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“You’ll spoil them, letting them run wild like that,” Nathaniel said, though his voice held no real reprimand. It held only warmth and amusement.
Eleanor didn’t open her eyes. She lay sprawled beneath the elm, one hand shading her face, the other resting protectively over her rounded belly.
“Nonsense,” she murmured. “Let them be wild while they can. The world will catch them soon enough.”
He watched her for a long moment before turning his gaze to the garden.
Late-summer light spilled across the lawns at Loxley, the air thick with the scent of sun-warmed thyme and Sweet Pea. Beneath the arbour, the roses clung in overripe clusters, their petals dropping lazily in the stillness of the afternoon.
Nathaniel leaned against a warm stone pillar, one hand trailing absently over the ivy that had crept up over the years.
Before him, their daughters tore across the grass like loose comets from orbit.
Madeline led the charge, six now and entirely untameable. Her copper curls flew behind her like flame, her laugh rising high and clear with every triumphant squeal. Clara, only four, stumbled after her sister, her pinafore already streaked with green and her determination outweighing her tiny legs. They shrieked and darted through the hedgerows, chins up, eyes sparkling. Their bare feet kicked up bits of earth and joy.
It is a kind of music, Nathaniel thought. That laughter. That life. He could listen to it forever.
Behind him, someone clinked glasses. It was Captain Marsden, laughing as Charlotte Godwin (now Marsden herself, after a wedding that had involved one scandalous elopement and three broken horseshoes) told a wildly inappropriate story to Lady Honoria, who laughed against all odds.
Even his mother, once all corners and frost, had softened over the years. Grandmotherhood had suited her. It was a quieter sort of dominion, one she wielded with unexpected tenderness. She now brought sugared plums to the nursery and read aloud by lamplight, her voice surprisingly warm.
Once, Nathaniel had overheard her whisper to Eleanor in the corridor, “I envy you, you know. You taught him gentleness. I taught him fear.”
And Eleanor had replied, “Then between us, we made something whole.”
Nathaniel’s eyes found her again, her hand resting where their son grew, her smile lazy and sunlit. He felt it then, as he always did: the stunned, breathless awe of her, of them … of how far they had come.
“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.
Eleanor cracked one eye open. “Believe what?”
“That you’re here. That I get to keep you.”
She sat up slightly, shifting her weight, the swell of her belly rounding as she moved. “I seem to recall we made that a matter of law. And vows. And several witnesses.”
He knelt beside her, brushing a blade of grass from her sleeve. She took his hand, warm and callused, threading her fingers through his.
“You have given me more than I ever knew to want,” he said. “You made this house a home.”
Eleanor leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “And you,” she whispered, “made me brave.”
They sat in silence for a time, watching the girls collapse onto the blanket beside them, breathless and pink-cheeked. Clara crawled into her mother’s lap while Madeline flung herself across Nathaniel’s legs, demanding stories of pirates, battles, and dragons.
“Will our brother be brave, Papa?” Madeline asked, her eyes wide and her voice utterly serious.
Nathaniel looked at Eleanor, then at their children, and smiled.
“If he’s anything like the women in this family,” he said, “he’ll have no choice.”
***
That was when Charlotte and Marsden strolled across the lawn, their fingers loosely entwined, pausing only when they reached the edge of the quilt. Marsden, still in his riding boots, looked faintly scandalized by the chaos of petticoats and picnic crumbs strewn about, but Charlotte beamed.
“Are we interrupting some sacred family idyll?” she teased, eyebrows raised, though the warmth in her eyes betrayed her fondness.
“Only if you refuse to sit,” Eleanor replied, patting the blanket beside her. “Though you may be mauled by grass-stained children.”
“Auntie Charlotte!” Madeline shrieked again, tugging her skirts. “Come chase butterflies!”
“I haven’t had a moment’s rest,” Charlotte sighed in mock agony, flopping dramatically onto the blanket. “Let your uncle be the one to suffer for a change.”
Before Marsden could object, Clara latched onto his hand with the ferocity of a barnacle. “Butterflies!” she demanded.
With a long-suffering groan and an indulgent smile, Marsden allowed himself to be dragged across the grass, Madeline already instructing him on the proper way to run without scaring the butterflies.
Nathaniel looked back once, caught Eleanor’s eye, and gave her a wink as he let himself be conscripted into the chase. Then they were gone: two small girls and two not-so-small men weaving through the hedgerows with arms outstretched.
Charlotte, still catching her breath from the exertion of sitting down, let out a soft sigh and rested a hand over her abdomen.
