Epilogue
Heywood House was decorated for Christmas in fragrant holiday splendor.
Pine boughs and garlands of greenery adorned the doorways, banisters, and windows, and a towering tree graced the corner of the drawing room.
Its alum-frosted branches sparkled with shimmering ornaments, gilded fruit, glittering bows, and candles.
Beneath it lay the remains of the wrapping paper and ribbons from all the gifts the family had opened earlier that morning.
Charlotte’s Heywood grandparents presided over their vast extended family from a damask settee near the crackling fire.
Grandfather Arthur was looking well, despite his advanced age and incipient frailty.
Though his hair had gone completely silver, and he more heavily relied on his cane, he still had the proud, upright bearing of a soldier.
He’d been a cavalry officer in the Peninsular Wars.
A man of profound honor and dignity whose stern exterior belied a depth of warmth and affection that only his family were privileged to see.
Grandmother Phyllida was seated next to him on the settee, wearing a bustled gown of mazarine velvet. Her gentle-featured face was aglow, her mismatched eyes shining, and her upswept auburn tresses liberally streaked with gray. Several large dogs of indeterminate ancestry dozed at her feet.
Charlotte’s own parents, James and Hannah, were close by. So were two of her uncles, Charles Heywood and Jack Beresford.
Magnus was seated in a chair among them, engaged in conversation with Charlotte’s grandfather and uncles. About their mutual services to the Crown, Charlotte guessed. Uncle Charles was a former naval officer, and Uncle Jack had once served as a colonel in Her Majesty’s army.
Charlotte’s father had his arm around her mother’s waist, his fingers idly playing at the ribbon tie of her rose-pink silk gown.
Mama was radiant beside him, her face and figure practically a mirror image of Charlotte’s own.
She leaned forward in her seat holding Grandmother’s hand as the two of them exchanged smiling words.
Across the room, Charlotte’s cousin, Felicity, was perched in front of the rosewood piano pounding out an exuberant rendition of God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen as her sister, Delphia, turned the pages for her.
Their youngest cousins, Uncle Jack and Aunt Bea’s boy, John, and Uncle Ivo and Aunt Meg’s boy, Henry, stood with them, joining Felicity and Delphia in song.
Charlotte’s brothers, Arthur and Nick, were at a table by the window, where they’d set up a boisterous card game with Aldrick and Oscar, two other of Charlotte’s cousins.
Her remaining relations—Aunt Kate, Aunt Bea, Aunt Meg and Uncle Ivo—were scattered about them, talking, laughing, and indulging in chocolate, tea, fresh oranges, and iced gingerbread.
Even Charlotte’s Beresford grandparents, Lord and Lady Allendale, had come to celebrate.
The aged dears were disposed on a green velvet sofa, not far from the fireplace.
Grandmother Margaret’s head rested against Grandfather’s shoulder as they talked only to each other.
They remained very much in love, Papa had often explained, and—despite their affection for their family—still vastly preferred their own company to that of anyone else.
“Even to you and your brothers and sister?” Charlotte had often asked him in dismay.
“Yes,” Papa would unfailingly reply. “Even to us.”
Charlotte didn’t wonder that her own romantic aspirations had been so excessively high. Both her Beresford and Heywood grandparents had set a lofty ideal. So too had her parents, and her aunts and uncles.
And now Charlotte had achieved that ideal for herself.
Strolling the perimeter of the drawing room, arm and arm with her sister, her gaze once again came to rest on Magnus. Warmth suffused her breast.
“I suppose I should be jealous,” Agatha said. “The youngest daughter isn’t meant to be the first to wed. And to an earl no less. One whose fortune is as great as Papa’s.”
Charlotte flashed her sister a look. “Rubbish. You’re not jealous. You don’t even wish to marry.”
Agatha was conspicuously silent.
Charlotte looked at her again, more narrowly this time. “Do you?”
The skirts of Agatha’s elegantly tailored slate dress rustled against the elaborately flounced skirts of Charlotte’s raspberry silk gown as they walked.
She was shorter than Charlotte by several inches.
