Epilogue

STONYWELL: 10 MONTHS LATER

I zzy stretched out on a chaise longue in the deep shade under a large cypress tree. The cradle sat at her feet, but the baby was in her arms, deep asleep, little hands clenched into fists. In the distance, the sound of hammers suggested that work on the new ballroom was continuing apace. On the lawn, Ian and Henry were playing a game of cricket with the children, Henry's five and their own two, all rushing about in the sun. So much energy! Izzy could only admire the exuberance of youth. She smiled as she stroked the silky, soft hair on the baby's head.

Mary came out just then with jugs of lemonade, and while the cricket players flopped onto the grass to rest in the shade of a tree on the other side of the lawn, Ian brought a glass of lemonade to Izzy.

"You do know that he is fast asleep?" he said with a smile, gently touching his son's cheek.

"I know."

"You could put him down in his cradle to sleep."

"I know that too, but I like to hold him. He is the sweetest baby — look how his mouth is moving as he sleeps. Do you think he is dreaming? What can an infant have to dream about, after only two months in the world?"

"I cannot imagine, but he will dream it just as well in his cradle." With infinite care, Ian lifted the babe from Izzy's arms and settled him in the cradle, tucking the blanket around him. "There you are, little Charles. Sleep well. Drink your lemonade, wife."

"Very well, you tyrannical man." She smiled fondly at him, then obediently took a sip.

"Still no wet nurse?" Ian said with studied casualness.

Izzy sighed. "Soon. It must be soon. I should like to go up to town with you when Parliament reopens in the autumn, so I shall start making enquiries."

"Ah. But if you prefer to stay here…" He tailed off, his face anxious.

"I prefer to be with you. I have not changed so much that I have transformed into Josie overnight. She may be pleased to sit at home with her children about her and leave her husband to go off to town on his own, but I am not. You suspect I am more attentive to this child because he is the son and heir, but I assure you, it is not for that reason. For the first time in my life, I am… content," she finished, with a tone of surprise. "Who would ever have thought I would be happy to sit about under trees with a babe in my arms, but I am, because for the first time in my life, I have love and to spare. You fill me with love, husband, so that I am overflowing with it. I am very blessed."

"Ah," he said again, reaching for her free hand and raising it to his lips. "We are both blessed, it seems to me. I shall be very glad to have you with me in town, for no one brings a dull political dinner to life like you, my sweet. But here is Eastwood with the salver — we have a caller, it seems."

The butler bowed low and proffered the salver to Ian, who read the card with raised eyebrows. "Bring him out here, Eastwood, and some Madeira and cakes. He will not want to drink lemonade, I fancy."

"Who is it?" Izzy said. "Not a business call, I collect?"

"Mr Willerton-Forbes. You must remember him — the lawyer who was part of the investigation into Nicholson's murder. He has been undertaking some research for me these past few months. He wrote to inform me that his enquiries are now complete. It is not exactly a business call, but nor is it a social call, either."

"How very mysterious, husband," Izzy said, shaking her head at him. The baby whimpered in his cradle, and she set it rocking with her foot.

She did not remember Mr Willerton-Forbes until the moment she saw his fashionable form following Eastwood across the lawn. Behind him, a little procession of footmen carried a chair, a small table, a tray bearing a decanter and glasses and another tray with dishes of sweetmeats. It took some little time to arrange all these items to Eastwood's satisfaction and to see Mr Willerton-Forbes settled upon the chair and amply provided with refreshments. Then there were the usual enquiries as to health and the state of the roads to be undertaken, and some discussion on the progress being made on constructing Izzy's ballroom.

Eventually, Ian said, "You have some news for me?"

The lawyer's eyes slid to Izzy and back to Ian. "Indeed. I have discovered all that you wished to know, my lord, and a certain amount beyond that, some of it rather unexpected."

"How very intriguing," Izzy said, amused by the lawyer's secrecy.

"I think it is time Lady Farramont knew about this, Willerton-Forbes," Ian said.

"Oh, do tell," Izzy said, leaning forward eagerly. "I love a secret."

Ian laughed. "Do you remember young Bayton's friend, Barty, who got him home from India? A man of some mystery, being clearly of the gentry class, despite his efforts to conceal it. You suspected him of being a baronet, and it seemed likely to me, so I asked Mr Willerton-Forbes to see what he could find out about him."

"Whatever he once was, Barty wanted to leave his past behind," Izzy said sharply. "I promised him I would not pry into his business."

