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Four Years Later
Rosamund read the letter with her tongue between her teeth. She had been waiting for an update on the funding for her newest charitable endeavor for some time. Now, as she read through the lines of the headmistress of the Wheaton School for Girls, she felt a glow of satisfaction in her heart.
The funding came through, My Lady, just as you said it would. We are now proud to say that we will be offering self-defense courses for our pupils, who are excited to learn how to shoot and fence after your demonstrations last month. I will admit, most of the girls were shocked to see a woman–and a countess–wielding a blade with such skill and efficiency, and they were greatly inspired by the sight. I think it frightened some of our male staff, but fright in a man is something I like to encourage, if it means he will show more respect to ladies because of it …
The letter went on to give updates on each of the pupils, all of whom Rosamund had gotten to know very well over the last three years that she had been the patron of the Wheaton School for Girls. Ever since she had taken over as patroness, the quality of the school had greatly increased, and Rosamund read through each application and helped to pick out the young ladies who would be attending.
The self-defense classes had been a difficult sell, however. Even with Rosamund as the patroness, there had been pushback from the board, who thought that girls should not learn how to shoot and fence.
“They will not be capable of excelling in such masculine arts!” one pompous old man had said. “They will only get themselves injured!”
“And what kind of gentleman will marry a woman who can out-shoot him?” another matron had asked, her eyes narrowed on Rosamund as they sat around a large oak table in the boardroom of the school.
“Well, my husband, the Earl of Blackmere, married me,” Rosamund had said lightly. “And I am a much finer shot than he. You can ask anyone. I have quite the fearsome reputation.”
This hadn’t been enough, however. Rosamund had actually had to demonstrate her talent–and the fact that a woman could shoot a gun without injuring herself–before she was believed. It had still taken several more months of lobbying before she had convinced the board to acquiesce.
But she had gotten her way in the end. Like she always did.
It didn’t hurt that her husband was also lobbying for education reform for girls in the House of Lords. He had taken up his seat in parliament and had become a force for reform and change, championing several bills that would allow women to end marriages more easily if they had been abandoned by their husbands.
Together, she and Edmund were changing the world for women and girls.
There was a knock on the door at that moment, and the study door opened, revealing a small girl with dark eyes and auburn ringlets, which were bouncing around her shoulders.
“Mama!” the girl said, putting her hands on her hips and giving Rosamund a very disgruntled look. “You promised me that you would not be working today! It is my birthday!”
Rosamund laughed and set aside the letter. Standing, she went over to the door and scooped her daughter up into her arms.
“You are right,” she said, touching her nose to her daughter’s. “I did promise that I would not work today. But I received a very important letter, and I had to make sure that everything was going smoothly at my school.”
“Your school for girls?” Hope asked, her eyes wide with interest. She had been hearing her mother talk about this school her whole life, and she was always eager to know more, as Rosamund and Edmund had both told her that schools for girls were quite rare. “Will I go there someday, Mama?” she asked.
“If you want,” Rosamund said. “Daughters of earls are usually taught by governesses. But if you prefer to go to school–”
“Would it mean that I would have to leave home?” Hope asked.
“It would,” Rosamund said. “But it is many years away, darling. You do not have to think about that now.”
Hope considered this. “I do not want to leave Auntie,” she said at last. “Perhaps she can be my governess.”
At that very moment, Aunt Agatha poked her head around the corner of the door. “Oh, there she is!” she said, shaking her head. “The little dear gave me the slip earlier. I assumed she would be down here. She is eager for you to play with her, since it is her birthday.”
“I am coming now,” Rosamund said. “Thank you for watching her while I was busy.”
“It is my favorite pastime,” Aunt Agatha said, smiling fondly at her great-niece. “Here, let me take her. You should not be holding the child in your state, about to give birth to the next earl.”
Aunt Agatha took Hope from Rosamund, who stroked her belly again where her daughter’s legs had kicked it by accident. It was true; she probably should not be carrying her three-year-old daughter while eight months pregnant with her next child. As she touched her stomach, she felt a small flutter under her fingers where the baby was kicking, and she smiled.
I wonder if it really will be a boy, she thought. Although she did not mind either way, it would be good to have the earldom safely protected from any claim Julian might make.
If they did not have a second son, he could potentially try to inherit the estate someday. Although he had been stripped of his inheritance rights by the courts, she would like to feel a hundred percent certain that he would never be coming back to England to claim the earldom.
He will not, she assured herself, as she followed Aunt Agatha out into the hallway. He has become quite ascetic these last few years. He seems to have no interest in worldly possessions anymore.
In a stunning reversal from his gambling days, Julian had become a translator of rare texts and now lived in relative, but apparently happy, poverty in Nice. He sent them occasional letters about his life, expressing true remorse for everything that he had done and detailing his life now, which he said brought him more contentment and happiness than striving for money and power ever had.