Slightly fuller of figure, too, in a fetching manner that put Charlotte in mind of a renaissance painting of a goddess or lesser deity.
If that goddess were inclined to wear spectacles, that is. And if she were more disposed to be sensible than seductive.
Agatha frowned under the weight of Charlotte’s regard. “What I wish, is to find even a fraction of the happiness that you have found.”
“A very diplomatic answer,” Charlotte replied. “You attempt to disarm me with a roundabout compliment.”
“I also wish that you didn’t have to move all the way to Yorkshire after you marry,” Agatha said. “I shall miss you dreadfully.”
Charlotte smiled at that. “You won’t have to miss me. Magnus is taking a house for us here in Somerset.”
Agatha came to a surprised halt by the Christmas tree. “Is he truly?”
Charlotte stopped along with her. “He is,” she answered. “Moorcross Manor is in such a terrible state. It will be a long while before it’s made fit to live in. And we neither of us wish to reside in town.”
“When did—you—?”
“This morning,” Charlotte said. “It was one of my Christmas presents.”
“He gave you a house?” Agatha shot an astonished glance at Magnus. “I hesitate to ask what his other gifts were.”
Charlotte followed her sister’s gaze, catching Magnus’s eye from across the room.
His mouth ticked up at one corner in silent reply.
She smiled foolishly back at him, recalling the way he’d kissed her this morning when they’d encountered each other on the stair on their way down to breakfast. It was when he’d told her about the house, and when he’d given her the diamond necklace and bracelet that matched her engagement ring.
“Look how well he fits into our family,” Charlotte said proudly.
It was a great source of satisfaction to her, especially since Magnus had initially been reluctant to accept her invitation to come to Heywood House with them.
Not many newly engaged gentlemen would have been willing to face their fiancée’s extended relations on a moment’s notice.
But Magnus had acquiesced for her sake. He’d met them all, the Beresfords and the Heywoods, suffering through the endless congratulations (and interrogations) and coming out the other side, not as a stranger any longer, but as a member of the family.
“He fits better with the Heywood side than the Beresford side, I think,” Agatha observed. “It’s known for its grumpy soldiers and naval officers.”
“Nick and Arthur like him too,” Charlotte pointed out. “And Mama and Papa.”
“Papa likes that you’re happy,” Agatha said. “As for Mama… She’ll be even happier knowing that you’ll remain in Somerset for a time. She’ll doubtless have a whole list of houses to recommend to you.”
Charlotte squeezed her sister’s arm as the two of them resumed their perambulations. “What about your happiness, Aggie?” she asked. “You’ve been so much on your own lately, always closeted away with your letter writing.”
Agatha dismissed the question with a shrug. “I’ve always had a healthy correspondence. You know that.”
“It used to be healthy. Now it’s downright mysterious. Who is it you’ve been writing to so diligently?”
Casting a cautious glance around them, Agatha drew Charlotte farther into the corner.
Their words were all but drowned out by the pounding of the piano.
Agatha nevertheless sunk her voice. “Do you remember the Duke of Rutledge’s second youngest son, Lord Standish?
The one who was always so rude to us whenever we encountered his family in London? ”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “No!”
Agatha nodded solemnly. “We crossed paths again when Mama and I were in town in the spring. He was still rude, and still excessively impressed with himself, but…”
“But?”
“He was interested in submitting an article to the Animal Advocate. He asked if he might write to me for advice on how best to go about it.”
Charlotte couldn’t believe it. The gentleman she remembered had had no interest in academic pursuits, and even less in animal welfare journals. “And he’s written?”
“He has,” Agatha said. “But not for advice. Or rather, not after the first two letters.”
“Agatha!” Charlotte breathed.
A rare flush of pink stained her sister’s cheeks. “Stop.”
“He must have grown very clever since last I saw him,” Charlotte said. Her sister would be impressed by nothing else. Not handsomeness, certainly. Not riches, either.
“I confess, he didn’t strike me as being clever when we met, nor even in his first two letters, but his subsequent ones read as if they were written by a completely different person.
He’s kind and compassionate. And rather progressive in his views.