"But I made no such promise," Ian said equably. "It seemed to me that it was worth a few enquiries to find out what had happened to the estate, and whether there might be some money sitting in the four percents, waiting to be claimed. So I asked Mr Willerton-Forbes to find out, very discreetly, if there might happen to be a dormant baronetcy in Bedfordshire, and whether there was anything left of the family's fortune. Mind you, that was several months ago."

"And I have not been dilatory, my lord, I assure you," the lawyer said, reaching for another slice of cherry cake. "The confidential nature of the undertaking meant that I could not broadcast my enquiries publicly. A notice in the Morning Post would have done the trick speedily, but it would have raised awkward questions, so I have had to be very discreet. Then there are many baronetcies to be examined, and the baronetage is not arranged in a helpful manner, by county."

"Alphabetically, by name?" Izzy said.

"Not even that," Willerton-Forbes said. "By date of creation. So we have had to be a touch inventive. I sent a couple of people — two of my brothers, in point of fact — to Bedfordshire to… erm, conduct some research into church architecture. Titus and Everard have some expertise in that area, and being the sons of the Earl of Morpeth, in every parish they were invited to dine with the best families, and there they learnt a great deal."

"How many parishes are there in Bedfordshire?" Ian said.

"One hundred and twenty-four," Mr Willerton-Forbes said promptly, "but I assure you, they did not visit every one. It was not necessary. Armed with the baronetage and various travel books from some years ago, which mark the residences of important persons such as baronets, it was possible to narrow the search somewhat. Even so, it took some weeks to discover the name and seat of Barty's father. He was Sir Humphrey Rooke of Sherringford Hall, near Bedford. There was only one son listed in the baronetage, Frederick."

"So Barty is Sir Frederick Rooke," Izzy said excitedly. "Sir Frederick Rooke of Sherringford Hall! How grand that sounds!"

"But the house is gone, he said," Ian put in. "Sold to pay the debts. Is that not what Barty told you?"

She was deflated at once. "So he did. What a pity!"

"A great pity," the lawyer said, brushing crumbs from his waistcoat with a sigh of satisfaction. "It is always a sadness when a respectable family loses its place in the world. The estate is owned by a Mr Black now, a gentleman of means, who keeps it in very good order, and unless Sir Frederick can whistle up a fortune to buy it back, then Sherringford Hall is quite lost. But there is an interesting tale to be told there, if you would hear it?"

"By all means," Ian said.

"The Rookes were a highly regarded family in the parish, as one might expect. Sir Frederick's grandfather had been wild in his youth, but when ill-health caught up with him, he retired to Sherringford Hall, brought his heir to live there with his family, and, in time, there he died. At first, all seemed well, but gradually it became clear that Sir Humphrey had inherited a mountain of debt. Sir Humphrey mortgaged the house and carried on for a while, but clearly that did not answer because one day he simply… disappeared, taking young Frederick, then eight years of age, with him, not to mention the contents of the bank account, such as they were. We know now that they went to India under assumed names, but to those left behind… the servants, neighbours, tradesmen… they had vanished from the earth."

"So he ran away?" Izzy said scornfully. "How shameful!"

"Indeed. Not the act of a gentleman, one might say," the lawyer said. "The lawyers took charge on behalf of a cousin, the heir presumptive, initially renting the estate to Mr Black to defray some smaller debts, and then, after seven years, having Sir Humphrey and his son declared dead so that the estate could be sold."

"But the son is very much alive!" Izzy cried. "If he were to claim his inheritance—"

"He is at liberty to do so," the lawyer said equably. "With the appropriate papers, he may have his baronetcy, and that is as it should be. His nearest relation is using the title informally, but has not felt sufficiently convinced of his right to it to claim it officially. It would be better for the title to fall to the rightful claimant, to keep the lines of inheritance in good order. There is nothing more conducive to distress than a missing heir. It sets everyone on edge, constantly wondering if the fellow might turn up at any moment, or has simply drowned in a ditch somewhere. But the estate — that is a more challenging hurdle. Matters there have been settled to the satisfaction of a great many people. Mr Black has an agreeable home, and all the debts have been settled. If Sir Frederick were to appear now, and claim his inheritance in full, why, how are all the events of the last sixteen years to be undone? Even if it could be managed, no one would be pleased with the outcome, least of all Sir Frederick, who would find himself in possession of a bankrupt estate and no money."

For a while, the three sat in pensive silence. Izzy was pleased to have been proved right about Barty, but saddened that he had lost his home. Even though he had found a home now with Olly Bayton, he was still only a groom or friend or whatever he was, not his own master. The baby snuffled in his sleep, and she set the cradle rocking again.

