Epilogue

T he ship furled the last of its sails as it nudged against the London quay.

As it did, an older man alighted from a large coach, which had been waiting alongside the cobbled wharf, and turned to lend assistance to a tall, slender woman several years younger than he.

Her artfully arranged tresses, once a tawny hue, had paled with the passage of years and now shone with a luster of creamy satin. Another stately garbed woman, at least a score or so years older, was also handed down. As the gangplank was lowered to the dock and passengers began to descend, the three moved forward eagerly, searching for a face they had not seen in several years.

Aboard ship, passengers were still emerging from the companion way.

A tall man carrying a towheaded youngster of an age about two years stepped into the mists that swept over the ship’s decking and the River Thames.

Standing aside, he held the door open for a slender, dark-haired woman, who paused for a moment to fold a blanket over the face of a small infant nestled within the crook of her arm before accepting her escort’s proffered assistance. Behind her came a tiny, black-garbed, bonneted maidservant who toted a sizable valise filled with blankets and clothes for the children. The younger of the two women turned to the tawny-haired man with a worried question, and in quick response he smiled and slipped an arm about her shoulders.

“Don’t fret, madam.

My family will love you almost as much as I do.

How can they not when you’ve gifted them with two wonderful grandchildren?”

His hand descended to the small of her back and rested there as he escorted her toward the gangplank.

As they waited for others to descend, he drew her to the rail, where he searched the wharf for a familiar face.

“Tyre! Tyre!”

the elderly woman cried through tears of joy as she hurried forward and lifted an arm to gain his attention.

Eagerly waving back, Tyrone called down to her.

“Grand-mere! I see you got my letter.

I wasn’t sure you would and wondered if anyone would be here to greet us.”

“We wouldn’t have missed this for the world, my son,”

the older man called back as he joined the elder.

“We’ve been counting the days and watching every ship that passed until we finally espied one bearing a Russian flag.

Hurry down! We want to meet our grandchildren.”

Tyrone leaned his head near the boy’s as he pointed toward the one who had just spoken.

“Look, Alexander.

That’s your Grandfather Trevor.”

The youngster’s blue eyes moved curiously from his father to the three who vied for his attention on the dock.

“‘Gran’pa?”

“Alexander…Alexander, look this way, darling,”

the pale-haired woman coaxed excitedly.

Tyrone waved to the woman and then informed his son, “That’s your Grandmother.”

Sticking the tip of his finger into his mouth, the little boy peered up at his father again.

“Gran’ma?”

Tyrone laughed, sure the little tike was already becoming confused by this small assortment of strangers.

“That’s right.

Grandmother Elianna.”

With the small, but now wet digit, the youngster pointed toward the baby his mother carried and proudly announced to his grandmother, “Tat’s my baby sistah.”

The boy’s pronunciations drew another amused chuckle from his father.

“Can you tell your grandparents your sister’s name?”

“Catha,”

Alexander announced proudly to the three and wrinkled his nose as he giggled.

“Catha?”

his grandmother queried in a sudden quandary.

Word of the baby’s birth hadn’t reached them, only the fact that Synnovea would probably be delivering before they left Russia.

“What kind of name is that?”

“Catharina Natasha,”

Tyrone corrected with a chuckle.

“Alex is still a bit stymied by the pronunciations.”

“Oh, that’s much prettier,”

Elianna Rycroft declared, laughing in relief.

“Do hurry, Ty, and bring your family down for us all to meet, dear.”

“I will, Mother, just as soon as we can make our way to the gangplank,”

Tyrone assured her.

Bending near Synnovea, he drew away a corner of the blanket to lovingly peruse the tiny, angelic face cuddled against his wife’s breast.

“She’s not going to like being awakened by all her adoring grandparents.”

“Maybe not, but ye can expect the li’l darlin’ will be wantin’ ta be fed as soon as she can,”

Ali chimed in from close behind them.

“It’s gettin’ time.”

Synnovea smoothed the fine, dark hair of the newborn, whose eyelids flicked briefly at her touch.

“She appears quite content right now, Ali.

Perhaps she’ll sleep long enough for us to get through the introductions and reach a private spot.”

“She’s a good li’l girl, just like ye were,”

Ali eagerly lauded.

“Come, my love,”

Tyrone urged his wife, seeing the path opening up ahead of them.

“My family is anxious to meet you and our children.

I’m sure you can nurse Catharina in one of my parent’s bedrooms while we visit with them for a few hours. Then I’ll take you to our home where we can get the children settled.”

As his arm gathered her close, Synnovea dropped her head lovingly upon his shoulder, telling herself that she had no reason to be nervous about the forthcoming meeting with his parents.

Her husband’s lips brushed a kiss upon her brow, and the softly murmured words “I love you”

banished her trepidations and filled her heart with joy.

Upon straightening, Tyrone escorted his family with great pride and care down the plank.

Elianna hurried toward them with arms held wide as they stepped from the planking.

“My son! My son! It’s so good to have you back! We’ve missed you so much!”

The Rycrofts clasped their arms around each other with great displays of affection before Tyrone stepped back and eagerly made the introductions.

Bringing Synnovea close to his side, he gave them an ebullient smile.

“Father, Mother, Grand-mere Meghan, I’d like you to meet my wife, Synnovea. This is our maid, Ali McCabe, and our two children, Alexander and baby Catharina. They’re named after Synnovea’s father and our close friend, Princess Natasha Catharina Zherkovna, who’ll be visiting us this summer with her husband and another close friend of mine, Major Grigori Tverskoy, and his bride, Tania.”

Meghan drew the youngster from his father’s arms and whispered a secret in his ear, drawing a giggle from the boy, who then pointed at his father.

“Horse! Papa!”

Tyrone grinned down at his grandmother.

“Aye, I’ve already taught him to sit a horse in front of me, so perhaps your desire to see him ride with the best will eventually come to fruition.”

Through grateful tears and a smile brimming with joy, Elianna embraced Synnovea and welcomed her into the family.

“Thank you, my dear, for making my son so happy and for giving us these small treasures of delight upon whom we can lavish our love.

I had begun to fear that I would never see an end to the years that kept us apart. Now that the king has given Tyrone the task of establishing the techniques for drilling cavalry units, we can feel confident that he won’t have to leave England to fight in some foreign campaign ever again. Perhaps his father can eventually entice him into learning the business of building ships.”

Tyrone dared to broach the subject which had caused him to leave England more than a thrice of years ago.

“What has happened in my absence?”

“Everything has been settled, my son,”

Trevor Rycroft assured his son, settling a hand upon his shoulder.

“In fact, when Lord Gamer heard that you’d be returning, he came to offer apologies for what his son had done to Angelina and for what they had tried to do to you after the duel.

He said a man has every right to defend his wife’s honor and good name from anyone who would besmirch them. He regrets that his arrogance and rage forced you to flee to Russia.”

“As you can see for yourself, Father,”

Tyrone replied, “it was good that I went away, for I found there a far richer treasure than I ever had here.”

“I must say, my son,”

Elianna replied, marveling at his undiminished good looks, “you’ve come back obviously much happier than when you left…and richer by far with your family and friends.”

“Aye, Mother,”

Tyrone agreed, glancing aside at his adoring wife.

“I am indeed a very rich man.”