Extended Epilogue
4 years later…
William gamboled between the standing stones as fast as his pudgy legs would carry him. He squealed in delight as he ran, looking back over his shoulder from beneath his blonde locks at the ogre that pursued him. Indeed, Uncle Edmund lumbered just like an ogre from a children’s tale. His face was twisted into a grotesque grimace, and his hands twisted into claws.
So intent was he on his performance that he overlooked one of the stones that had long ago fallen from the circle and become half-buried in the soft earth. The ogrish expression faltered into a very human look of startled surprise before he tripped and fell flat on his face in the grass.
William rushed to counterattack, laughing madly, to fall atop his uncle with a solid thump.
“I yield! I yield!” Edmund cried, “Alexandra, get this shire horse from atop me!”
“That shire horse happens to be my son,” Evie scolded lightly as she scooped her son from atop one of his favorite honorary uncles.
William twisted in his mother’s arms, planting his hands on either side of her cheeks to hold her for a kiss. She smiled as her three-year-old son pecked her, murmuring in his made-up language.
“Stop embarrassing me, Edmund,” Alex said, blushing furiously. “You men all return to boyhood when children are involved.”
Edmund grinned up at her from the grass. “Only when I have the company to match.”
“Colin is much the same, for all his grave manner when business is afoot,” Cathy puffed, carrying the weight of her unborn child at her hip as she labored up the slope. “He turns positively useless the moment one of his nephews is underfoot. I rather dread how little work he’ll manage once this one arrives.”
“Will Colin and Julian be joining us in the evening, Evie?” Alex asked, offering a hand to her sprawling husband.
“They will,” Evie smiled. “Colin insisted on attending Julian’s maiden speech in the Lords, but both swore to abandon any further talk of politics until after the anniversary ball.”
At that, Alex gave a shriek of laughter as Edmund tugged her into the long grass beside him, toppling her with very little effort and far too much delight. Evie and Cathy rolled their eyes at the display of the newlyweds and pressed on, stepping into the circle of ancient stones just ahead.
Evie paused, as she always did, upon cresting the summit, to take in the ever-changing view. William wriggled free of her grasp and went racing off among the standing stones.
In the middle distance, Wolverton Grange stood steady and sure, its windows gleaming in the sun. Beyond it, the patchwork of fields stretched toward the horizon, where tidy rows of workers’ cottages now edged the once-wild landscape—not as romantic as the hedgerows, perhaps, but full of life and promise.
There was a school now, open to all children regardless of station. An infirmary, too. A town grown not from conquest or chance, but from care.
The view was different from the one she had first seen from this summit on her wedding day. Julian’s vision had changed it. He had put his lands to work to improve the lives of his tenants. Where his father had bled the land for coin and wielded politics as a personal sport, Julian—and Colin—had chosen a different path entirely.
“A pity Georgia won’t join our little witches’ circle,” Alex mused with a grin. “We could use another keen pair of eyes.”
“Shh,” Evie whispered, though she smiled. “Do not speak such things so loudly, even up here. You never know what superstitious person might be listening. Besides, I have not heard from Georgia since she became Lady Ripley.”
“First, you and Julian. Then Cathy and Colin, then myself and Edmund. Now Georgia and… whatever was his name?”
“I was only ever told Ripley, even in the letter of introduction,” Evie replied, settling herself upon a fallen stone. “Well, rather, he did say once during the Summer Festival, right before the dance, but I cannot for the life of me remember.” She drew out a sketchpad from the satchel at her side and opened it with practiced ease.
The Summer Festival, she mused for a moment. That entire summer feels like a strangely enchanting memory. Like that from a dream.
“To think how we once whispered about marriage at those endless balls,” Alexandra said wistfully. “All those powdered gentlemen we danced with…”
“And the men we were meant to marry were under our noses the entire time,” Cathy added, giggling. “Colin and his band of rogues. I never imagined I’d wed a rake.” She paused, then added with quiet pride, “A reformed one, at least.”
“Nor I—and certainly not Evie,” Alex teased, casting a sly glance her way. “Or am I mistaken, Evie?”
Evie flushed, her pencil pausing mid-stroke. “I may have… imagined certain scenarios with my husband,” she admitted, coloring prettily.
The other women burst into laughter, and William looked from one to the other in confusion before laughing along.
“I envy you for that skill,” Cathy said, peering over Evie’s shoulder at the sketch taking shape beneath her fingers. “Alas, I have not a whit of artistic talent.”
“It is mostly practice,” Evie replied with a gentle smile. “The world changes so swiftly—I wanted to catch pieces of it before they slip away forever. It calms me. I would be happy to teach you, if you’d like.”