"There is one other matter that may possibly be relevant," Mr Willerton-Forbes said in an apologetic tone. "Or perhaps not. It is hard to tell." He rubbed his nose thoughtfully.

"Oh, do tell, Mr Willerton-Forbes," Izzy said. "I should like to know everything you have discovered."

"It shall be so, Lady Farramont. Very well, then. My brothers discovered, in pursuing their enquiries regarding Sherringford Hall, that the housekeeper is called Mrs Crowe."

"Mrs… Crowe ?" Izzy said, trying not to laugh.

"Precisely. A lady of a little above forty, and not quite in the usual way of housekeepers, so everyone says. Very refined. Very well-bred, one might even say. And she has been the housekeeper there for sixteen years."

"Oh, no, no, no!" Izzy burst out. "Crowe and Rooke are not the same, her age is not at all unusual for a housekeeper, and as for her arrival sixteen years ago, surely Mr Black engaged her when first he went there. It would be too fanciful to suppose… what precisely do you suppose?"

"That she is Lady Rooke," Ian said calmly. "Is that not it, Willerton-Forbes? That she is, in point of fact, Sir Frederick's mother."

"Indeed, that is what I believe, my lord, yes."

"Barty's mother is dead," Izzy said. "He told me so."

"I expect his father said so, and a child of eight would have no cause to doubt his own parent," Mr Willerton-Forbes said gently. "Or perhaps Sir Humphrey waited for a year or two, and then claimed to have news from England. However, there is no record of Lady Rooke's death anywhere, and the locals are very close-lipped about what became of her. Just conceive of the difficulty of her position! Surrounded by creditors and with no money to be found anywhere — if she had no relations to turn to in her time of need, then she would have been forced to accept paid employment, and where better than her own house?"

"Poor woman!" Izzy said, trying to envisage herself in such a situation. Would she have become a housekeeper? Never! But then, she had brothers and uncles and cousins enough to help her. If a woman had no one, and nowhere to turn… What a dreadful fate for the wife of a baronet!

"There is one other detail that perhaps I should mention," Mr Willerton-Forbes said, setting down his empty Madeira glass with a look of regret. "Mrs Crowe has a daughter, aged fifteen. If my suspicions are correct, then she was born some months after Sir Humphrey had left. He might not have known he was to be a father again."

Izzy gasped, sitting bolt upright. "Barty has a sister! Oh, that is splendid! Surely he must be told of this… if your suspicions are correct?"

"That would be my advice, yes, if for no other reason than to tell Lady Rooke that her husband is, in fact, dead. After all, she may wish to marry again, and regain a more appropriate place in society for herself and her daughter. And even if Sir Frederick's ancestral home is lost forever, it may be a great comfort to him to know that he still has relations in this world."

"We must tell him at once!" Izzy cried. "He will be delighted to know that his mother yet lives, and that he has a sister. I shall write to—"

Ian reached towards her and touched her hand. "We must be cautious about this. Barty is… very settled in Northumberland with Bayton. I shall write to Davenport, I think, since he is both friend and brother to Bayton now, since he married Sophie Hearle. He can discuss it with Mrs Davenport, she will discuss it with her brother, and they may be left to decide how best to proceed."

And with that Izzy had to be content.

When Mr Willerton-Forbes had satisfied his appetite for cakes and Madeira and departed, and the cricket players had gone into the house to be handed back to the nursery maids, Izzy lingered on, gently rocking the cradle and pondering this new development.

Ian sat quietly beside her, his legs stretched out and arms folded. "You must not be disappointed," he said after a while, "if Barty is less enthusiastic about his new family than one might expect."

"Why would he be unenthusiastic about finding his mother and sister?" Izzy said. "Surely they can only enrich his life?"

"Not necessarily. He is very contented where he is, with Oliver Bayton, and he may feel that his relations may expect something of him. To move back to Bedfordshire, for instance. Or to set up house together. Or he may fear that they will be encroaching and want to live with him at Bayton House."

She was silent for a while, unsure. Then she burst out, "People are strange!"

He smiled at her affectionately. "Are they?"

