Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Lily had no time to think after the hearing ended. After a quick conversation between her grandfather and Andrew's mother, everyone involved decided that it was better to not ask questions such as "when should we have this wedding?" and instead schedule it as soon as possible.

Naomi and Chloe tried to give Lily a talk about intercourse and pregnancy, along with a reference to a shop in Dover; in return, she handed out some of her stash of womb veils.

Weddings were work. There was the small chapel to visit and decorate, the dress to be made, and rings to be obtained. Her grandfather insisted on paying Letta a good sum of money to rework a bright red gown that Andrew's mother had saved in a trunk.

Amidst all that, inquiries came. The story of the last Earl of Arsell's secret bride swept the country, and with a sense of romanticism, people wanted to know more. Who was the Princess in Exile? What was this about her having translated a volume of poetry? And could an order be placed for copies of that book?

Between the pressing of copies and the binding of volumes and the planning of weddings, Lily had no time.

The wedding day came far too swiftly; the weeks flashing by in a haze of fittings and bindings. All of Wedgeford attended Lily and Andrew's wedding. Afterward, Andrew and Lily retired to Lily's home. For the evening, Andrew's parents had invited Letta to the inn, and that gave them privacy.

Privacy to do what they wanted, privacy for him to take everything off her, and for her to do the same. To be able to see each other in the lamplight, and not have to worry about being caught or what they were doing or if they should.

It was only afterward, when Andrew fell asleep in her arms, that Lily had time to think for the first time in a month. She dressed quietly and slipped out the back door.

The moon was bright overhead, shining on the kitchen garden that had somehow become not so little. She frowned at it; someone had gone and trained the cucumbers up the vine and pinched off the side shoots while she had been busy.

She had a pretty good idea who "somebody" was. She shook her head.

The door creaked behind her before Andrew came to sit next to her on the step.

"You know," Lily said, "there's a great deal we haven't spoken about. We haven't even decided where we're going to live. If I'll stay here, or if we'll go to the inn…"

"I know," Andrew said. "I've actually been thinking about expanding my seed shed."

"And I was thinking. Normally, when a man whose parents own an inn marries, the wife is expected to help out."

"Nobody expects that of you," Andrew cut in quickly. "We're going to hire someone. We had already been talking about it. If Naomi has children, she'll have even less time."

She peered at him. "Do I fit in your life?"

He laughed.

"I know," she said. "Possibly a question I should have asked before we got married. I just…didn't think. Because I wanted to be with you."

"Do you know why I never wanted to be an earl?" Andrew asked her.

"Yes, actually. You spoke of it at length."

"The reasons, yes, but not the feeling . I had always felt like there was slack in my life. I knew there were things I wanted; but I didn't know how to arrange matters to fit them. My mother accused me once of not having ambition for myself. She wasn't right, but she wasn't wrong. With you…" He took her hand. "I have ambition. It doesn't look like a great quest: I don't want to climb a mountain or invent a machine. Every arrow needs a bowstring to propel it. My ambition has always been to be the bowstring, not the arrow."

He lifted her hand and kissed it.

"My ambition is to help you do what you want. Everything else will follow."

Three years later

The crowd at the booksellers in Dover overflowed the hall that they had rented for this occasion. The third volume of the Princess in Exile's translated poetry had been printed. A throng waited to greet Lily—the printer, the assistant, and the goddaughter of the Princess—to ask questions. Lily stamped the books with the chop she had made for the princess and shook hands and generally wished people well.

It wasn't until near the end of the line that she looked up and saw a familiar face: one that she'd seen only once. Still, her breath caught. That single encounter had nonetheless been seared into her memory.

The woman still had the same red ringlets, the same sharp nose, the same kind expression. She looked at Lily, and Lily wondered for one second if the woman recognized her as the girl she had long ago cast out for fear that she would befoul the cause of the suffragists.

But the woman did not seem to show any sign of such memory. Instead, she cradled the new volume of poetry—this one containing a handful of Lily's own poems. When she spoke, her voice choked.

"Princess Wei Na." She sniffled. "I feel as if I know her through her translations. The comparison in the first volume—the bit about raising your own lantern, casting stripes on the water by your presence in the world—it spoke to me."

"Thank you." It was all Lily could manage.

"This is the kind of work that I think resonates in the hearts of all women," the lady continued. "It feels… Oh, I hate to say it. I don't want to offend. But it feels to me almost as of Princess Wei Na could have been a suffragist. Just like me."

She could have been, Lily didn't say, but the suffragists had not wanted her.

For years, Lily had thought of the woman who had told her this. She'd thought that she'd want to make her angry, that she'd want to make her pay.

"I think," Lily said slowly, "of a thing she said to me back in Hong Kong."

"Oh?" The woman leaned in.

Now, though… Lily didn't want revenge. She didn't need the woman to stew in her mistake. She didn't need her approval, and she could see now how much of her anger had been a yearning for that.

All Lily wanted was for the woman in front of her to never tell anyone what she'd told to Lily again.

"She said she wished we could have a say in the running of Hong Kong."

The woman blinked. "And by ‘we,' she meant…women?"

Lily met her eyes. "Nobody in Hong Kong is allowed to cast votes. I think the Princess in Exile would have absolutely supported suffrage. Universal suffrage, for everyone, across all the seas of the Empire."

The woman looked struck. "I felt she must want something. I never thought…" She looked at Lily, eyes wide and sincere. "Do you feel the same way? You must, if you're her goddaughter. You're so dedicated to printing her work. Tell me you also think of yourself as a suffragist."

"I have always cared about the rights of women," Lily said quietly. "And you know, I personally believe that we are stronger when it's all of us. If we are all together, we can finally all be free."

The woman looked at her. For a moment, it seemed as if she caught something in Lily's tone. But she just nodded. "You're right," she said in ruminating tones. "We are stronger when it's all of us."

Lily smiled at her. "Good luck to us, then, I guess." She tilted her head and turned to the elderly gentleman who was next in line. "Sir, how are you doing?"