Extended Epilogue
1 Year Later
Lionel looked out on a field of felled trees. Beyond what had been a wild copse, lay the gutted remains of Penrose. Or at least the foundations of it. Work had begun that spring, and now, a year after the day in which Cecilia had been introduced to the court and Thorpe had fallen into disgrace, the way was clear for the rebuilding to begin.
He heard the sound of his wife approaching, riding on Summer, with Charles, their son, cradled before her in a sling of her own devising. She rode side-saddle, one hand holding the reins, the other cradling her six-month-old. He looked out at the world with wide, blue eyes beneath his cap of reddish curls. Lionel smiled at the sight of his wife and son, feeling the warmth suffuse him that made the summer sun feel like an arctic blast.
He took out the rolled canvas that he carried in an inside pocket of his coat and spread it on the ground before him, weighing it down with rocks. It was a painting, bearing his signature and showing Penrose, as he had imagined it to be in centuries past. As Summer approached at a casual trot, Lionel’s eyes went from the painting to the site before him.
“It can be done,” he murmured as he stood and went to the horse.
He reached up to take Cecilia by the waist and gently lifted her to the ground. Charles cooed and giggled at the sight of his father. Lionel beamed at the boy, a grin that split his face from ear to ear. As he always did when in close proximity to his father, Charles reached for the scar which made a curious shape on his father’s forehead. The hair where the round had grazed the skull was white, a stripe running through the rest of his black hair. Cecilia’s hands followed those of their sun, fingers dancing through that scar of white. He kissed her and then lowered his head to tenderly kiss his son.
“Is it really worth it?” Cecilia asked. “We have Thornhill after all. This seems an awful lot of expense and effort to go to for another house.”
“But this is Penrose. Your home. And Arthur’s,” Lionel insisted gently, “and it can be Charles’ home too one day.”
Cecilia ran a gentle hand over the baby’s head and he looked up at her with wide, adoring eyes. She smiled at him, kissing him on the nose.
“I have learned to accept what I have and be grateful. Pursuing this quest to rebuild Penrose feels a little bit too close to the obsession for revenge. It nearly undid both of us,” Cecilia said.
Lionel nodded somberly. “Surely there are some obsessions that are positive. I can see now how my desire for revenge was consuming me. Eating me like a canker. The moment when I was able to ask for clemency on Thorpe’s behalf came when I saw how twisted he was with his own obsessions. Namely to obtain my title and lands. He was prepared to fight a woman to maintain his position. I cannot conceive how a man can become so warped from everything that is good. It frightened me. I saw myself in him. What I almost became, risking my life and my future on a mad quest for vengeance.”
Cecilia twined her fingers through his, standing beside him and looking over the plot of land that had been her home once.
“I am content with what I have. Let the past be. My aunt and uncle, too, may have stolen my rightful inheritance and forged Arthur’s will once, but greed and temptation only got them so far,” she reaffirmed. “Now, they are left with just as little as they had before I came into their life. Meanwhile, Arthur has left me with far more than wealth and properties. For that, I am grateful.”
“But they still deserve to be brought to justice.”
“Perhaps. But if it requires me to spend even a moment away from my husband and my son, just to watch my aunt and uncle suffer more than they already are, then it is no longer worth my effort.”
Lionel sighed. “You are right. As always. I suppose then there is only the Regent to contend with,” he put in, looking down at the painting again.
“The Regent?” Cecilia asked.
“Yes, taking this land back from the Sinclairs after Knightley’s property was all declared forfeit was a gift from the Regent to us. A sign of his gratitude for rooting a traitor out of his court. He has been writing to me with his ideas for the design and is most keen to know our progress.”
“Oh,” Cecilia said, frowning.
“Quite,” Lionel agreed.
The Regent was a man of enthusiasm, and once taken with an idea, he could not easily be diverted from it.
“Oh, dear,” Cecilia muttered, “are we to have an eastern pleasure palace standing in place of Penrose then?”
Lionel snorted. “I certainly hope not. The Regent has offered the services of John Nash to rebuild, the man who built the Royal Pavilion at Brighton for him. I have politely declined. But I think we must do something here or the Regent will give us a second Brighton Pavilion.”
“Oh, lord no. Anything but that monstrosity. What are we to do?” Cecilia asked, brows furrowing.
“I have the very idea and have already set the wheels in motion. I have written to a number of Quaker businessmen who are always interested in works of public good. Several have expressed an interest in the building of a public school here at Penrose.”
“A public school?”
“We will employ the finest and most modern educators and will teach any who wish to come. For free,” Lionel said, beaming, “the idea is already being smiled on by Sir Robert Peel and several members of Parliament and the Lords. They are practically lining up to be associated with the idea. Even the Regent could not take over such a plan. Not when there is such public interest in it.”
“A public school.” Cecilia said again, but this time in a tone of speculative interest, “a place where the children of farmers and Dukes can be educated together?”
“Precisely. We will enroll Charles one day. Imagine a whole chain of them across England, Scotland, and Wales. Imagine an entire generation learning to read and write, given prospects beyond mill or mine.”
Cecilia’s eyes were alight at the prospect. Lionel grinned.
“The idea came to me after our last visit to court. There is such opulence and wealth there and such a lack of it beyond the palace doors. And it is hard to make the poor wealthy without simply giving them handouts which must, one day, come to an end. No one has the resources to feed an entire nation.”
“But if the nation can learn to feed itself…” Cecilia began.
“Or at least learn to read and write, then who knows? A beggar who can write can be a clerk. A laborer who can read can be a clergyman. But it all starts with education. Is this an obsession worth having?”
Cecilia laughed and hugged Lionel impulsively. Charles squawked and they both laughed as they rearranged themselves so that their son could participate in the hug rather than be squeezed by it. Lionel had known that his wife would welcome his plan—had been desperate to spill it all for weeks.
But he was waiting for the perfect moment to reveal it.
This had seemed like it, the point at which Cecilia was questioning why they needed another house. Which, of course, they didn’t.
The Sinclairs had been posturing through solicitors about their rights to the estate. The Regent had given their petition short shrift but they had persisted. But once the land was given to a corporation incorporated with the task of building a school… then the Sinclairs would have nothing left. There would be no profit in claiming the land on which a school had been built and they would be despised in the ton and the county set for opposing such a plan.
“You wily old goat! You’ve beaten them all,” Arthur whispered in his mind.
Lionel smiled. His head was full of the sweet scent of his wife. He felt her slender body pressed against his own. Felt the warmth of their son in her arms. The ghost of Arthur had been laid to rest. He was avenged and it had been achieved through an act not of hate, but of mercy. There was true justice in that. None in the ton mentioned how Lionel and Cecilia’s marriage had begun. Lionel suspected the Sinclairs had been responsible for some nasty rumors, but the patronage of the Regent was an impenetrable armor. Every slanderous piece of gossip merely cut at the Sinclairs, not the Grishams.
Lionel’s leg still ached from time to time, still made him limp. But his wife’s skill with massage had replaced his dependence on poppy juice. An engineer from London had further enhanced the brace that helped strengthen his left leg. He barely noticed he was wearing it now.
He looked out over the blank page of the next chapter. From the foundations of Penrose, destroyed by fire to ensure no copy of Arthur’s true will survived, a phoenix would rise that would change their society for the better.
Lionel had a new quest. A new obsession. More than one, in fact. He smiled, his hand resting around the waist of one of his obsessions while he stroked the silky, auburn hair of the other. Smiles were commonplace for him these days.
Whispers had even reached him that some in the village called him the Sunny Duke. That made him chuckle.