Epilogue
Christmas, 1821
Charles paced around the upstairs sitting room, checking the warmth from the fire, pulling the curtains more securely closed against the cold, and adjusting the cushions on the sofa.
It was vitally important that everything was perfect.
When he was satisfied, he surveyed the room one last time with an air of satisfaction. Shining green holly adorned the mantelpiece, red berries glistening in the firelight. Candles burnt on every surface, giving the room a peaceful glow. There was snow falling outside, and in the silence he fancied he could hear its soft patter onto the frozen ground.
In the upper rooms of Harding Hall, however, everything was warm and comfortable and cosy.
"Alright," he said, calling softly through the half-open doorway. "You can come in. It's quite ready for you."
He ran forwards to lend Julia a hand, but she waved him off with a smile. "Honestly, Charles! I'm not an invalid!"
He bit down on his retort. As far as he was concerned, Julia should not have stirred from her bed until the New Year. But barely a day of rest had gone by, and she was already complaining and longing to be up and about.
Charles settled Julia underneath a blanket and fussed with pillows behind her head and under her feet until she had to push him off, laughing. "I'm perfectly comfortable! You have done a wonderful job. Now, please, let me sit here in peace."
"Is there anything more you need? A book, perhaps? I've sent Sally to bring up a tray of tea and mince pies."
Julia touched his cheek. Despite all her protests, he knew she was grateful for the attention. "Thank you, Charles. I had begun to feel I was missing out on the Christmas season."
"Not on my watch." He bent forwards and kissed her forehead tenderly. "Now, what can I get you?"
"Nothing at all. Only send in..." Julia paused, the words still new and strange on her lips. "Send in the children."
The children. No phrase, no mere string of syllables, had ever warmed Charles's heart more. He tip-toed from the room, careful not to slam the door and disturb his resting wife, and made his way down the corridor into the nursery.
"Miss Kelsey? Please bring the children through to our private sitting room."
"What perfect timing, my lord," said Miss Kelsey, leaning over the cradle. "The little Viscount is just waking up."
Charles picked up his son himself, inhaling deeply to take in as much as possible of that soft baby smell. He hardly remembered Annabelle's babyhood. It had been a time of grief and confusion that had passed him by in a blur.
He meant to savour every moment of baby Henry.
A thunder of approaching footsteps was all the warning Charles had to avoid being knocked down by a rather excitable Annabelle. "Mama Julia! Mama Julia!"
She shoved the door open and launched herself onto the sofa like a cannonball. Charles followed as quickly as he dared with the baby in his arms, wincing. "Annabelle, please! Julia needs to rest!"
"Don't be such a stick in the mud, Charles," Julia teased him, wrapping her arms around the wriggling seven-year-old, who was really growing a little too big to fit in her lap. "I haven't suddenly turned into porcelain."
"The doctor ordered rest, Julia. Annabelle, come here. You must sit quietly or you will have to go back to Miss Kelsey."
"Yes, Papa," said Annabelle, assuming a straight-backed pose straight out of a book on decorum. Julia laughed merrily and opened her arms for the baby.
Charles loved to watch her face soften as she gazed on the tiny features of her son. In truth, he was not the most handsome baby – not yet, at least. His face was a little squashed, and he had been an alarming shade of reddish-purple for almost all of his day-long life.
Charles already loved him as profoundly and mysteriously as he loved his daughter. He knew that Annabelle meant the world to Julia, but now that she had a child of her own, too, he was glad that she could experience the wonder of a baby for herself.
"Are we quite settled on the name?" Julia mused, gently stroking Henry's cheek. "You know I wanted him to be a little Charles."
"I thought you liked Henry?" Charles protested. It had been his idea.
"Of course I like it! Henry Harding, Viscount Yeovil. It suits him." She kissed Henry's downy forehead. "Perhaps a little brother Charles will come along."
"Little brother?" Charles sat down beside her with a thump. "You mean you want to do this all over again?"
Julia smiled indulgently. "Was it very difficult for you to go through, my darling?"
"I'm not concerned for myself!"
Julia shifted the baby into the crook of her elbow, freeing a hand to caress Charles's arm. "I'm perfectly fine, Charles. You don't need to worry about me. And I've always dreamed of a large family."
He turned a little pale. "You'll have to allow me to worry about you just a touch, Julia."
"A smidgeon of worry," she allowed.
"A soupçon." He locked his fingers through hers and pressed her hand to his lips. "But I can see that you are well, my dear, and motherhood suits you as perfectly as I thought it would. You are a wonder, Lady Julia."
"You're not so terribly bad yourself, Lord Charles," Julia smiled.
"And me!" piped up Annabelle, somewhat squashed between them. "I'm not bad, am I, Papa?"
"You are the eighth wonder of the world," said Charles, tickling her stomach until she shrieked. "And your brother Henry is the ninth."
Sally came in, carefully balancing a teapot and the finest china on a tray, together with a plate heaped up with mince pies. Annabelle gave a yell of delight and ran towards her, just slipping out from under Charles's hand.
"Watch out, Sally!" he called. The maid executed a rather complicated dance to prevent Annabelle from tripping her over.
"Tea and mince pies, my lord. Will you be needing anything else?"
"Make sure you put a hot stone in the Marchioness's bed directly. She won't be up for too long."
"Certainly, my lord." Sally bobbed a curtsey and left them to it.
Charles let Annabelle serve up the tea and mince pies with only the slightest of interference when it came to the heavy teapot.
"Very good, Annabelle," Julia praised her. "You have become quite the society lady."
"May I hold the baby now?" Annabelle asked, making a cradle with her arms to show that she was ready.
"Go and sit on your Papa's lap. I'll pass him to you when you're settled. Here, take care to hold up his head. There we are. Perfect."
Annabelle stared at her brother wide-eyed. "He's so little!"
"You were that little once," said Charles, supporting the arm that lifted Henry's head.
"Was that when I had my other Mama?"
"That's right," said Julia warmly. "Your first Mama, who carried you for nine months the way I did baby Henry, and who loved you very much."
She caught Charles's eye over Annabelle's head. Charles had tried to hide his fears from Julia as the pregnancy progressed, but he knew she understood the strain it had placed on his heart. If he could have had his way, they would never have risked having children at all.
But seeing the way she looked at Henry, he finally understood. Their family was worth the pain, was worth any risk. He was almost reconciled to the idea of going through the whole process again to keep expanding their little circle of love. Annabelle would certainly revel in a little sister, should one come along.
Was he really daydreaming about more children? Charles smiled wryly and dragged his thoughts back to the present moment. There was so much to enjoy here that it was folly to waste time thinking of the future.
He had his little daughter sitting in his lap, as good as gold. Together, they held the sleepy form of his new-born son and heir.
He had a loving wife who looked every bit as radiant as she had the day he met her, even in her tired state.
And on top of all of these blessings, he had a comfortable home and the means to provide his growing family with every luxury their hearts desired.
For the first time in years, Charles felt truly whole and content. He had finally laid the ghosts of his past to their peaceful rest.
His life now belonged only to the joyful present.