Epilogue

"Mother?" William called down from the landing, spotting Mary going down for breakfast.

She turned in surprise, putting on a nervous smile as she waited for him to catch up to her. "I was just going to put some toast and eggs on a plate and then return to my chambers. I do not want to be a bother."

"Nonsense," he insisted, "you must take breakfast with everyone else. It would seem strange if you were not there."

Mary chewed on her lower lip, clearly distrustful of the invitation. She had been equally distrustful when William had sent a carriage to the Dower House to invite her to stay at Stonebridge for a week or so, to join the impromptu house party that Lydia had organized. Nevertheless, she had arrived, and though she had mostly made herself scarce, William was glad that she was there.

"You do not have to do this," she said quietly.

He put his arm around her shoulders and ushered her down the stairs. "Do what?"

"Behave as if you are fond of me all of a sudden," she replied. "I know that I was wrong to keep the truth from you, and there is no denying that I was… free with my affections in the years before your father's passing. I never acted on anything, but I was flirtatious and, most likely, an embarrassment to you."

William swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I have come to understand the importance of love, Mother. I understand why you craved it, and though I have not experienced it, I like to think I can understand how… devastating it would be if someone you loved did not love you in return."

"It… broke me, I think," Mary whispered, her voice cracking. "I became a shell of myself for a while until I thought no, enough is enough. This is not living, it is whiling away the days until I die. I did not want to regret anything on my deathbed, Willie, but… I would have regretted you not knowing the truth."

William steered her toward the breakfast room, walking down the long hallway with his arm still around her. "May I ask why you did not tell me sooner?"

"I was embarrassed," she replied with a shrug. "I was embarrassed that all of the love and affection that your father should have showered me with was lavished upon everyone but me. I once asked him why he could not even think of me in that way, even a little bit, and he said that I was like a strange piece of art that one could admire only from a distance. He said a lot of unkind things over the years, but… I never wanted our relationship to affect yours."

"You did not think all the screaming might affect Anthony and me?" He smiled, meaning it in jest, but he regretted it immediately as his mother's face fell.

"It was the only way I could get some semblance of… passion out of him," she confessed. "If he was angry with me, if he was yelling at me, at least he was paying me some attention. It is pathetic, I know, but… I was pathetic back then."

William paused, and with a breath, he turned to embrace her. "It does not sound pathetic. It sounds like the actions of someone with a broken heart." He swallowed. "I am sorry that he treated you so badly, and now that I understand, I am glad that you decided to live your life the way that you wanted to. And I hope, in time, you might yet find someone who loves you as much as you love them."

Her arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly as a few quiet sobs juddered in her chest. He felt them through her back, her ribs expanding and contracting with each painful shudder.

"I am sorry, Willie," she whispered.

"You are forgiven, Mother." He kissed the top of her head. "And I am sorry, too."

"You have no need to be," she told him.

He hesitated. "Actually, I do." He pulled back slightly, drawing out his handkerchief to wipe away the tears that stained her face. "I have promised a small annual sum to Beatrice's daughter, to help them both. And when she is of age, I have promised to help her find a suitable match. But this will be the last embarrassment you have to endure because of Father. It is the last piece of his betrayal, and it has been dealt with."

Beatrice and Alexandria had returned to her father's estate two days prior, after a brief negotiation with William and Lydia. And at Lydia's behest, William had written a letter to the Viscount Whiston, setting out a plan for the child—that she should be claimed as the niece of a distant, deceased relative who had died in childbirth. The annual sum paid by William would masquerade as an inheritance from the fabricated deceased, and with any luck, no one would be any the wiser.

As for his other half-sisters, he had every intention of meeting them one day, but it was not something he felt inclined to raise as a possibility just yet. First, he had to mend his relationship with his mother. When she was ready, he would ask about the others.

"That is… generous," Mary choked out. "I would expect nothing less from you. As such, you have my forgiveness. Indeed, no child should have to suffer for the actions of their father… or mother, for that matter."

William pointed his chin in the direction of the breakfast room door. "So, what do you say? Will you have breakfast with all of us?" He listened, hearing the babble of merry chatter from within the room. "I think it might be good for us all to start afresh."

