Extended Epilogue

Six years later

“Stay still, you,” Christopher heard as he was passing through the gardens. “It won’t look pretty if you don’t,” the familiar little voice added.

He stopped and turned in the direction of the rustles to the sight of his four-year-old daughter, Helen, tying what looked like a bonnet on their dog, Maxwell.

“Can you hold his tail, Papa? He won’t stop squirming,” Helen said, utterly unperturbed by her father’s sudden presence.

Amusement stole into Christopher’s features as he said, “Perhaps Max doesn’t want a bonnet, Helen.”

“The sun is out today. He needs the shade, Papa,” she argued, and something pleasant tugged at his heart. She was just as thoughtful and benevolent as her mother. He tried to dissuade the child, but she had also inherited just as much obstinacy from her mother.

“Helen, why don’t we get a smaller bonnet for Max, then? This looks awfully big for his little head,” he pointed out.

Helen pursed her tiny lips in thought. “I think you are right!” She gained her feet and let go of the squirming canine. Max ran to Christopher, and he scooped him up into his arms.

The poor poodle quivered as Christopher ran a placating hand over his tangled fur.

“If you carry Max, who’s going to carry me back inside, Papa? You always carry me.” Helen’s small hands went to her hips in that gesture she often saw on her mother. Christopher burst out laughing, and she gave him a scowl and a petulant little pout that was more adorable than threatening.

“How about we do it this way, my lady,” he suggested, setting down Max and picking her up and onto his shoulder before carrying the dog in his arms. “Hold on tight,” he said to excite little squeals from Helen as they returned inside.

He noticed that she’d brought the bonnet back with her when she asked to be set down in the hallway.

“Have you seen my bonnet, Bessie?” Lucy’s voice drifted from the open drawing-room door, and Bessie was her lady’s maid.

When Christopher’s gaze met his daughter’s, Helen gave him a sheepish smile, hiding the stolen item behind her. “Helen, you are not supposed to take what does not belong to you.” He clucked his tongue. “You must return it and apologize.”

“Three sweets. You promise?” Helen asked.

Christopher had had to resort to a bit of bribery to get her to behave, and now he shook his head. “Very well. Three sweets, Helen. On my honor,” he promised.

“Good.” She turned and skipped into the drawing room while he followed with Max in tow.

“Aunt Lucy,” Helen began sweetly. Lucy turned, bright-eyed, and scooped Helen into her arms.

“If it isn’t my lovely little creature.” She spun a now giggling Helen around.

“Careful dear,” Marlow, who was sitting on a nearby sofa, said, and Christopher gathered that he was worried about his wife’s delicate state. Lucy was expecting their first child but she was not showing entirely. When she set Helen down, she noticed her soiled bonnet for the first time.

“I wanted to get Max a bonnet too.” Helen handed her the bonnet, suddenly looking quite contrite. Lucy accepted it without a word.

“Am I still your lovely little creature, Aunt Lucy?” Helen asked.

“Not unless you know of another Lady Helen Lockhart.” she tapped a fond finger on the girl’s pink nose. “You will always be my lovely little creature, Helen,” she promised, taking her into her arms as she took a seat now.

“I am sorry for ruining it,” Helen apologized.

“Oh, we can always get another bonnet,” Lucy dismissed.

“One for Max, too!” Helen exclaimed.

“Yes,” Lucy chuckled.

The dog in question let out a little whimper before he ran to Marlow and hid underneath his chair. Christopher burst out laughing at this, and the others joined in.

***

Amelia and Christopher were hosting a house party, and conveniently, it was time for the annual Blackmoore ball. As such, she found herself quite swamped with preparations, and she was in the kitchens discussing some additions to the menu with the cook.

“What happened to all the canapes?” Cook regarded the empty plate on the table. “I could have sworn I had a full plate just now.” He searched around.

“Why, even the dipping sauce is missing.” Mrs. Evermoor observed.

Amelia felt her brows draw together as she, too, wondered about the missing appetizers, because she recalled when they were set on the table next to her for her sampling.