They spent the afternoon wrapped in golden sunlight, speaking of years gone by and memories still forming. Edmund wore himself and Will into exhaustion, and both fell asleep in a patch of shade, limbs tangled like undergrown boys.
When the sun began its westward descent, they walked back down the hill to the trap that awaited them. Edmund drove them back to Wolverton in preparation for the ball to celebrate the anniversary of Evie and Julian’s wedding.
At the door, William, still deep in slumber, was passed to his nursemaid. Evie made her way through the familiar halls until she reached the door of Julian’s study. Familiar voices greeted her from behind the closed door.
She knocked once and entered.
Colin lounged at ease in one chair, an amber liquid in hand, as Julian lay reclined in another.
As soon as Evie crossed the threshold, the room fell silent, and he rose to meet her, as he always did.
It was a simple thing—his smile, the quiet warmth in his eyes—but it never failed to reach her. His hair was a little tidier now, with just a touch of darkness at the temples if one looked closely, and there was a deeper set to his brow, a reflection of the years spent shouldering duty without complaint. But he wore time well, as though it had only carved more character into a face she had once tried to memorize in secret.
And still, when he looked at her, it was as if she were the only thing that mattered.
He crossed the room in a few unhurried strides, lifted her hands to his lips, then brushed a kiss to each cheek. Gentle, familiar. And no less cherished for it.
Every day, he greeted her as though it were the first—and as though it might be the last. Evie smiled up at him, her heart as steady and full as it had been the day she became his wife.
“The time for business has ended, I’m afraid,” Evie chided gently, brushing a speck of lint from Julian’s shoulder as she took her place beside him. “You have been in London all week talking policy. This evening is for family, and children, and old friends. And the wives who tolerate you both, if you must. But no more ministers, please.”
Julian smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “In that case, you’ll be pleased to know the Prime Minister sends his regards—and has offered me yet another Cabinet post.”
Colin gave a low whistle. “The man is relentless. Called you the architect of Wolverton New Town, didn’t he? One of the vanguard of the new order. He’ll be offering you his chair next.”
“Well, he will have to find another poor soul to sacrifice their life on the altar of policy,” Julian replied, voice easy, but firm. “The town demands enough. And I won’t give up my hours with Will—or with you,” he added, glancing at Evie, “not for all the titles in Westminster.”
Evie smiled in pride at the achievements her former rake had accrued in such a short time, and that his love for her and his son was still so strong. He could have been a man of history if he wished. Perhaps he still would be. But never at the cost of becoming someone she no longer recognized like his father before him. He would not trade his soul for legacy.
“The Earl of Ripley is the talk of the town, by the by,” Colin remarked, swirling the contents of his glass with idle menace.
Evie arched a brow. “I did not doubt that Georgia’s ambitions would elevate him.”
“Ah, yes,” Julian smirked, “though not in quite the manner any of us predicted.”
***
Evie stood, smoothing her skirts with practiced grace. “Enough,” she declared, lifting her chin with mock solemnity. “My tolerance for political gossip and marital lamentation has reached its limit. You two are coming with me.”
Julian tilted his head. “Are we being summoned?”
“No,” she replied sweetly. “You are being dragged. There is a difference.”
Colin sighed the sigh of a long-suffering elder brother. “To where, may I ask, are we being forcibly escorted?”
“The dining room,” she said, already at the door. “Where the rest of our family has likely grown tired of waiting and is on the verge of revolting. I will not have mutiny on my conscience.”
Julian rose and offered Colin a hand. “Best not argue, old boy. She is terribly fearsome when she’s hungry.”
“Terribly,” Colin agreed gravely, falling into step beside them.
“I can hear you both,” Evie said without turning, her tone mild. “And if either of you intends to eat dessert tonight, I suggest you behave.”
“I always behave,” Julian murmured, catching up to her and offering his arm. “You simply choose not to notice when I do.”
Evie took it with a smirk. “That is because it is so rare, it startles me into ignoring it.”
They entered the dining room to a lively scene, Alex deep in conversation with Cathy who was gently prying a biscuit from William’s grip before he could fling it across the table. Edmund, sprawled like a lord in the chair beside his wife, looked on with a grin, occasionally making exaggerated faces that sent the boy into peals of laughter.
Aunt Lucinda sat at the far end, serene as ever, sipping wine with the faint air of someone who had once ruled a countess’ household and now ruled the dinner table.
“You have returned!” Alex cried, rising from her seat as if the three of them had been gone a month. “I was beginning to suspect Evie had taken the two of you up on a treacherous lecture about your duties to your families.”
Evie lifted a brow. “Not all of us marry rogues and then turn them tame.”
“Oh, my rogue still has his teeth,” Alex said with a wink in Edmund’s direction. “He simply uses them more discreetly these days.”