"Yes, perhaps you are right." Mary smiled up at him. "Oh, my boy, I knew that Lydia would be the perfect wife for you. The moment I saw her, I thought this young lady is going to change his life forever and for the better. Indeed, I knew there would be love between you, and I am pleased to discover that I was not wrong. Why, I told her that a man ought to be obsessed with his wife, and I know I am not mistaken in that regard."

William chuckled. "I have been hearing about all of the lessons you taught her, and though I would like to say that I am furious, it worked out rather well. And I do not mind saying that, yes, I am proudly obsessed with my wife."

With that, he ushered his mother through the breakfast room door, to where quite the congregation had gathered. Around the oval table, all of those who were dearest to Lydia and William were enjoying their breakfast and the chatter that came with it, sharing stories of the day's news as they devoured toast and eggs and coffee and tea and thick slices of cooked ham.

Emma and Silas had arrived the previous day after receiving Lydia's letter from Bruxton Hall. When they had reached that manor, Joanna and Edwin had explained what had happened and joined them in coming to Stonebridge to ensure that all was well. Edwin had protested that it was merely to return William's horse, but William suspected that curiosity had gotten the better of the pair.

"Ah, there he is!" Emma crowed. "We were just talking about you."

William raised an eyebrow. "All good things, I hope, and nothing too unsavory for so early in the morning."

"Will!" Lydia squeaked, blushing furiously.

He flashed her a grin. "Do not pretend that you only ever speak of innocent things with these duchesses, my love. You have already told me otherwise."

"Yes, I fear we were rather… coarse at times," Joanna admitted, smiling.

Emma raised her cup of weak coffee. "I should like to raise a toast to the day that I ran away from the church and the Marquess that I was supposed to marry," she said, drawing the attention away from Lydia's pink cheeks. "For if I had not, my sweet sister would never have found the love of her life."

Silas nudged her playfully.

"Oh, yes, and I would never have found mine!" Emma added, laughing brightly. "To the happy couple, who were always destined to be! Indeed, to all of the happy couples who were always destined to be!"

William picked up an empty cup to toast to the sentiment as a chorus came back from the gathered company. Anthony was loudest of all, beaming from ear to ear as he knocked back what appeared to be a glass of cloudy apple juice. And, just for a moment, William's heart was heavy, hoping that his brother would one day find what he had. No one deserved it more than Anthony.

"While the rest of you enjoy your breakfast and undoubtedly hear the entire story again from my dear mother's lips, I thought I might steal my wife away for a moment," William said, beckoning to Lydia.

She jumped up and came to his side, smiling bashfully as the rest of the table cheered and whistled in accompaniment to their swift exit from the breakfast room.

"Is something the matter?" Lydia asked as they walked down the hallway to the rear of the house and out into the somewhat decrepit gardens. "Did you want to discuss how we are going to transform these grounds, or were you just trying to spare me my blushes?"

He turned and pushed her up against the nearest wall, pressing a fierce kiss to her lips. She seemed stunned for a moment, but as his mouth caught hers once more, she melted into his embrace, relaxing into his familiarity. She kissed him back with a smile on her lips, her hands smoothing up the muscled lines of his back, tickling the skin beneath his shirt and waistcoat.

"I hoped to encourage a few more blushes," he replied, breaking the kiss for a moment. "And I wanted to tell you, in case I had not already this morning, that I love you."

Her eyes twinkled with laughter as she beamed at him. "You mean, aside from the ten times or so that you whispered it while I was still waking up? Or the time you said it when I went to dress? Or the time you said it when I told you I was heading down to the breakfast room?"

"I was just telling my mother—kitten, I do believe I am obsessed with you," he said, grinning. "And I love you. One should tell the person they love that they love them as often as possible, in my opinion."

She reached up to cradle his face. "Well, in that case…" She kissed his lips. "I love you." She kissed his cheek. "I love you." She kissed his neck. "I love you." She kissed his hand. "I love you." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his brow. "I love you." With a smile, she returned her kiss to his lips. "I love you."

And as they gazed at one another, both warmed by the affection they held for each other and each other alone, William wondered how he could ever have been afraid of that precious, beautiful word—love.

The End?