“One might think we have ghosts in our kitchens,” Mrs. Evermoor said as Cook made to refill the plate. A gasp sounded from underneath the table at the housekeeper’s comment, and realization smoothened Amelia’s confused features, replacing it with amusement.

She looked under the table, and her five-year-old son, Ralph, brought his forefinger to his lips. In his free hand was one of the missing appetizers, and before him sat the unmistakable sauce.

“Perhaps those ghosts have taken to hiding underneath our tables now.” Amelia ostensibly heeded his warning as she straightened. She gave the housekeeper a little wink when she saw the question in her eyes, and Mrs. Evermoor returned it with a knowing smile.

“It shan’t be long before they return for more canapes, and since we haven’t any more left, they will seek out the only one they can find. I wonder where it might be,” Mrs. Evermoor declared in an unnaturally loud tone.

Feet shuffled underneath the table before Ralph surfaced. “Ghosts?” He cried, the fear in his eyes all but apparent. “I don’t want to share my little breads with the ghosts, Mama!” He clung tightly to Amelia’s skirts.

“But they were never your little breads, were they, Ralph?” Amelia asked him.

“But—”

“Did you ask for them?” She quirked a brow.

“No,” he replied contritely. And before she could say further, he turned to Cook and added, “I am sorry for taking the tiny little breads without your permission, Cook.”

Cook chuckled before he plucked another canape from the fresh plate he bore and handed it to the little boy. “For correcting your manners, little lord,” he said to a now happy Ralph.

“I think I will have the others try these, too.” Amelia turned to Cook, accepting the proffered plate from him. She ushered her son out of the kitchens, then, and together, they made their way back to the drawing room.

In the front hall, however, a pleasant face found them. “Grandma Rosalie!” Ralph cried in excitement before he jumped into her outstretched arms. The children had grown to regard Rosalie as their grandmother, and she called upon the manor frequently. She was currently in residence for the house party, and Amelia had left her in the music room practicing the pianoforte with some debutantes earlier.

They had a performance planned for the ball, one she looked forward to, because Rosalie possessed quite a remarkable musical talent.

Rosalie plucked a canape off the plate and handed it to Ralph, who scarfed the one he was already nibbling on and eagerly accepted the addition.

“At this rate, you will turn into a walking appetizer, Ralph,” Amelia chuckled.

“Then I would never want for breads,” he mumbled happily. Amelia and Rosalie laughed, and no one made to correct his grammar lest they ruin his enchanted moment.

When they entered the drawing room, Lucy immediately collected the plate Amelia bore. “Finally,” her expecting cousin sighed when she shoved one into her mouth. Marlow reached for one, but Lucy gave his hand a swat.

“How is that fair?” he cried.

“She needs to feed your child, Marlow,” Christopher chuckled to general laughter in the room.

Amelia’s gaze found her husband’s, and she felt a flutter inside her. He came to take her hand, and while the others were occupied with their canapes, they left the room to seek a moment alone in his study.

“I think your son must have consumed half of the appetizers made for the ball,” she said as Christopher closed the door behind them and took her sweetly in his arms.

He quirked an amused brow, and she told him about Ralph’s little gluttonous escapade in the kitchen. He let out a hearty laugh before he told her of what torment Max had gone through at the hands of Helen that afternoon.

“Lucy’s bonnet?” Amelia laughed.

“I think we birthed ourselves some little thieves, Christopher,” she added.

“And where do you think they got that from?” His lips found her neck and a delightful shiver ran through her, while a wicked glint came over his eyes.

“Are you calling me a thief?” Amelia struggled to concentrate while his tongue glided over her skin, his hands finding the buttons of her dress and slipping them free.

“Yes,” he murmured, his breath heating her skin, waking her latent desire. He drew the dress down her body and he trailed kisses over the top of her breasts, and she gasped. Not from his response, but from his wicked fingers that found her aching core. “Because you stole your way into my life, and my heart, Amelia.” He kissed her lips.

“I love you, Christopher,” she moaned, clutching his shoulders.

“I love you more than life itself, Amelia Lockhart.” And she knew he did, and he always will.