Epilogue
Three Months Later
The gardens at Ravenhill had never seen so much noise nor so much chaos, and Augusta thought, standing at the top of the terrace steps, that she had never in her life seen anything half so lovely.
Blankets had been spread across the lawn and upon them sat half the nurseries of the county, or so it seemed, along with their mothers and fathers. Charity’s little boy was attempting to crawl directly into a bowl of strawberries, while Duncan hovered nearby.
A little further along, Temperance sat with her daughter balanced on one knee, laughing at something Harper had said, their son already deep in some elaborate game of pursuit with Matilda across the far end of the lawn, both of them shrieking with delight.
“She will ruin that dress before luncheon,” Augusta observed, watching Matilda leap a low hedge.
“She will ruin three more before the Season is out,” Charity said, coming to stand beside her sister, one hand resting lightly on her own son’s back. “How are you feeling? Truly, I mean, not the answer you have been giving everyone else all morning.”
“Truly, I am wonderful,” Augusta said, and found she meant it entirely, despite the faint, persistent queasiness that had dogged her every morning this past fortnight. “Tired, and a little unwell some mornings, but wonderful.”
“You are glowing,” Charity said, studying her. “I noticed it the moment we arrived. I did wonder.”
“We have told no one yet beyond family,” Augusta said, lowering her voice though there was no one near enough to overhear. “It is very early still. I should rather wait a little longer before the whole of the county begins offering opinions.”
“Speaking of which.” Charity’s eyebrow arched with unmistakable meaning. “Prudence tells me you have been sending letters to half of London these past weeks. Something about musicians?”
“I have decided,” Augusta said, with the particular firmness of a woman who has thought a great deal about a decision and does not intend to be argued out of it, “that I should like to throw one final ball before I am too large and too tired to properly enjoy it. I find I do not wish to wait until after the babe comes.” Augusta smiled, watching Sarah dart past below them, shrieking with laughter as Gregory chased her across the lawn.
“Besides. It seems the right sort of thing to do, does it not? After everything. A room full of light and music and everyone we care for, safe and happy in one place. I find I want that rather badly just now.”
Charity’s expression softened, understanding passing between them without need of further words. It had not been so very long since that terrible morning in the wood, and though Sarah had recovered, Augusta suspected she herself would carry the memory of that fear a good while longer yet.
“Then we shall help you throw the finest ball this county has seen in a decade,” Charity said firmly. “I shall speak to Duncan about the musicians myself; he knows every decent quartet from here to London. And Temperance will want to help with the flowers.”
“I heard that,” Temperance called from her blanket.
“I speak only good things,” Charity called back, entirely unrepentant, and the two sisters laughed together in a manner that drew several curious glances from across the lawn.
The morning wore on in much the same happy, chaotic fashion.
Cassian and Prudence arrived a little after eleven with their two children in tow, the elder of whom immediately attached himself to Joseph and Matilda’s game with the seriousness of a general joining a campaign already in progress, while Stephen and Maria settled themselves near the roses with their own small daughter, deep in conversation with Ambrose and Daphne, whose youngest had only just begun to walk.
Even Phillipa had come, arriving somewhat later than the rest and looking, Augusta thought, a good deal more at ease than she had in months.
Whatever had passed between them these past weeks… and Augusta had her suspicions, though neither party had confirmed anything… it seemed a decidedly happy development, and one Augusta intended to press for details on the very moment she found a private moment to do so.
It was Ronan who finally offered her the excuse to slip away from the noise for a little while.
“Sarah has informed me,” he said, handing her one of the glasses, “that I am a very poor bear, and that Gregory is a far superior one, and that I ought to take lessons from him if I wish to be permitted to play again this afternoon.”
“You have been thoroughly usurped,” Augusta said, laughing despite herself.
“Entirely. I have never in my life felt so wounded by so small a critic.” He glanced back toward the lawn, where Gregory was currently being buried beneath an alarming pile of children and cushions, laughing.
“I find I do not particularly mind the demotion, in truth. It is rather wonderful to watch her so unafraid. So entirely herself again.”
