Epilogue

 

“Wherein a new house, new baby, new beginnings.”

“He’s here, he’s here!” Jane screamed, leaping down from her position at the window and running from the room.

Charity hurried to her feet, though it was a relative sort of hurrying as the bulk of the child she carried weighed her down.

“Calm down, love,” Dev said, crossing the room to help her to her up as she sat back down again with a heavy thud. “He’s staying all summer, there’s no rush.”

Charity huffed with impatience and Dev pulled her into a hug as she found her footing.

“Are you going to tell him how proud you are of him?” he asked, watching her face with amusement. “Or merely tear him off a strip for all the scandals he’s been involved in?”

His wife gave a dignified sniff and returned an imperious look. “I haven’t decided yet,” she retorted, before waddling out of the room.

Not that Dev was about to tell her she waddled. The baby was due any time now and her temper was fraying as she became tired and frustrated at her own inactivity. He was no fool and he didn’t have a death wish, so he kept such observations to himself.

Her twin had become something of a public figure over the past year. A famous poet sought by society and welcomed into the higher echelons of the ton. On seconds thoughts, infamous was perhaps more accurate. As Dev had predicted on first meeting him, Kit’s rather ethereal beauty, the knowledge that his health was somewhat uncertain, and the fact he was a poet… well, women fell at his feet left, right, and centre.

The smug devil was having a ball.

Not that Dev envied him. He wondered just how long it would take before such a life lost its glitter and proved to be gilt rather than gold. Not long, he suspected. Kit was far cleverer than he’d ever claim to be and, he suspected, rather more self-aware.

He got to the entrance hall to find Charity clinging to her twin, whom she’d not seen for many months and had missed more than she cared to admit.

“Damn it, Charity, when did you get so fat?” Kit demanded as Dev groaned. He couldn’t have waited until after dinner, at least? She was always in better spirits after dinner.

Dev held his breath as Charity glared at her brother and let out a huff. “I’m too tired and too pleased to see you to let you goad me into an argument yet, you wretch,” she said, linking her arm through his. “And it’s cruel to mock the afflicted. This is your nephew or niece I carry, remember. I’d think you might be nice to me for five minutes at least.”

Kit grinned and leaned over, kissing her cheek. “Quite right, old girl. Forgive me. I just missed you so much I couldn’t resist.”

Charity looked up at him and then flapped her hands as her eyes brimmed. Dev fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief and thrust it at her as Kit looked up, appalled.

“Don’t worry,” Dev replied, pulling Charity into a hug as she sobbed. “She does this a lot now. Quite frankly you’re better off being rude to her, the results are less alarming.”

“Shut up,” Charity sniffled, blowing her nose on his hanky. “I am here,” she said, glaring at her husband though there was no real heat in it. “Now come along, Kit. Batty is dying to see you.”

“Dying to ring a peal over me, you mean,” Kit muttered his tone dry as he lifted Jane into his arms. “My, you’ve grown a foot too. When did you get so big?”

“Still not as big as John,” his little sister said with a frustrated sigh.

Dev smiled as he watched John follow his big brother down to the kitchen with a look of pure admiration. John had shot up in the last six months. He had the gangly look of a lad teetering on the brink between boyhood and manhood and was growing up to be a fine young fellow. Dev felt a glow of pride in him. They’d both been as good as their word and Dev had taught him to box, and to fence, and if he was less appreciative of his Latin and Greek tutors, he had the grace not to say so. In return, both John and the rest of the family had taught Dev about the running of a farm, though he’d also employed a manager as his estate was far larger than Brasted Farm.

The old farm, Charity had gifted to Kit, a place for him to return to once the glitter and glare of London had dimmed and he wanted to come home and write in peace and familiar surroundings. That she hoped he would soon return with a wife and settle down was obvious, but Kit was showing no signs of doing anything of the sort for a while yet.

