Epilogue

Three months later…

The carriage jostled and swayed perilously as it moved along the uneven ground. Frances awoke with a start and sat up suddenly, looking out the window at the empty landscape beyond.

"It's all right, my love," Anthony said, pulling her back to where she'd been resting against his chest. "We're drawing near to Preston, that's all. The roads haven't been well maintained as there's been few people traveling over them in some time."

"Of course," she replied, relaxing enough to lean against him once more.

"Mr. Bailey has written me that he's already put an idea in place to improve them, though. I think it's rather brilliant in its simplicity."

"He's done so much already, according to his letters. But how does he intend to build roads by hand?" she asked, still drowsy from the long trip.

"You'll see. The first step will be taking place during our visit."

Frances smiled. The idea for the visit had been Anthony's, which was surprising due to his reluctance to leave London. She knew that Abigail had had much to do with it.

"You must go," Abigail had insisted at dinner recently. "You haven't seen your estate in such a long time. I wouldn't be surprised if the house had been carried off by bandits stone by stone!"

"I'm fairly certain Mr. Bailey would have mentioned that in his letters," Anthony had countered.

Their argument over the excursion—Abigail insisting she would be fine in London with the staff, Anthony refusing to abandon her just as she was starting to grow comfortable with residing downstairs—had been amusing to Frances. Both had been so certain of the validity of their stance, and both had been equally unwilling to budge.

"We shall let Frances decide," Abigail had finally said firmly. She'd turned her wide eyes to Frances and looked at her with a haunted, heartbreaking expression.

When Anthony had noticed, he'd mimicked Abigail's expression in hopes of garnering sympathy. Frances had only been able to laugh at both of them.

"I'm hardly a neutral party, you know. I am Anthony's wife and the love of his life, and therefore I should side with him." When Anthony had clapped in victory, she'd added, "Of course, I do tend to like Abigail more than you most days."

Anthony had pretended to be wounded while Abigail had laughed so hard that she'd had to stop for some water. She'd managed a weak smile as she recovered, clearly pleased at besting her brother's logic.

In the end, Abigail and common sense had won out. It was important to see the results of Thomas and Juliet's labors, especially as the couple was still young and inexperienced. Frances and Anthony planned out their holiday for the end of the Season and departed on a fair day.

"Does any of this look familiar?" Frances asked, awake now and looking out at the view.

"Not really. It's as if I'm seeing it for the first time myself."

"Then I'm particularly glad that I get to see it with you," she answered fondly, leaning over to kiss Anthony.

When the house eventually came into view, both Frances and Anthony were awestruck. Its magnificence had not been eroded in all these years, and the sunlight streaming through the clouds gave it an almost divine glow. Lush green hills rose up on three sides, leaving it nestled in a vibrant hollow. A veritable herd of deer grazed off to one side, while birds descended from overhead to rest in the grass. Small creatures leapt out of the way of the carriage as they approached, delighting Frances to no end.

"It looks like something from a child's storybook," she breathed in wonder. "I think I would never want to leave!"

"We haven't seen the inside yet. This may be all that's still standing," Anthony cautioned, though she could sense his excitement matched hers.

They walked hand in hand up the majestic stone steps that led to the front door. They were instantly accosted by the sounds of work being done and progress being made. Even in spite of the craftsmen who moved throughout the structure with their various implements and materials, the house was breathtaking.

"Anthony, it's beautiful. I could never have imagined it," Frances gasped as she turned in a slow circle, admiring the high ceilings and frescoes over the main entryway.

"And I can hardly remember it," he answered, clearly as awestruck as she was.

"You never traveled here, even with your mother?"

"No. I fear it held too many wonderful memories for her. Visiting would be like reopening old wounds."

"Wait, is it… it painful for you as well? I'm sorry! I didn't think of that before, I never should have pushed for you to come here!" Frances cried, remembering how Anthony rarely showed the depth of his emotion.

"No, it's quite all right. As I said, I have hardly any memories of coming here. It's well past time that I started to create some," he said fondly, holding out his hand for Frances to take. "Let's find Mr. Bailey and see what the rest of the house is like."

With no staff or visitors to see to, Mr. Bailey had set up an office of sorts in the downstairs drawing room. Workers came and went with their instructions while he and his wife sat at makeshift desks.

"Frances!" Juliet cried, putting down the letter she'd been writing and rushing to greet her.

"Juliet, you're looking well," Frances said, returning the younger girl's hug.

"I am. Who would have ever thought that an undertaking such as this one would be so interesting? I'm having the most wonderful time helping Thomas!"

"I literally could never do something like this without her," Thomas answered, grinning proudly.

"I'm rather astonished at how much you've accomplished in such a short time," Anthony said, still looking around. "I don't know quite what state it was in, but if it's anything like your letters described, I cannot think of the proper words to praise your progress."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Thomas said, sounding a little nervous.

"Thomas, we'll have none of that," Frances reminded him. "You're our family, remember? We won't be standing on ceremony, even if we have employed you."

"Perhaps when there are others present. I am your steward, after all," Thomas countered, nodding in the direction of some of the painters who passed by.

"Perhaps that would be all right," Frances conceded with a smile.

