Epilogue

Heron House

W inifred's life had changed so entirely she could scarce recognize it when she compared it to but a year before.

Life was a mysterious set of events that could unfurl in the most splendid ways if one but allowed it. Or it could unfold in tragedy, misery, and certainty of an unhappy future. She saw now the way her mother had lived. The way her mother had trained her children and set them up for the second viewpoint. And the way Sylvia, her mother-in-law, had trained her children and had prepared them for the first.

She knew with all her heart that when she had children, she would choose Sylvia's view of the world.

It wasn't truly her mother's fault. Her mother had been wounded by life and shaped by it.

Now, Winifred had not seen her mother in months, not since the wedding. And the wedding had been a truly grand affair. It had indeed been at St. Paul's. Hundreds of people had been invited. The party had been a crush at Heron House.

Champagne had flowed and food had been abundant. Dancing had been done in merry excess. Laughter had filled the air. Oh, what bliss she now knew on a daily basis since, and her mother seemed to be opening too, like a flower that had finally met the sun.

Still, Winifred did not interact a great deal with her, and yet she could not deny the fact that her mother was trying. Her mother had gone down to Bath, taken up a house and, at the dowager duchess's instruction, decided to learn how to live. Without fear, without anger, without bitterness, and without trying to control every aspect of her children's lives.

It was no easy thing. But Sylvia was Lady Tuttle's guide, and her mother was giving Winifred space to change, to grow, to be happy until she too could learn how to do those things.

Much to her amazement, Winifred received a letter from her mother every week and a gift. They were not the typical gifts that one would assume a young lady would receive. There were no ribbons, no lace, no fans, no hats—things that, in the past, her mother would have given her to try to make her into the young lady her mother thought she should be.

No, books arrived. Small pieces of parchment with bits of Shakespeare and commentary scribbled upon them. Also volumes on science, treatises on nature, pressed leaves, and beautiful envelopes full of pressed flowers from that part of the country. It was clear that her mother was trying to see her as she was, and Winifred appreciated it. One day, perhaps she and her mother would be able to be, if not good friends, able to at least show each other love.

Alison was not in Bath.

In fact, Alison had made great friends with Ajax's younger sister, Perdita. The two of them were forever looking at animals and climbing to the top of the house with Perdita's cat and crow always with them.

For Alison had been taken in hand by the dowager duchess. Sylvia had gotten the approval of the queen for the dowager duchess to guide the young lady in her first Season. It was remarkable. It was also shocking that Winifred's mother had been able to step back and realize that it might be the best thing for all of her children if she did so.

If Lady Tuttle took time for herself after years and years of worrying herself to the very bone, until she had nothing soft left to give, perhaps they all could find love for each other.

Alison was thriving and happy and had already received three proposals of marriage. One from an earl, one from a marquess, and one from a baron. No doubt she would make a very fortuitous marriage but, more importantly, a happy one.

Winifred had received many letters from her brother Alfred. He had set out to find himself, just as Winifred had done, and had discovered that he had no desire to come back to England. He had gotten on a ship and set sail and was going from port to port, exploring the world.

Each letter was full of wonder and joy and gratitude that they had both made a decision to defy society, the odds, and their mother. It was the greatest thing that either of them could have done, strangely enough, not just for themselves, but for their whole family.

Even her older brother, Winston, was transforming. He was no longer doggedly looking for a wife in a rigid sort of way, but he was daring to imagine that he could have love just as his parents had once done.

The door to the chamber jostled open, and Ajax strode through, his hands behind his back. She beamed at him and put her quill down from her journal. Now that she was past the first few months with child, her body no longer ached so much and she could keep down her breakfast. In fact, she felt ready to explore the world again and have a bit of fun! After all, once the child was born, she was going to be consumed by the newborn.

Unlike the rest of the ton, she would not pass her baby off to an army of servants. Oh, she'd take help, but she was going to keep her baby with her.

Ajax had been most attendant and full of joy. If he'd adored her before, he now treated her as if she was a goddess who walked the ground.

She gazed down at the words about Margaret of Anjou on the page and stretched her neck. She wrote every day now. She was even considering working with the duke's wife, Mercy, and writing a book about Shakespeare. Maybe she wouldn't write it for anyone but herself. But whatever she decided, the world was full of opportunities.

Ajax smiled at her. "You look beautiful," he said.

"Of course I do," she said. "I'm with you. You make me feel beautiful."

"You are beautiful," he returned.

And she loved the fact that he said that to her every day, multiple times a day, because she had heard the opposite for so long. And she knew that he meant it. He complimented her from the moment they got up to the moment they went to bed, as if he could make up for a lifetime of criticism. Some people might not have liked it. She adored it. She adored her darling husband, who had always seen her as so much more than anyone else had.

She closed her journal and stood, crossing to him in her dressing gown. "Have you already been up and conquering the world?"

"Of course I have," he said. "I had to make sure that my brothers weren't in too much trouble, you know."

"And where are Achilles, Zephyr, and your dear cousin?"

He winked. "You don't want to know, my dear. You don't want to know. It is a miracle—"

"That they are still living?" She could not stop the laugh tumbling past her lips.

"Indeed," he agreed. "But since they're part of our family, they're extremely lucky. And they will likely outlive everyone they know in the ton."

"You look as if you are up to something yourself," she said, linking her arms about his neck. "What is it?"

"I had an idea," he admitted.

"Oh?" she queried, realizing his hands were still behind him.

And with that, he pulled the hat out from behind his back. It was the jaunty cap she'd worn which had made her feel so confident as a boy.

"What do you have to say, my love, to a little bit of an adventure?"

"With you, my love?" she queried, her heart warming, for he knew her so well. He knew she longed to go out again and explore. "How could I possibly say no?"

The End