“Discreet?” Edmund echoed with mock outrage. “I am the very soul of subtlety.”
“Which is precisely why the gardener found you and your wife kissing behind the potting shed,” Colin said blandly, taking his seat.
Julian held Evie’s chair for her and leaned down as she settled. “Should we try the potting shed sometime?”
“Only if you would like to be chased by William wielding a wooden sword,” she replied, smiling up at him.
He sat beside her, watching as she served herself with unthinking grace. There was always something about her in candlelight—something golden and softened, the years only making her more herself. More steady. More luminous.
“I do hope you are all prepared to give speeches tonight,” Aunt Lucinda said calmly, setting down her glass. “It is an anniversary, after all. Sentiment is required.”
“Do I get to give one too?” William piped up, proudly seated between Cathy and Colin, his legs swinging under the table.
“If it involves fewer projectiles than your last, I should be delighted,” Cathy said, gently guiding his hand away from the gravy boat.
Julian glanced toward his son, then to Evie. “We’ll have to make him a toastmaster’s sash. Something dashing.”
“I’d rather have a sword,” William declared.
“Of course you would,” Evie said fondly. “But you shall need to deliver your toast first.”
“Very well,” he said, sitting up straighter. “To Mama and Papa. They are not very good at hide-and-seek, but they kiss the most. That means they win.”
The table dissolved into laughter.
“Well,” Julian said, clearing his throat and raising his glass, “I suppose that is as high a compliment as one might receive.”
Evie clinked her glass gently against his. “We win, then?”
“Always,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers.
Dinner went on in the way it often did in homes full of love and too many opinions—overlapping chatter, teasing, stories half-finished and twice interrupted. Dishes passed hand to hand, and laughter floated over clinking silver.
When the meal ended, and the footmen cleared away the last of the dishes, Julian leaned back in his chair. “Well. If this is what comes of being dragged to supper, I suppose I might allow it again.”
“Gracious of you,” Evie said, dabbing at her lips with her napkin. “We’ll be sure to schedule another forced march for next week.”
Aunt Lucinda stood, regal even in simple grey silk. “Now, then. Who’s for port? And who’s for the parlor?”
“Parlor,” Evie said quickly. “I have had enough politics for one lifetime.”
Julian offered her his arm once more, and as the family began to file out in small groups—William bouncing ahead like a colt in springtime—he leaned in close to her ear.
“Still envisioning scenarios?” he asked, lips grazing her temple. “Perhaps we could have a private parlay?”
Evie did not answer at first—only smiled, a quiet, contented thing, like a secret kept warm in her chest.
“I think I shall take you up on that offer, Your Grace.”
***
The ball at Wolverton Grange was not the grandest ever held, nor had it meant to be. The house was dressed in restrained elegance, the guests in refined attire—charming, but never ostentatious. Evie moved through the crowd on Julian’s arm, their smiles warm, their greetings genuine. Affection met them at every turn.
The gowns and coats had been chosen carefully—not just out of taste, but out of intention. Among the titled and the well-born were guests of another sort: the teachers, the nurses, the clerks from Wolverton New Town. The ones who had turned the family’s vision into something living, breathing.
They stood a little uncertainly at first, unused to the marble floors and crystal chandeliers, glancing sidelong at peers who, for so long, had existed only on the pages of newspapers or in hushed conversation.
But Evie and Julian found them—offered easy conversation and glasses of champagne, laughter, kind introductions. In doing so, they reminded everyone what hospitality truly looked like.
When the music began, it was Julian who took her hand, and together they stepped onto the dance floor. Others followed, but it was their dance that opened the evening.
Evie spun in his arms, the candlelight catching the sweep of her gown. As always, her thoughts slipped to her mother. It had been a few too many summers since she and Julian had entered the Surrey village dance competition. They hadn’t competed again, but they had returned each year to award medals, to cheer on the next young couple swept up in joy.
Evie liked to think that she had lived up to her mother’s memory. But more than that. She had not followed blindly in her mother’s footsteps any more than she had followed blindly in her dance steps.
Evie had forged her own path. Her own rhythm.
Julian had taught her that. He had spent his life trying to free himself from the shadow of his father. Then, he found himself in his father’s shoes with the chance to be something different.
As they moved together across the floor, Evie tipped her head to him and murmured, “What do you think our son will make of this world?”
Julian smiled, the answer already in his bones. “The best he can. Just as we do.”
Then he spun her, quick as breath, into a graceful dip that ended with a near kiss.
Her laughter rang out as he drew her upright once more, sending her flying from his fingertips only to catch her again. Her skirts flared, her hair whipped about her shoulders, and the music surged through her like sunlight.
She had never felt more alive.