Eleanor turned, curious. “Tired already? I thought you were the athletic one.”
Charlotte’s lips twitched. “I usually am. But I’m also nearly three months along. And as you already know, growing a person is rather more exhausting than fencing or scandal.”
Eleanor gasped, her hand flying to Charlotte’s. “Truly?”
Charlotte nodded, her grin more tender than mischievous now. “Truly.”
“Oh, Charlotte.” Eleanor leaned in, their foreheads nearly touching. “I’m so glad. So wildly, wholly glad.”
Charlotte laughed quietly. “So am I. I didn’t think I would be. Not ever. But Jonathan … well. He has a way of turning fear into possibility. You’d know something about that.”
Eleanor reached for her hand and squeezed it. “We’re going to raise chaos together. You know that, don’t you?”
“Three daughters and two sons between us, so far,” Charlotte said, glancing towards the running figures. “Loxley and Marsden will never be the same.”
“Most certainly.” Eleanor smiled back.
Eleanor leaned back onto her elbows, the summer grass soft beneath the quilt. Her eyes followed the bright ribbon of Madeline’s sash as it disappeared behind a hedge. A soft breeze lifted the hem of her gown and sent a drift of orange blossom scent across the lawn.
“I had a letter from Arthur,” she said casually, eyes still on the sky.
Charlotte turned her head sharply, startled. “Arthur?”
Eleanor smiled at the note of disbelief in her friend’s voice. “Yes. He wrote to me last week. I showed it to Nathaniel, of course.”
Charlotte blinked, processing. “You showed Nathaniel? And he didn’t storm off to duel him?”
Eleanor laughed, the sound low and warm. “He read it. Smiled. And asked if we might invite Arthur and his wife to tea once they return from their honeymoon.”
Charlotte pushed herself upright, eyebrows arched. “His wife?”
Eleanor turned to look at her, her smile deepening. “Yes. Arthur has married Margaret Leigh.”
Charlotte’s mouth parted. “Margaret Leigh? The one who—?”
“Sent him galloping halfway across Italy, yes,” Eleanor said. “Apparently, they met again by chance in Vienna last winter. And now they’re travelling through Europe together. Rome, then the coast.”
Charlotte stared, unblinking. “Well. I must say, that’s … unexpected.”
“I’m glad for him,” Eleanor said softly, her gaze drifting once more towards the fluttering silhouettes of her daughters, the golden line of Nathaniel’s coat catching the sun. “Truly glad.”
She felt it as she said it not just in her mind, but in the rooted, settled way her heart had grown around the life she now lived.
Charlotte, ever irreverent, exhaled a long breath. “Well. If this is the season for unexpected marriages and improbable contentment, perhaps I ought to be worried.”
Eleanor gave her a sidelong look. “You’ve never looked more content in your life.”
Charlotte placed a hand over her small, growing bump. “Yes. And I’ve never been more terrified either.”
Eleanor took her hand and squeezed it. “That sounds exactly right.”
At that, they both burst into a chuckle, allowing the feeling of aforementioned contentment to wash over them completely. The gardens continued to echo with laughter. Madeline and Clara chased each other in spirals of joy, their voices ringing like bells across the warm air. Nathaniel and Captain Marsden sprinted after them, their boots stirring up little clouds of dust as they ran.
As twilight softened the edges of the day, Nathaniel returned, brushing grass from his coat. Eleanor rose with a contented sigh, slipping her hand into his as they walked inside Loxley House.
Later, in the quiet stillness of their chamber, Eleanor lay nestled against Nathaniel’s chest, the steady beat of his heart a soothing rhythm beneath her ear. Her fingers traced idle patterns along his shirt, and after a moment, she lifted her eyes to meet his in the dim candlelight.
“Would you change anything?” she asked suddenly, the question as fragile as a whispered hope.
Nathaniel’s breath was warm against her hair as he answered without hesitation. “No. Every stumble brought us here. Every scar made this peace real.”
She smiled as her heart swelled with the truth in his words.
“And would you still choose me?” she pressed gently.
He tightened his arms around her. “Always. I always will.”
The room seemed to hold its breath, as the world reduced to the quiet promise between them. At that moment, beneath the fading glow of the day, they were no longer two people weathered by the past, but one: unbroken, unshaken, and infinitely whole.
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Hello my dear readers, I hope you thoroughly enjoyed the book and the Extended Epilogue! I’d love to hear your thoughts—please feel free to share your comments here. Thank you so much for reading!
Strong, lovely, heartfelt. Truly glorious story.
Thank you so much!