The house they had built for themselves—for Dev had discovered that Charity had some strong ideas on the design—was exactly what they’d hoped it would be. Large and elegant and spacious, it was still warm and cosy and a family home where everyone was assured of a whole-hearted welcome. They had many friends in the area, local farmers and landowners delighted to discover that the viscount did not stand on ceremony. If they now thought the rumours of his dissipation and cruelty had been falsely reported, Dev did nothing to correct their assumptions. That part of his life was over, but remained something he would always feel a flush of shame for.

They sat down to dinner in the kitchen today, at Dev’s request, and if the new staff required for a large house thought it odd that the viscount and his wife dined with Mr and Mrs Baxter in such a fashion, then so be it.

The table groaned under the weight of a huge chicken and ham pie, a massive gammon bejewelled with cloves, and a platter laden with cold sliced meat. Jars of Mrs Baxter’s chutneys and pickled onions jostled for space with buttered new potatoes adorned with sprigs of mint, and bright bowls of fresh green peas and sliced beans.

Dev’s stomach growled in anticipation. Of all the dinners Mrs Baxter served up, this was his favourite. That he had spent the afternoon with her shelling peas and gossiping about the latest on-dits from London was quite true, but something he would deny fervently to anyone who asked. Not that it mattered. He had already gained a reputation as something of an eccentric and found that much about him hadn’t changed. He still didn’t care a fig what anyone thought.

“What’s all this about you and a Mrs Dashton?”

Kit choked on his ale at this rather blunt enquiry from Mrs Baxter. At least she’d waited, sending John and Jane for the apple pie and cream before asking him.

Kit sent him an appealing, somewhat panicked look, to which Dev just shrugged. He knew Mrs Dashton, or Dasher, as she was known in certain circles. A beautiful Cytherean, she courted scandal and adored beautiful young men. Kit would have been just the fellow to catch her eye. There was a story making the rounds that someone had discovered Kit with her in the Duke of Ware’s garden at a party, and in a rather compromising position.

“She sounds no better than she ought to be, you ask me,” Batty grumbled, folding her arms over her capacious bosom and narrowing her eyes at Kit, who blushed, much to his twin’s amusement. “Not the sort of woman you ought to be associating with. Still, said my piece now,” she muttered, thinning her lips with disapproval. “So, I’ll say no more.”

“Thank God for that,” Kit muttered, just loud enough for Dev to hear as Charity smothered her laughter. Mrs Baxter got up and bustled about, serving the apple pie with a healthy dollop of clotted cream.

To everyone’s astonishment Charity refused her share and struggled to stand up. “I’m sorry,” she said, eyeing the dessert with obvious regret. “I’m feeling rather out of sorts. Would you excuse me? I think I’d like a lie down.”

Dev leapt to his feet, putting his arm about her. “Is anything wrong?” he asked, fear licking down his spine. The only thing that spoilt his peace of mind of late was anxiety for her, and fear for their child. He knew as well as anyone how dangerous childbirth was, and the terror of losing either of them had given him many sleepless nights of late.

“I’m fine,” she said, patting his hand in an indulgent manner. “Just a little tired.” She kissed his cheek and then leaned down to embrace Kit. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to have you home, Kit. I missed you.”

Kit hugged her and kissed her cheek in return. “And I you. Now run along and look after yourself and my niece or nephew. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll come with you,” Dev said, moving to escort her upstairs.

“No!” Charity laughed, shaking her head. “Finish your pudding. I’m quite well and am just going for a nap. I’ll see you all later.” Dev hesitated, still unsure as she rolled her eyes at him. “Sit down,” she commanded, though her eyes were full of gratitude for his concern.

Dev did as she told him, knowing better than to argue at the moment. He sat scowling at his dessert bowl until Mrs Baxter moved around the table to lay a hand on his arm.

“She’s fine. Stop fretting. Her time’s close is all. Reckon you’ll have a son or daughter in your arms before the weekend.”

Dev gaped at her and went to get to his feet and rush after his wife, but Mrs Baxter pushed him back down. “Stay!” she instructed. “You’ve been told once. Let her have her nap in peace. She’ll shout if she needs us.”