Indeed, I wouldn’t have thought a duke’s son would have had such a vast and varied experience among the common folk. ”
“Nor would I.”
“But he writes of so many things,” Agatha said. “And he’s genuinely interested in what I write to him in return. He claims to enjoy my accounts of our life here. Which encourages me to expound on them more with each letter. The last one I wrote to him was nearly ten pages long, front and back.”
Charlotte gaped. Ten pages front and back? How on earth?? “Your hand must have been aching!”
“If it was, I didn’t notice it. I was…” Agatha’s blush deepened. “Well, I daresay I was consumed.”
“Do Mama and Papa know?”
“There’s nothing to know.”
“A lengthy correspondence with an unmarried gentleman? I call that something.”
“I don’t wish to share it with anyone yet,” Agatha said. “I’ve enjoyed it too much to see it come to an end.”
“If he has intentions—”
“He does not. He’s only my friend.”
“Hmm,” Charlotte murmured.
Agatha fixed her with a repressive glare. “I forbid you from speaking a word of it to anyone. This is my adventure, not yours. I shall have it in my own way.”
Charlotte’s brows lowered in a disgruntled frown. “Since when is letter writing an adventure?”
“Not a word, Charlotte,” Agatha warned.
Charlotte sighed. “Very well. If that’s what you want.”
Magnus came across the room to join them.
Charlotte was instantly diverted from her sister’s adventure to her own. She held out her hand to him with a radiant smile
Magnus’s fingers engulfed hers. He gave her an apologetic grimace. “I may have mentioned us taking a house in the district to your mother and grandmother.”
Charlotte’s smile softened with bemusement. “It’s not a secret,” she said. “Unless… It wasn’t meant to be one, was it? For I already shared it with Agatha.”
“I would promise not to tell a soul,” Agatha said with a trace of droll humor, “but it seems my brother-in-law-to-be has already done so.”
“Agatha!” Felicity called out from her seat at the piano. “Come and sing with us!”
“Yes, Aggie,” Delphia joined in. “Do come!”
“You’re the only one who can hit the high notes without making the dogs howl!” Henry added, provoking a burst of laughter among the cousins.
Agatha smiled in spite of herself. She was the best singer among them and everyone knew it. She squeezed Charlotte’s arm before releasing it. “I had better save us from the dogs,” she said. She dipped her head to Magnus. “Lord Eversleigh.”
“Magnus,” he said. “Please.”
Agatha’s smile broadened. “Magnus, then.” With that, she withdrew to the piano where she promptly joined her cousins in a rendition of Cantique de Noel.
Charlotte turned to Magnus. “I’m so pleased the two of you get along.”
He gazed down at her, still holding her hand. “Did you expect we wouldn’t?”
“I didn’t know what to expect,” she admitted. “I’ve never been betrothed before, let alone introduced my betrothed to my family.”
His mouth quirked. “I should hope not.”
“I know you thought it a dreadful ordeal.”
“That was before,” he said.
She searched his face. “And now?”
A solemn smile lit his gray eyes. “It wasn’t an ordeal,” he said. “It was a gift.”
Charlotte’s heart swelled. She didn’t have to ask what he meant. She understood him perfectly. Magnus had never had a family before. And now he did, thanks to her. “It seems only fair,” she said. “You’ve given me so many.”
“Speaking of which…” He directed her attention back to her mother and grandmother.
They were watching Magnus and Charlotte expectantly from their seats in front of the fire.
“Shall we rejoin your family and choose the house where we’ll settle as newlyweds?
Mrs. Heywood and Lady St. Clare have several in mind. ”
“I don’t care where we settle,” Charlotte said. “So long as we’re together. And so long as there’s plenty of room for Artemis, Chance, and Mr. Aloysius.” She paused. “And any other animals that might come along.”
Magnus offered her his arm. “There will be room for as many horses, dogs, and cats as my love requires.”
Charlotte beamed up at him. Slipping her hand in Magnus’s arm, she returned with him to her family—to their family—and to planning the glorious future that awaited them, here in Somerset and beyond.