Epilogue
“You realize this is ridiculous?” Phoebe’s neck and shoulders ached from sitting still while Maestro Capelli dabbed his brush on the pallet, then the canvas. A large chair had been brought into the front parlor where the light was best. Her nose itched from the freshly stuffed pillows.
“Madam, please, do not move.” His long black robe and white hair sticking straight up from his head was enough to make her laugh for the first thirty minutes, but three hours later, she’d had enough.
Markus laughed. “Sit still, Phoebe. It will be well worth it when it’s done.”
“To whom? I have no desire to see it.” The itch was intolerable, and her lower back ached. The sun glinted off the windows and hit her directly in the eye. She squinted against the glare.
“Then do it for me. Is it so much to ask that your portrait hang beside mine in the gallery?” It was near to a whine.
“Emma hangs beside you, and your Uncle Ebert is on the other side. Is that not sufficient?” She stretched her neck, which gained a groan from Capelli.
Barely containing his mirth behind a cough, Markus said, “My dear uncle has been moved to the opposite wall near my parents, and you will occupy that space, my love.”
“Mama Fee!” Elizabeth ran into the parlor with Miss Cavot trailing behind.
Maestro threw his hands up. “Impossible. The light has gone anyway. We shall continue tomorrow.” He drew a cover over the painting and tossed the brush into the cup before quitting the room.
Everything she could ever want was inside the parlor. It was impossible that things had turned out so well, but here she was. Ecstatic to move, Phoebe reached down and lifted Elizabeth into her arms. “How was your day, dearest?”
“Winny plays. Horsy, doggie.” She whacked the overstuffed pillow with one chubby hand.
“I see. You went out to visit Mr. Duck?” Phoebe glanced at Miss Cavot for confirmation.
Nodding, Miss Cavot smiled. “He is very fond of Miss Elizabeth.”
“And why not?” Markus plucked Elizabeth from Phoebe and offered her a hand up. “I think we shall take a walk in the garden. Her ladyship is in need of the exercise and it is a nice day. You may take a break from your duties, Miss Cavot.”
“Oh, yes. A walk would be just the thing.” Every muscle in her body ached.
He kept her hand cradled in his and they stepped into the hallway. “First let me show you the spot where your portrait will hang, Viscountess.”
The entire notion of being painted was embarrassing. She was not the kind of woman men painted. She was just Phoebe Hallsmith. She shook her head and corrected herself. No. She was Phoebe Flammel, the viscountess of Devonrose, and she had been for nearly two months. It was time she started thinking like a viscountess and not an Everton lady. Though, perhaps there was some middle ground that could be found between the two.
Markus’s long legs ate the floor and Phoebe had to run to keep up with him lest she be dragged down the hallway.
“Markus, for heaven’s sake, slow down before you have to collect me off the carpet and carry me as you are Elizabeth.”
Giggling, Elizabeth clapped, evidently liking the idea very much.
They shared a smile and Markus slowed to a walk that Phoebe could keep up with. Phoebe had only been in the gallery one time with Elizabeth when they were talking about Emma. It was important that she knew who her mother was and how wonderful and beautiful she was. The experience had been so emotional for Phoebe, she had not returned.
They climbed the stairs and the floor changed from scarred wood to white marble as they crossed the threshold into the gallery. Light poured in from high windows but no direct light made its way to the priceless art. A bronze bust of Markus’s maternal grandfather stood proudly in the center of the room and around him several statues in the Greek and Roman style.
Still clinging to her hand, Markus led her to the west wall, where his portrait was the centerpiece. To his left, Emma smiled down on them. The space to the right was empty showing no trace of the uncle who had previously graced the location.
“I think once you see the portrait, you will prefer to put your uncle back in his spot.”
Elizabeth pointed to the bare wall. “Mama Fee.”
Kissing her cheek, Markus smiled. “Indeed. That is where Mama Fee will be placed. I think it is a fine and suitable placement for the viscountess.”
“I think you shall both be disappointed when the Maestro informs us that he can do nothing to make me look presentable for a portrait.” Phoebe tugged her hand away and walked to the other side of the room. She avoided the accusation gazing down from Markus’s ancestors and stared at the reproduction of Venus in the corner.
Little footsteps pattered across the room, accompanied by Elizabeth’s laughter.
Markus hugged Phoebe from behind. “Why do you say such things? You have every right to be on that wall and you are more beautiful than anyone else I know inside and out.”
“I suppose I still feel like an interloper in Emma’s life.” Her voice caught. Despite the happiness she’d found, she was terrified it would all end the moment Markus realized he’d made a terrible mistake.
He spun her to face him and gripped her shoulders. “Phoebe, I love you. Nothing will change that. Not even death. Emma would be happy we found each other. She loved you very much and often said you were the smartest, kindest and bravest woman she knew. Do you not think she would want you to be happy?”
“Of course, she would. Emma wanted everyone to be happy all the time. She hated to see anyone suffering or sad.” The memory of her friend crushed her heart.
Markus stared until she met his gaze. “Then is it that I do not make you happy?”
She launched against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Oh God, Markus. No. You have made me happier than I have ever been. You are the best and kindest husband.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “Then why are you uncomfortable with this portrait?”
“While I am thrilled to be Mrs. Flammel, I am not quite ready to be the viscountess of Devonrose. Being remembered for one moment in time when someone commissioned a portrait is not exactly what I had expected from my life.”