“Saw two magpies this morning,” said Mr Baxter, his voice rolling over the table like a prophecy as Dev and Kit held their breath. “Saw three this afternoon too.” He took a deep a sip of ale before sitting back in his chair with a smile. “One for sorrow, two for joy… three for a girl.”

Both men let out a breath and Kit smacked him on the back, grinning now. “Like a little wager on it. Five guineas it’s a girl.”

Dev tutted at him and shook his head. “Not likely,” he said, nodding at Mr Baxter. “You’ve got inside information. What do you take me for?”

The rest of the meal passed with good company and conversation, and all the while an air of expectation hung over the house.

***

Lucinda Felicity Linton was born two days later.

Charity sighed, exhausted but elated as Dev gazed down at his daughter. He was enchanted, and as the baby wrapped her tiny hand about his finger, he knew Lucy could reverse the situation in no time at all. She would wrap her devoted papa about her own little finger before she could talk, and he wouldn’t even put up a fight.

A quiet knock on the door had them both looking up as Charity called for whoever it was to come in.

Kit stood there, smiling, Jane clutching at his hand while John dithered behind him, trying not to look too eager to see his niece.

Dev smiled as eager faces crowded around him to see the new arrival.

“Give me a cuddle then,” Kit said, holding out his arms. Dev scowled a little, not quite ready to give her over yet, but her uncle looked so delighted to greet her he could hardly refuse.

“She’s beautiful, Charity,” Kit said, glancing over at her with such pleasure in his eyes he saw Charity sigh. She was certain that Kit would be a wonderful father if only he’d stop burning the candle at both ends as he appeared to be doing. Dev knew she wanted him to talk to Kit, to stop him raising hell and advise him to settle down before his health gave out. Dev had to admit, her brother looked pale and tired to his eye and he knew how Charity worried for him.

Kit took the babe to the window his voice low as he spoke. “A thing of beauty is a joy for ever. Its loveliness increases. It will never pass into nothingness, but still will keep a bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.”

“Oh, Kit,” Charity exclaimed, blinking back tears. “That’s so beautiful. Did you write it?”

“No,” Kit replied with chagrin as he gazed upon his niece. “Sadly not. A rival of mine. Terribly gauche to recite one’s own work at such a moment, but still. I will have to write something now, just for Lucinda. Something exquisite to remind her that her old uncle was terribly proud of her long after he’s gone.”

“Oh, Kit, don’t speak so,” Charity replied, cross with him now as she snatched up a hanky and blew her nose.

“What?” Kit demanded, looking up. “Oh, Charity,” he exclaimed, laughing at her. “I don’t mean to turn up my toes just yet. I mean when she’s grown up with children of her own.”

“Hmph,” she said, still glowering a little but mollified for now.

Kit moved back to Dev and gave Lucy back to him. “Congratulations,” he said, his voice quiet, and for a moment Dev thought he saw longing in his eyes.

Dev carried the baby back to the bed and sat down beside Charity, placing Lucy in her arms with care, and then putting his arm around his wife and holding her tight. Jane clambered onto the bed and snuggled up to Charity on her other side. John sat close too, leaning over to stroke the downy hair on his niece’s head.

All at once Dev felt his eyes burn as happiness overwhelmed him. This was his family, his to care for and protect, and he would do it. They would none of them ever have anything to worry for or cry over if he could help it. Dev glanced up at Kit, standing at the end of the bed, too pale and slender for his own good. He would talk to him as Charity had asked him to, and he would ensure that Kit took heed of his words too. Dev knew what it was to waste the life you were given, to throw away the gifts that loving and belonging to a family could bring you. Kit would know it too. If not for his own sake, then for Charity’s.

Little Jane sighed, beaming up at him and reaching over to grasp his hand.

“I’m so happy I feel like I could burst,” she exclaimed, grinning at him.

John snorted, his tone dry as he retorted as only an older brother can. “I think you’ll find that’s your third helping of lemon meringue pie speaking.”

The room erupted into laughter and Dev could only echo her sentiment, and he was sure that in his case, it certainly wasn’t the pie.