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Three Years Later.
The gardens of Roscarrock Hall seemed to almost glow under a clear afternoon sky, with ribbons tied to chairs and low hanging tree branches stirring lightly in the breeze. To the average outsider, the place looked just as it had always looked and there was absolutely nothing interesting about it. However, to anyone who wasn’t, it was a rather special day.
The whole family gathered in the garden to celebrate a grand tea party Prudence had invited them to.
A wave of laughter rose somewhere without restraint now, bright and easy. The long table on the grass was laid with cakes, little sugared fruits, and a bowl of cream already under attack by small eager fingers. The family had all gathered around the table, all basking in the glow of the warm afternoon sun.
“Two,” Florence sang, clapping her hands as Percival’s son, William Seymour toddled forward on determined legs, his fair curls drifting in the gentle breeze and his cheeks already marked with jam.
Spencer laughed and scooped up his own daughter before she could pitch herself headfirst toward the nearest tart. “And one for Beatrice,” he said. “Though she looks as if she intends to be older already.”
Florence swatted his shoulder with affectionate indignation. “Do not tease her. She will hear.”
“She hears everything,” Spencer replied gravely, while Beatrice blinked at him with solemn offense. “And she terrifies me, sometimes.”
“Oh well, she would not be her mother’s daughter if she did not,” Florence responded and they both laughed.
Prudence watched them all and smiled. The sight still struck her sometimes, and a part of her still refused to believe this was the same family she had married into. Three years earlier, this house had held too much silence, too much strain under every ordinary hour. Now the house and grounds felt used by happiness. It had landed straight from the heavens and settled there thoroughly, with no intention to leave.
Near the edge of the lake, her parents stood together, with dust still on their clothes despite the wash and change after their arrival. Her mother’s face, older now and gentler in its lines, turned toward Prudence with eyes already shining.
“She is… calmer,” her mother said quietly, as though the words might shatter if spoken too loudly. “Charlotte.”
Prudence’s smile softened at once. “Truly?”
Her father nodded. “The physicians believe the care is helping. There are still difficult days, but there is improvement. Some stretches of peace. Some lucidity.”
Her mother pressed a hand to her mouth, tears slipping free before she could check them. “It is a mercy.”
Prudence reached for her hand and held it. “Yes,” she said. “I wish for nothing but for her to get better. To get fully better.”
There would never be a version of peace that erased what Charlotte had done or what she had become. Yet the thought of her more stable, less tormented, gave Prudence some kind of quiet relief. It wasn’t joy, exactly, she knew that much. It was just relief. For some reason, she felt like she had to remind herself of that.
A burst of laughter drew her attention back across the lawn. Beyond the children and cakes, Percival stood near the garden wall with the butler, listening more than he spoke, one hand resting lightly at the small of his back. He looked different than he had in those first Cornish weeks. Not less serious, but less burdened by the act of seriousness itself.
“The mines are thriving,” Florence said, joining Prudence again with a plate in one hand and pride all over her face. “Safer supports, stricter inspections, better wages. Percy has bullied half the county into admitting that men work better when they are not treated as expendable.”
Spencer, still balancing Beatrice against his shoulder, smiled. “Well, when the entire economy of a county relies on these men, it is not hard to get the noblemen to see reason. Men work harder when they are treated as men.”
Prudence’s gaze stayed on Percival. Even at a distance, she could read the relaxation in his shoulders and the steadiness in the way he listened to Mr. Tressler talk to him about something she couldn’t hear. “He carries responsibility differently now,” she murmured.
Florence’s expression softened. “That, my dear, is because he no longer carries it alone.”
Prudence nodded. That was the true change. It didn’t stop at the reforms or the careful ledgers or the safer tunnels. It was that Percival no longer saw his duty as punishment for a crime he didn’t commit. He saw it as his purpose in life. A purpose he was given to share with her.
Under a parasol a little way off, Aunt Esther sat with one hand pressed to her chest and the other resting on her cane, watching William try to feed a sugared plum to a bewildered dog.
“Look at them,” she said thickly as Prudence approached. “A family. Truly.”
Prudence bent to kiss her cheek. “You helped build it.”
Aunt Esther scoffed, though she was smiling. “Do not make me sentimental.”
“You already are,” Prudence said, laughing.
Aunt Esther dabbed at her eyes in a way that fooled no one.
Nearby, Sarah approached carrying a fresh tray of tea with the composure of someone who had long since earned every inch of her position. Her dress was plain but handsome, her posture easy, her authority in the household so established now that even the older servants deferred to it without a thought.
“Lady Seymour,” she said warmly.
Prudence smiled at her. “Sarah. The table looks breathtaking as always. You continue to outdo yourself.”
Sarah’s face softened. “Thank you, My lady. I have you and Lord Seymour to thank.”