Thomas and Juliet led the way through the first floor of the house where most of the work had already been completed. From there, they traveled up the servants' stairs to the second floor, the main staircase still being reconstructed. As they traveled through the house room by room, Frances noted how Anthony's mood shifted. He seemed more relaxed somehow, more at ease than she'd ever seen him. It was as if being out of the city and in a place that was all his own had a soothing effect.

"Mr. Bailey? One o' the men got a question for ya," a craftsman said, sticking his head around the corner to call out to him.

Thomas turned to Frances and Anthony with an apologetic shrug. "It happens every hour of the day. I'm sorry, I must leave you to it."

"That's perfectly all right. Anthony and I will be quite content exploring on our own," Frances assured him, thanking them both as Thomas and Juliet returned to their work. She smiled at Anthony eagerly and asked, "Where should we look next?"

"If we can find our way out of this maze of rooms, I know there's a third floor to see. I don't know if they've gotten to that portion of the house yet, though, so we should watch our steps."

As they walked on their own, Anthony seemed to recall some of the details of the house. He sighed contentedly as they approached different rooms.

"I do remember this, the upstairs library. Father insisted that the ladders be locked to the walls so that I wouldn't try to climb up," he said, laughing softly. "He ordered all of the books that were suited for my young mind to be moved down so I could reach them without having to shimmy up any ladders."

"He sounds like a wonderful man," Frances suggested, not wishing to break Anthony's reverie.

"He was. If I could be half the man he was, I will have more than done my duty."

"And your mother? Was she as adverse to your dangerous activities as your father?"

Anthony clucked softly. "My mother, saintly woman that she was, became far too busy tending to Abigail to pay me that much mind. Oh, do not misunderstand me, I am not the least bit jealous! And she was not an indifferent mother at all. But keeping my sister from death's door became an occupation all on its own. There were so many times, especially in Abigail's early years, where it seemed like it would all be for naught. I think I wasn't more of an adventurous boy for that very reason—my mother did not need two children to worry about."

"You were not only selfless, you were wise beyond your years," Frances replied, feeling a fresh sense of respect for him. "Still, it's a shame. You are absolutely worth worrying about."

Anthony ducked his head and smiled shyly. "You have to say that. You're my wife."

"On the contrary, too many husbands aren't deserving of the sentiment. I'm grateful to fate that my husband is."

They continued on, peering in every room and speculating about who might have stayed there or when. At last, they reached one room whose purpose was unmistakable. A cradle was pushed off to one side, and an immense chair stood near it. Toys still littered the floor, and a rocking horse stood in the center.

"Were these your things?" Frances asked, brightening at the sight of them.

"Mine or Abigail's, I should think."

Frances entered the room and turned in a circle. She walked along the perimeter of the old rug and let her fingers trail along the objects, the wood gleaming through where the dust was brushed away. She smiled to herself, trying to envision Anthony as a small boy at play. No images came to mind, for his stoic nature was too pronounced.

"Here," Anthony said, coming forward with his handkerchief and wiping the dust from Frances' fingertips. When they were clean, he kissed them softly. "I'll make a note to have Mr. Bailey discard of these things. There's more than enough dust in the house as it is."

"I don't know, I should think they can be cleaned. Perhaps a new rug if you feel that this one cannot be salvaged. But everything else can surely be restored."

"To what end? We have no need of all of this old—"

Anthony stopped when he took note of Frances' expression. She fought to keep her expression placid, but too soon, the proud grin broke through. She couldn't contain her happiness or the secret she'd had for weeks.

"Are you toying with me?" Anthony asked cautiously, though the hope in his voice was evident. Frances shook her head. "You're certain?"

"I've not seen a physician, if that's what you're asking, but all the signs are there," she answered happily. "By my counting, the baby should be born sometimes before the start of next Season."

"I cannot believe it. I'm to be a father?"

Anthony paused, his emotions as unreadable as ever. Frances began to worry that he would be displeased, that somehow his own upbringing was weighing on him, causing him to wonder what sort of father he would be, what sort of child he would have. Frances placed her hand on his arm to reassure him, and he grinned happily, looking elated.

"I'm to be a father!" he cried, throwing his arms around Frances' waist and pulling her close, lifting her as he turned around. His shouts of laughter drowned out her amused cry to be put down once more.

"Anthony, there is something you must know about ladies when they are in a delicate way… do not spin us around," she said, grasping his shoulders and fighting a sudden wave of dizziness.

"I'm so sorry! Here, sit." Anthony shrugged out of his coat and covered the old chair with it before guiding Frances to be seated.

"Whew. Much better," she said, smiling.

Anthony dropped to his knees in front of her, looking up at her adoringly. He took her hands in his and kissed them before pressing them to his cheek.

"Yes. It is much better. Everything was perfect before, but somehow… in a way that I cannot explain… everything is much better now, my love."

Frances leaned forward and kissed Anthony tenderly, the longing she'd felt all her life evaporating. He was hers, her family, one that truly belonged to her. Their love—and their family—was growing in ways she could never have imagined but would always be grateful for.

"Come," Anthony said, standing up and slowly pulling Frances to her feet. "I feel there is a certain cousin who is going to want to hear about this."

Frances laughed aloud as they raced through the house to find Juliet, her heart bursting with joy. So, this is what it means to truly be loved, she thought. I shall never tire of it…

The End?