“What then? You want me to send Maestro Capelli away?” His shoulders lifted and fell against her.
She was being silly. “No. I just want…”
“What?” He stepped away.
She immediately missed his embrace. “Maybe we could start a charity or I could go around to the farms with you and meet with the wives and see what they need.”
Elizabeth ran around and around Grandfather’s bust singing “Ring Around the Rosie.”
The lack of response from Markus forced her to turn and see if he had left her standing alone with her ridiculous notions of what a viscountess might do.
Still standing in the same spot, he stared at her with wide eyes. “You are bored.”
How could anyone be bored when they have what every debutante wanted? “Yes, horribly.”
His laugh echoed off the marble and plaster.
“Papa!” Elizabeth ran to him and he lifted her up.
“For goodness’ sake, Phoebe, why did you not say something? Here I thought you were sorry to have married me.”
Closing the gap between them, she fell into the family hug. “I’ve never been happier, Markus, or more useless. I hate sitting and making lace for no purpose. I do not paint or play well, though I am not opposed to learning both. How do women exist with nothing to do?”
“The question is, what would you like to do? Run an agency like the Everton Domestic Society?” He took her hand and led her out of the gallery and down the back stairs before they pulled on coats and exited into the gardens.
Winter was not quite finished with them but a few plants peeked green, and the bitter cold had fled.
Phoebe breathed deep. “No. I will leave that to Lady Jane, but I would like to do some good.”
“Then do so. I support whatever you wish to do. Look how wonderfully you have made Rosefield run.”
“So well, I have left myself with nothing to do,” she complained, but she loved the efficiency of the staff.
With the sun behind him, he shone like a Greek god. “Think it over and find what you are passionate about, Phoebe. If you want to talk it through with me, I would be happy to help or give input.”
“You would not be ashamed of a wife with a career of some kind?” Her heart raced so fast she had trouble catching her breath.
“I think it’s too cold for Elizabeth out here. Let’s go back inside.”
Miss Cavot met them at the garden door and took Elizabeth to the nursery.
Holding hands, they walked through the house to the office where Markus closed the door and led her to the settee. “Phoebe, my love, I married a woman with an occupation. It was stupid of me to think you could be happy doing what other wives do. Find what makes you happy and we will make it happen.”
“I was thinking about your friends in Scotland.” The Duke and Duchess of Kerburgh had adopted several children and also had some of their own. It was madness at the castle, but they were all so happy.
Markus’s face turned white. “Please do not tell me you want to adopt a slew of children. I might be amenable to one, if you found a child you fell in love with….”
He really was the best man in the world. “I think it might be nice to find homes for orphaned children. There are so many. Just here in Benton, the vicarage is housing four who lost their parents to a carriage accident.”
“Yes, the Wills children. I looked for relatives to take them in but the vicar and I both failed.”
“Can we start a small orphanage and see how well we do finding good homes for them? The vicar and his wife are old and cannot care for four rambunctious children indefinitely. I would not want the children to end up in the type of place where children are abused or sold off as farm hands. I have heard some terrible stories.” She held her breath.
“There’s a small house at the edge of the property. It’s quite close to George Harper’s land. Mrs. Harper might be able to help you along. She’s a fine cook. I can have someone out to see what needs repairing.” He got up, went to his desk and made a note.
“Really?” If a person could die from happiness, Phoebe was about to meet her maker. The notion of a noblewoman working was so outrageous she was certain Markus would laugh at her and dismiss her idea.
Not once, in her daydreams about the project, had he offered to help.
“Of course, Phoebe. I am not some monster who wants to lock you up in the tower. I fell in love with all of you and that includes the part that takes control and fixes what is wrong. My only condition is that you let me help you with this orphanage and adoption agency. I wish I had thought to do it long ago.”
She launched herself into his arms. “I love you, Markus. You are the strongest man I know. Together we are going to make families happy.”
He claimed her lips in a kiss that shook her world, making love to her mouth until she moaned and wrapped her legs around his hips. It was the middle of the day and someone could walk in at any moment, not to mention she was in a ball gown for the portrait sitting. She didn’t care. “I love you, Markus. Forgive me for ever doubting you.”
“Keep kissing me like that, and I will forgive you any transgression.” Gripping her bottom, he kissed her nose and placed her on the edge of the desk. Tugging at her skirts, he asked, “Now, is there any way of getting through all of this material and making love to my wife?”
Vibrating with happiness and desire she ran her hand down his chest. “Go and lock that door and I will show you the fastest route.”
He pressed forward until his shaft nudged her through the material.
Gasping, she arched into him, then cried a protest when he stepped away.
Markus slid the bolt, turned, and smiled with mischief gleaming in his green eyes. “It might be more fun to take the slow way around.”
Phoebe liked the sound of that. She propped her slippered foot on the desk and lifted her skirt until the top of her stocking was shockingly visible. “I do not mind a slow stroll, my lord.”
In an instant, his hips were between her legs and his mouth on her throat. “My viscountess, my love, my Phoebe.”
She arched her neck so he could access more of her. This was the man of her dreams and the man she never dreamed she could obtain. Nothing, not even death, would change that. “Yes. All yours.”
Be sure not to miss the final book in A.S. Fenichel’s Forever Bride series