Prudence nodded and drew her into a half embrace before letting her go on to attend to whatever needed attendance. At the far end of the lawn, the Countess of Cornwall held court beside the roses, one gloved hand resting on the knob of her parasol as she surveyed the scene she had once nearly ruined.
“It is quite magnificent how this all managed to turn out, is it not?” she announced. “Sometimes, you just know.”
Percival’s mother, healthier than she had once seemed possible, lighter in both face and manner, tilted her head. “Did you know all along you were wrong as well?”
The countess paused, then gave a regal huff. “Do not be impertinent, Cassiope.”
A laugh ran through the gathered company. For once the countess did not take offense. Or rather, she took the exact amount needed to preserve dignity and not one bit more.
Prudence stood still for a moment and looked at them all. Her parents near the hedge. Aunt Esther beneath the parasol. Florence and Spencer close enough now that they moved almost as one. Her mother-in-law laughing openly. The countess pretending she had orchestrated the entire thing from the start and Percival finally turning at last and finding her across the garden with that same look that still made everything else recede.
So much had changed that once would have seemed impossible.
We survived, Prudence thought. And we did more than survive. We conquered.
A while later, the nannies descended and assumed their duties, immediately walking over to the children and getting ready to receive them as they always do.
“Come, little master,” one said, already reaching for William. “It is time.”
William, sticky with sugar and heavy with indignation, clung to the edge of the table and announced, “No nap.”
Spencer laughed outright and shifted Beatrice higher against his shoulder before surrendering her to another waiting pair of arms. “He acquired that from you, Percy.”
Percival lifted a brow. “Has he?”
“Entirely,” Prudence said.
William resisted with as much gravity as two years could command. Beatrice yawned once and laid her head down at once, unwilling to contest anything. The rest of the family all watched as the little procession made its way toward the nursery. When the nursery door closed, the atmosphere around the garden changed. The countess leaned toward Aunt Esther with that particular look she wore when she was about to offer scandal as if it were a sweetmeat.
“And the marquess,” she said, in a tone that would have been private in any house but this one. “Utterly cut off. Drinking himself into stupidity. The last of his fortune went to gambling and filth.”
The elder Lady Seymour shook her head in proper censure. “It is dreadful to take satisfaction in it.” The small curve at her mouth belied the intended effect.
Aunt Esther’s fan paused in mid-air. “It is not satisfaction,” she said. “It is order restored.”
Prudence watched the three of them and thought, not for the first time, how strange it still felt to see consequence fall where it ought. There had been a season of her life when scandal seemed to seek only the innocent and the unwary. It pleased her now, more than she cared to admit, to see waste and wickedness finally meet their proper end.
She drifted toward the house without fully deciding to do so. A moment later Percival came after her. She felt him before he spoke, his arms sliding around her waist and drawing her back against him.
“You always retreat when the countess begins gossiping,” he murmured near her ear.
“It is self-defense.”
He kissed her temple. “Or superior taste.”
“Do not flatter me into vice.”
His laugh warmed the side of her neck as they paused at the nursery door. It stood slightly ajar. Percival pushed it open a fraction with one finger.
William lay sprawled across his bed, one arm flung over his head, curls damp against his forehead. In the smaller bed beside him, Beatrice slept curled up, one fist tucked under her chin.
Prudence felt the old, unmanageable tenderness catch her under the ribs. “Three years,” she said softly. “At times Cornwall feels farther away than America.”
Percival’s voice was low. “Because it is another life.”
She leaned into him and for a moment they only stood and looked.
Then, before she had quite meant to say it, Prudence said, “At times I still hear her in the maze.”
His arms tightened at once.
“And then,” he said, “you look at this.”
She nodded. That was enough.
She turned within his hold until she faced him. Her hands came to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath linen and waistcoat.
“There is something else,” she said.
He studied her face at once. “You look troubled.”
“I am not troubled.” Her voice betrayed her by trembling. “Only… a little overcome.”
His expression sharpened. “Prudence.”
A smile broke before she could stop it. Tears rose with it.
“Percival,” she said, “I am with child again.”
For a heartbeat he did not move at all.
Then wonder broke clean across his face, and it was followed by joy that seemed to humble him before it enlarged him.
He kissed her then, slowly, with one hand rising to her cheek.
“Then we shall welcome this one properly,” he said. The first pregnancy had been such a surprise that they barely had time to plan before the baby arrived. Now they could and there was no reason at all why they should not.
She laughed softly through the tears. “As if you would permit anything less.”
That drew a smile from him.
Behind them the house stood warm and full. The nursery was still and voices from the garden came faint through the open window. Percival lowered his head, kissed her softly, then touching his forehead to hers, they stood together for a long moment. A moment that quietly celebrated a profound understanding. They’d been given a precious gift. A family, and a love, that would endure any challenge. And that would only grow stronger over time.
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Secrets and Passions of High Society", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hello there, my dearest readers! I hope you enjoyed the book and the Extended Epilogue! I will be waiting for your comments here. Thank you 💘