“She has you to thank for that,” Augusta said softly. “More than she will ever fully know.”
“She has us both to thank for it.” He took her hand, and drew her gently along the terrace. “Come. I have not had you entirely to myself in above a week, and I find I have missed it rather badly.”
“We have an entire garden full of guests,” Augusta protested, though she let herself be led all the same, glancing back only once to confirm that Charity had already taken up watch over Sarah.
“An entire garden full of guests who are all perfectly capable of amusing themselves for a quarter of an hour without their hosts hovering over them,” Ronan said, drawing her out of sight of the lawn entirely.
“I believe I am owed a quarter of an hour, at the very least, given how thoroughly I have been outclassed by Gregory this morning.”
“You have had a difficult day,” Augusta agreed solemnly, though her eyes were bright with laughter.
“A devastating one.” He set both their glasses down upon the little stone bench and turned to face her properly, his hands finding her waist with the easy familiarity of a man who had spent every day these past months growing more certain, rather than less, of exactly how much he wanted her there.
“Though I find myself considerably restored already.”
“Is that so?”
“Entirely so.” He studied her a moment, something soft and helplessly fond in his expression that she did not think she would ever tire of seeing directed at herself. “You look happy, Augusta. I find I like watching you plan this ball of yours.”
“I want it to be perfect,” she admitted. “One last perfect thing before I am too tired and too round to properly enjoy dancing at all.”
“You will be beautiful whether you are dancing or not,” he said, and kissed her before she could argue the point.
“I love you,” she murmured when they finally drew apart, resting her forehead against his. “I do not think I shall ever tire of telling you that.”
“I sincerely hope you never do,” Ronan said, “for I intend to spend every remaining day of my life telling you the same, and I should hate to be outdone by my own wife in matters of devotion.” He pressed another kiss to her forehead, then, more lingering, to her lips.
“I love you, Augusta. More than I have words to properly say, though I intend to spend a lifetime attempting it regardless.”
A fresh burst of laughter went up from the lawn, followed almost immediately by Sarah’s delighted shriek and Gregory’s exaggerated groan of defeat, and Augusta laughed against Ronan’s shoulder.
“We ought to go back,” she said, without much conviction.
“In a moment,” Ronan said, and kissed her once more instead, in no particular hurry at all to return to the world beyond the wisteria, content, for now, simply to stand there with the woman he loved and the whole bright promise of everything still to come.
By the time the final carriage disappeared beyond the gates, Ravenhill had become almost unnaturally quiet.
Augusta stood near the bottom of the staircase and removed her gloves slowly, feeling the pleasant exhaustion that followed.
“I believe we have survived the day remarkably well,” Augusta said, looking around the hall with considerable satisfaction.
Ronan had been speaking with the butler, but he dismissed the man quietly before turning his full attention toward her.
“You have spent most of the afternoon standing when you should have been resting considerably more often,” Ronan said.
Augusta gave him a look that she hoped expressed exactly what she thought about that observation.
“I have spent most of the afternoon enjoying my own guests inside my own garden,” Augusta replied, beginning to climb the staircase without waiting for him.
Ronan followed immediately, although Augusta noticed that he remained close enough to catch her should she happen to stumble.
She had noticed this new habit several weeks ago, shortly after they learned about the baby. It was endearing, she thought.
Who knew the duke was so protective? Certainly not her when she first met him.
When they reached the chamber, Augusta crossed directly to her dressing table and began to remove her earrings.
Ronan did not disappear toward his study, as he might once have done without a second thought.
“Here,” Ronan said, when the clasp proved stubborn beneath her fingers, catching in the fine hair at the back of her neck. “Let me.”
She stilled and let him work at it, his fingers considerably more patient with the small, fiddling task than she would have expected.
The necklace came free at last, and he set it carefully upon the dressing table, then turned his attention to the pins holding the last of her hair in place, drawing them free one by one until it fell loose about her shoulders.
She thought, watching him in that unguarded moment, of how very far they had travelled to arrive here.
“I do hope our baby takes after you in temperament,” Ronan said after a moment.
“And if the baby inherits your stubbornness?”