"There is no accounting for them. Godfrey Marsden marrying his housekeeper. Sydney Davenport proposing to marry for a field. Robert Osborn overwhelmed by responsibility. And then look at us. Who would have suspected, after six years of marriage, that we would be so much in love?" He smiled even more broadly, but said nothing, so she went on, "Mama said that I made a good choice when I married you, and it seems she was right. And yet… I almost chose differently, and it was entirely your fault, for you were late, if you remember. Having arranged matters so that you all knew I would decide on that one particular evening, I expected you to be there on time. You were always so punctual, but that night—"

"I almost did not go," Ian said, his face wreathed in anguish. "I was convinced it would not be me, and I was not sure I could bear to watch you choose one of the others. So I dithered and hesitated. Twice I set off from Brook Street and then turned back. But then I decided that would be cowardice, and as soon as I walked into that room, you looked at me and smiled. You cannot imagine how cheered I was by that smile, when you had Marsden and Davenport and Osborn clustered about you."

"But I was waiting for you ," she breathed. "I had decided days before that I would marry you, but you were not there! I was terrified I had driven you away altogether. And then I was terrified that you would leave before I had spoken to you, so—"

"You came straight to me," he said, with a little laugh. "You looked up at me while I made some inane remark and then you said, ‘Lord Farramont, I shall marry you. Call on me tomorrow at noon.' And then you skipped away and danced with everyone but me for the rest of the evening."

"But you watched me," she said, laughing up at him. "You moved around the room, but you never took your eyes off me. Even when Robert was trying to talk to you, your eyes never wavered."

"He wanted to know what you had said. Probably I told him, for I was too stunned to be aware of anything beyond those words of yours echoing in my head."

"You must have done, because he knew. They all knew. I remember the expressions on their faces. Oh, I was so cruel to you all, was I not? No, better not answer that. I was cruel and selfish and thoughtless."

"Well, you were very young," Ian said. "You enjoyed feeling your power over us."

"You see?" she said, merriment bubbling up inside. "The perfect husband — you excuse all my dreadful behaviour."

"But you were never malicious," he said. "You tested us, I think, but that is only right. Marriage is too important to be settled in a frivolous manner. That was what decided me not to stay at home that night. I had to allow you to choose, once and for all, and I would never forgive myself if I arrived too late for the final decision."

"You were not late the next morning," she said, with another burst of merriment. "You were walking up and down outside the house a whole half hour before noon, because Josie and I saw you from the drawing room window. We were on the lookout for you."

He chuckled. "The hands on my watch had never moved so slowly. I allowed myself to knock at two minutes to the hour and Simpson must have been lurking in the hall, because he opened the door at once, and showed me straight into a room where you were waiting. Do you remember what I said to you? Because I cannot."

"It was something like, ‘Lady Isabel, I… I… Lady Isabel, I…' . To which I said, ‘Are you asking me to marry you, Lord Farramont?'. You nodded, and I made my little speech… very honoured… delighted to accept. And you said, ‘Oh!' , as if it were a great surprise."

"What a sapskull you must have thought me!"

"No, I just thought you were nervous. Even the most confident men become tongue-tied when they propose."

"Do they? I could not quite believe it, even then. It was a dream… far too wonderful to be real. I was never sure you truly meant it until you appeared in the chapel at Corland. Right up until that moment, I was wholly certain that you would turn me off. And afterwards I was terrified of giving you cause to regret it. I think… I believe… I hope you do not regret it?"

The anxious expression on his face twisted Izzy's heart painfully. Even now, the foolish man was in need of reassurance.

"Ian, my love… my dearest… you are the best of men, and the finest husband any woman could hope for. I have never regretted my choice. I may have wondered how my life might have been different, but I was always thankful for your gentleness with me, no matter how great a trial I was to you, and yes, I was a very great trial to you, so do not shake your head at me."

"You were unhappy for a long time, though."

"Not unhappy, precisely, but… aware that there was something missing. But when you kidnapped me, you absurd man, and threatened to hold me prisoner until I agreed to marry you again… everything dropped into place. Those first five years, it is as if you were filling me up with your love, slowly, drip by drip, except that I never knew it was love. Then, when you chased after me and kidnapped me, I understood, and I found I was already full of love. I am so full of love, husband… for you, for the children, for everyone. I am so happy , far happier than I deserve. Do you understand? I love you, I will always love you, and you keep my world in perfect alignment."

"My sweet Izzy," he murmured, leaning towards her.

Just at that moment, the Honourable Charles Farramont uttered a whimper that Izzy understood all too well.

"He is getting hungry again," she said apologetically.

Ian laughed. "Well, I suppose I come second to the baby, but I shall have my kiss later."

"That you may depend upon," Izzy said, smiling at him as he placed the baby in her arms.

THE END