His letters had been so consistent over the years, his tone so sincere, and his apologies so profuse, that Rosamund had even come to believe him. Edmund did as well. He still occasionally had a private investigator check in on Julian, to make sure he was not planning to return to England.
The private investigator always reported the same thing: that Julian was a poor but happy translator, and that he had even reconciled with his first wife, Celeste Dubois.
Well, not his first wife. His only wife, Rosamund reminded herself. Their marriage had never been legal.
For now, however, she pushed thoughts of Julian aside and made her way out across the hallway, following in the wake of Aunt Agatha and her daughter, toward the garden, where the birthday celebrations were being held.
It was a warm day outside, the sun shining over the rose bushes where she and Edmund had once declared their love for one another, and he had asked her to marry him.
The garden had been expanded over the years, and it now included a grassy knoll where Collins and Mrs. Wilton had set up a table, which was covered with platters of cold ham and boiled beef, several racks of lamb, lobsters and pigeon pies, strawberries and cream, salads of all sorts, and freshly-made lemonade, glinting in a crystal bowl, with cups set around it.
At the center of the table was a large cake, the frosting thick and pink, and the moment she saw it, Hope began to jump up and down with delight.
“There she is!” Edmund boomed, looking up from where he had been playing with Beatrice and Alistair’s son, Simon, and spreading out his arms wide. Hope ran to her father, and he lifted her into the air and twirled her around. “There is my birthday girl!” he cried, kissing her on the cheek before setting her back down. “My, my, you look so grown up.”
“Do I really?” Hope asked, beaming up at him, and her father winked. “You almost look eight already!”
“I am four!” she cried, giggling. “Not eight!”
“Hmm, I would say you are closer to twelve, actually …”
“Four!” Hope shrieked, and he tweaked her on the cheek.
“Four it is, then.”
Beatrice came forward now, Alistair right behind her, holding a present wrapped in brown paper. “Happy birthday, darling,” she said, pressing the gift into the little girl’s hand. “I think you will like this one.”
Hope eagerly ripped open the present and gasped in delight. The package held two small wooden swords. The blades of the swords had been sanded down so that there were no sharp edges or splinters, and then painted silver, to make them look like real swords, while their handles had been painted black.
“I love them!” Hope cried, grabbing one and swishing it through the air. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Now I shall be like Mummy!”
The adults all laughed, except for Aunt Agatha, who looked disapprovingly at the swords.
“Really? Weapons?” she asked Rosamund in an undertone.
“Beatrice asked me first,” Rosamund assured her, “and I approved. I want my daughter to be every bit the tough warrior her mother is.”
Aunt Agatha sighed. “Well, if you think it is best …” Rosamund smiled at her and winked.
“I do.”
The pair had learned to find common ground over the years. Julian’s scandal had so eclipsed the scandal of Rosamund and Edmund’s marriage that she had given her blessing without too much fuss, and now, she liked to tell anyone who would listen that Rosamund was the most wonderful mother and countess. In fact, Rosamund sometimes thought she liked to take a little too much credit for the union she had once opposed, but she preferred that to the alternative.
Hope, meanwhile, was still swinging her sword around, while Simon looked on jealously.
“Can I try the other one, Mama?” he asked Beatrice.
“Ask Hope,” she said. “But I am sure she will want to spar with you.”
“Oh, yes!” Hope cried. “Let us duel, Simon!”
“First, I must show you the proper sword work,” Rosamund said, stepping forward and taking the sword from her daughter. “You must stand just so, with your feet apart, and your hand raised like this, so that your opponent cannot throw you off balance. And remember, darling, this is just for play. I do not want you hitting anyone with these swords. If I see you hurting anyone, I will have to take them away.”
“Yes, Mama!” Hope said at once, and Rosamund gave her back the sword.
Edmund sidled up next to her, sliding a hand around her waist.
“You are not exactly teaching her how to protect herself if you are telling her not to hurt anyone,” he teased, whispering in her ear, and she laughed.
“She is four, Edmund,” Rosamund said. “Believe me, once she is older, I will teach her to fight.”
“You are still my favorite person to fight with,” he said, squeezing her waist and pulling her closer. “Once the child is born, I look forward to getting back to our weekly duels.”
“Once the child is born, I will need to recover,” she said, shaking her head. “For now, you may have to content yourself with verbal sparring.”
“I will take it,” he said, his eyes shining with love as he looked down at her. “There is no one I prefer to spar with, in any capacity.”
“You would think you would be sick of losing by now,” she teased, and he laughed.
“Never.”
And they both looked around at their family, their hearts full of love and contentment. They had everything they had ever wanted, and Rosamund, for one, would never take it for granted. Nor would she ever stop fighting to give other women the lives they deserved, as well.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 5 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Noble Gentlemen of the Ton", and get 5 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hello, my dear readers! I hope you enjoyed the book and the Extended Epilogue! I am eagerly expecting your comments here. Thank you so much!