blanket and produced a collection of parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with colored ribbon. “Shall we?”
Hugo distributed the parcels with theatrical flair.
“Lord Brimsey.” He handed the first to Lily’s father. “From a nursery in Tuscany. Rosa centifolia cuttings. They are known as the hundred-petaled rose. They are the finest specimens I could find, and the grower assures me they will thrive in English clay.”
Lord Brimsey pushed his hat back and examined the parcel with reverent attention. “Hugo, this is… These are extraordinary. The centifolia from Tuscany? I have read about these but never seen them available.”
“They required some persuasion. And a bottle of grappa.”
“You are a good man.” Lord Brimsey clutched the cuttings to his chest.
“A gift for you now, Mama.” Lily handed her mother a wrapped box. “From Venice. Murano glass. A set of perfume bottles.”
Lady Brimsey opened the box and burst into tears. “They are beautiful. Oh, Lily. They are the most beautiful things I have ever seen.”
“You said that about the wedding gown, Mama.”
“I say it about everything because everything you give me is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.
“Edward.” Hugo handed over a leather-bound volume. “First edition. Thucydides. I found it in a bookshop in Athens that I swear was approximately one thousand years old and smelled accordingly.”
Edward opened the cover and ran his thumb across the title page. “This is remarkable, Hugo. Thank you.”
“Sophia.” Lily presented her sister with a wooden box. “Writing paper from Florence. Handmade, from a family that has been producing it since the fifteenth century.”
Sophia opened the box and lifted a sheet to the light. Her fingers traced the surface. “It is perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“Oliver.” Hugo produced a small package. “A compass. From a watchmaker in Geneva. It was made for a Swiss naval officer, but he did not collect it, so I acquired it instead.”
Oliver abandoned the frog habitat and sprinted across the lawn. He tore open the paper and held the compass to the light. The brass casing gleamed in the sun.
“This is the best present anyone has ever given me.”
“Use it wisely. A man with a compass never gets lost.”
“I get lost all the time.”
“Then you need it more than most.”
“I shall use it to find another frog. Thank you, Uncle Hugo.”
“Leo.” Lily held out a small wooden box. Leo approached with his stick and examined the offering. He opened the box. Inside sat a carved wooden horse, painted chestnut brown with a dark mane.
“Horse,” Leo said.
“It is from a toymaker in Nuremberg. Hugo chose it for you.”
Leo held the horse up and examined it from every angle. Then he tucked it under his arm beside his stick and walked back to the frog habitat without another word.
“That is the most enthusiastic I have seen him in weeks,” Sophia said.
“And Jane.” Lily lifted the smallest parcel. “A rattle. Silver. From a silversmith in Milan.”
Sophia took the rattle and shook it near Jane’s ear. Jane stopped dismantling her bread roll, looked at the rattle, and reached for it with both hands. She shook it once, declared it acceptable, and returned to her bread.
“She has her father’s focus,” Hugo observed.
“She has her mother’s priorities,” Edward corrected.
Margaret cleared her throat.
“Lady Oldbarrow.” Hugo reached behind the blanket and produced a long, narrow box. “I saved the best for last.”
Aunt Margaret opened the box. Inside, resting on a bed of velvet, lay a pair of opera glasses. Mother-of-pearl handles, brass fittings, and lenses that caught the afternoon light and threw tiny rainbows across the garden.
Aunt Margaret lifted them. She held them to her eyes and examined the garden, then the house, then Hugo himself.
“The magnification is excellent,” she said. Her voice carried a roughness she would have denied. “Where did you find them?”
“A lens maker in Vienna. I told him they were for a woman who sees everything and forgives nothing. He said she sounded like his mother.”
Aunt Margaret lowered the glasses. She looked at Hugo for a long moment. Then she reached out and patted his hand.
“Acceptable,” she said. “You may continue to be married to my niece.”
“I am honored beyond measure.”
“You should be.” She raised her wine glass.
“Speaking of marriages, my godson Frederick wrote to me last month. He is thirty-two years old, a Duke himself, and has shown no inclination whatsoever toward finding a wife. I have told him this is unacceptable. The boy needs a woman with sense. If any of you know one, do send her north.”
“I shall keep my eyes open, Lady Oldbarrow,” Edward said.
“See that you do. I will not have my godson die a bachelor. It reflects poorly on my influence.”
Lily looked at Hugo. He looked at her. The afternoon light caught the amber of his eyes, and the warmth in his expression held no performance and no mask.
She took his hand.
“We have one more announcement,” she said.
The garden went still. Lady Brimsey’s embroidery froze mid-stitch. Lord Brimsey pushed his hat back. Margaret lowered her wine. Sophia’s hand stilled on Jane’s hair. Edward’s gaze sharpened.
“I am expecting a child.”
The silence lasted one second. Lady Brimsey’s shriek of joy sent three birds out of the oak tree. She launched herself from the bench and seized Lily in an embrace that threatened to crack ribs.
“A grandchild! Henry! A grandchild!”
Lord Brimsey rose from the bench. His eyes glistened. His chin trembled. He walked to his daughter and wrapped his arms around both her and his wife and held them.
Sophia set Jane on the blanket and pulled Lily into a hug.
“Sister.” Sophia’s voice cracked. “Oh, sister.”
“Do not cry, or I will cry, and Mama is already crying enough for all of us.”
“Oh, stop it, you. My baby sister is having a baby!” Sophia pressed her face against Lily’s shoulder and laughed and cried at the same time.