Extended Epilogue
7 years later
Isadora walked slowly through the gardens of Henlade Manor. The sun shone brightly in a flawless sky and the air was filled with the warm sounds of buzzing insects. The newly functioning fountain added the gleaming notes of dancing water. It was peaceful, a place of quiet beauty and calm. By contrast, her other home, Bellmore, was a place of brooding antiquity and wild woods. She loved both, but Henlade held a special place in her heart. The sound of splashing and laughing reached her.
“George! If you are playing about the fountain, I hope you are being careful!” she called out.
Her view of the fountain was blocked by a towering rhododendron, alive with bright orange and yellow flowers. It had taken over its immediate vicinity during the time that it had been neglected. Isadora had asked the gardener to leave it almost untouched but to build the rest of the restored gardens around it. She loved its exuberance and color. Now, she quickened her step as much as she was able.
“It is alright, mama!” came her son’s voice, “Uncle Elliot is here and I am holding Isobel’s hand!”
When Isadora rounded the bush, she saw her son, barefoot, splashing about in the bowl of the fountain with his cousin. George was an exuberant six, and Isobel, an adorable three. She doted on her older cousin, following him everywhere when they were together. In turn, he seemed to relish the responsibility of being an older brother to the little girl. Neither had siblings of their own. Yet.
She saw Elliot, sitting on a wrought iron bench, sketching. Charlotte appeared at the head of a series of steps that led up to the house. Seth was beside her in a flash and she held his arm as she took careful steps. She stepped just as carefully as Isadora did, just a couple of weeks behind Isadora in her pregnancy. Both women bore clear and obvious signs of their second children.
Charlotte waved to Isadora and Elliot stopped sketching to circle the fountain and take Isadora’s arm.
“You and Charlotte both do too much, in my opinion,” he said with concern, “she is forever taking a turn around the gardens and has my mother in fits.”
“Seth shares your concern, but I can assure you that a gentle walk in the fresh air does nothing but good,” Isadora smiled.
Elliot frowned. “I am not sure of that. I have read…”
“And I have had a baby. Have you, Elliot?” Isadora asked, smiling sweetly.
He flushed and shook his head. “I suppose that is a dreadfully paternalistic attitude for Seth and I to take. Assuming we know better than the mothers of our children.”
“Dreadfully,” Charlotte chimed in as she and Seth reached the bottom of the steps.
The children were laughing and shrieking, becoming utterly drenched by the fountain. But it was a hot day and both were comfortable being out of doors. George had been out riding with his father before he could walk. And he had been keen to teach his young cousin everything he had learned of nature from before she could even talk. They were born into wealth and rank but were far happier shoeless and roaming the woods.
Seth carried a newspaper under his arm. As Elliot took his wife’s arm, he held it out to Isadora.
“The Earl of Stockbridge has been stripped of his title. But not before he liquidated his property and fled to the Americas. It seems unjust that he has escaped justice.”
“Stripped of title?” Charlotte remarked, “for poisoning Bellmore? That seems just to me.”
“No, he escaped justice for that. Stockbridge has the right contacts in Westminster to insulate him from liability. If Sir Obadiah were not as wealthy, I am sure that Stockbridge would have been able to place the blame squarely on the Keats family. But wealth such as your family has, Elliot, pulls more strings than titles in our modern England.”
“So, why have his titles been stripped?” Charlotte asked, frowning.
Isadora was skimming through the newspaper story. “Because of the Jerusalem Bible?” she asked.
Seth nodded. “That was why he paid your father to try and steal it for him. Stockbridge had always claimed that there was documentary evidence relating to his parentage. It turns out that he was right, but it wasn’t the evidence he thought. We found a secret journal, hidden within the pages of the Jerusalem Bible, which has been passed down through generations of my family. My father hid it there, knowing that the Bible would be kept under lock and key and would not be examined. When the magistrates ordered his papers searched to satisfy Stockbridge’s claim that he was heir to Bellmore, they did not look at the Bible. It was too precious and fragile.”
“So, what did the journal contain?” Charlotte asked.
“A confession from Marie de Courcy, Stockbridge’s mother, that she had an affair, and he was the result. She confessed to my father when illness took her. She wanted rid of the guilt she had carried. But Nigel de Courcy always believed that his wife had been unfaithful and that my father was the man she had betrayed her vows with. Making the boy he thought was his son, the heir to Bellmore. Stockbridge is, it seems, older than I. But, neither heir to Bellmore, nor Stockbridge. He was illegitimate.”
“Oh my,” Isadora gasped, with a hand to her chest, “so in pursuing what he thought of as his inheritance, he has cost himself the title he already held.”
Seth nodded. “Had he been content with his lot, then he would still be Earl of Stockbridge now.”
“It says here that the British government has made approaches to Washington, regarding sending him back to England,” Isadora noted as she skimmed over the lines of the paper.
Seth scoffed. “They will not. There is bad blood after we sacked Washington in 1812. No, Stockbridge—sorry, I will not call him by that title since he was not entitled to it, de Courcy will begin again in America. An ordinary citizen. Rebuilding with stolen wealth.”
“Perhaps he will turn over a new leaf?” Isadora suggested.
Seth’s eyes narrowed and she knew he was thinking of the unproven crime of murder that he believed Stockbridge was responsible for. The crime of murdering Seth’s father. For a moment, she worried that his need for vengeance would drive him across the Atlantic in search of his old enemy.
Then, Seth’s eyes met hers. The scowl lifted and he looked beyond her to their son. A smile lit up Seth’s face. Isadora took his hand.
“It is not our concern any longer,” Seth exhaled finally, “he is gone from our lives forever. And good riddance.”
“Good riddance!” shouted Isobel, imitating her towering uncle Seth.
They laughed and Isadora clapped her hands in delight to be so rewarded. Isadora let her husband guide her to the bench, where Elliot had already guided Charlotte. Despite her assurances to Elliot, she felt a touch of relief to be off her feet.
Seth walked over to the fountain and took off his boots before leaping into the water beside George and Isobel. He splashed the children and they splashed back, all three soon looking as if they had been for a swim in the river. The Beast of Bellmore was long forgotten. Seth’s son and niece had never looked twice at his scars. Nor had any of the children in the village of Bellmore. They came running when their Duke entered the village. He gave riding lessons and let them play with the hounds. He had built a school for all, and employed a schoolmaster with the most modern of education philosophies.
The people of Bellmore loved their Duke. Isadora loved her Duke.