Extended Epilogue
Five years later
Lydia spread the blanket across the grass beside the pond, smoothing the corners while keeping one eye on the small figure darting between the trees. At just four years old, Helena possessed all of her mother’s determination, and, more inconveniently, her father’s stubborn streak.
“Helena, darling,” she called, shading her eyes as sunlight caught her daughter’s tumbling blonde curls, “don’t venture too far now.”
“I wonder who she inherited that particular habit from,” Eliza pointed out, lowering herself carefully onto the blanket, one hand pressed to the gentle swell of her stomach. After five years of marriage, she had finally quickened with child, and the glow of impending motherhood suited her sharp features remarkably well.
“She has also inherited Alexander’s refusal to listen to anyone,” Lydia tucked a basket beside her with a sigh.
Soft laughter floated from the nearby trees, where Marie sat beneath the shade of a wide-branched elm, supervising her two children with the calm of a seasoned mother. Marcus, aged five, and Catherine, still wobbly at two, played contentedly in the grass beside her.
“Speaking of husbands,” Marie said as she came to join them on the blanket, “where have our lords and masters disappeared to this fine afternoon?”
“Samuel mentioned something about inspecting Alexander’s new hunters,” Eliza replied, rolling her eyes. “As though we couldn’t possibly manage a simple picnic without their protection.”
“You’d think we were venturing into the Scottish Highlands rather than walking half a mile from the manor,” Lydia laughed. She set about unpacking the cold chicken and fresh bread from the basket.
The pond sparkled peacefully in the June sunshine, its surface dappled with dragonflies and the occasional ripple from a passing breeze. Years ago, it had been a place of pain and memory. Now, thanks to Alexander’s insistence, it had been dredged, cleaned, and transformed into a serene woodland retreat. Water lilies floated at the edges, and a small wooden bench sat beneath the ancient oak that had witnessed so much of their history.
“Mama, look!” Lydia turned just in time to catch her daughter bounding toward her with a fist full of wildflowers. “For you!”
“How lovely, darling!” Lydia accepted the bouquet with appropriate solemnity, tucking one bloom behind her daughter’s ear. “Shall we put them in water when we return home?”
The little girl nodded, already distracted. Spotting her playmates, she dashed off again, shrieking with delight. “Marcus! Kitty! Come see what I found!”
“She is quite the force,” Marie said softly as they all watched the children gather like birds around spilled grain. “I have a feeling she will have all of us wrapped around her pinky finger by the time she debuts.”
“Heaven help us all then,” Lydia murmured, though pride colored her tone. “Alexander already indulges her shamefully. Last week, I found them in his study, and she had convinced him to let her ‘help’ with his correspondence. There were ink fingerprints on several documents.”
Eliza laughed, then winced, one hand splaying across her belly. “Samuel would perish from apoplexy,” she breathed, “though I suppose I’ll discover soon enough how impossible it is to deny one’s own child.”
“Are you well?” Lydia asked, immediately concerned.
“Perfectly. This little one simply enjoys reminding me of its presence. I still can’t quite believe it’s real…”
“Samuel must be beside himself,” Marie giggled.
“Oh, he’s been insufferable,” Eliza frowned. “He’s already planned the child’s entire education, regardless of whether we have a son or daughter. I found him in the nursery last week, measuring the windows to ensure they were secure.”
“Alexander was just as ridiculous!” Lydia confessed with a snort. “He had the entire room redecorated three times before Helena arrived. Poor Mrs. Jones threatened to hand in her notice and flee to the coast.”
They fell into an easy silence.
Lydia leaned back on her elbows, watching the children dart through the grass, all shrieks and sticky fingers. The sun was warm, her skirts were wrinkled, and she couldn’t bring herself to care. This—this noisy, messy, ordinary day—felt like happiness. She glanced at her friends and thought, not for the first time, how strange it was to grow up beside someone and still like them on the other end. They weren’t just dear to her. They were hers. Family, in every way that mattered.
“Can you believe it?” Marie exhaled contentedly after a moment. “Italy. Together, at last.” She drew up her knees, face tilted toward the sun. “Marcus has been planning this trip for years now, ever since our last one. He’s already sent word ahead to prepare the villa.”
Lydia smirked. “Naturally. If Marcus ever did anything without a letter of introduction, I fear the world might end.”
“A month in Italy…” Eliza mused aloud with a sigh.
“Mama!” Helena came dashing back, Marcus and Catherine trailing behind. “There’s a frog!”
“A green one!” Marcus exclaimed.
“How exciting,” Lydia smiled, catching her daughter as she tumbled into her lap, all windswept hair and grass-stained dress. “Shall we go see?”
But before they could move, male voices carried through the trees. Alexander emerged first.
“And so the masculine invasion begins,” Eliza smirked.
Lydia’s heart did what it always did when she saw Alexander—it expanded, grew warm, reminded her of every reason she loved him. Five years had added distinguished silver to his temples, and the lines around his eyes were deeper, but they were laugh lines now, not the harsh marks of grief and pain that had once defined his visage.
Samuel followed, gesticulating wildly as he recounted some story that had Alexander shaking his head in amusement. They, too, had aged well, their friendship evolving from the wild companionship of youth to something deeper and more fatherly.
“Ladies!” Alexander called, his face lighting when he spotted them. “I hope we aren’t too late.”
“Papa!” Helena immediately abandoned the frog in favor of launching herself at her father, who caught her and swung her up onto his shoulders in one smooth motion.
“Have you been good for your mother?” he asked with a quirked brow.
“She found a frog,” Lydia informed him gravely. “Apparently, it’s green.”
“The very best kind,” Alexander agreed too seriously, before breaking into a fit of laughter and reaching down to help her to her feet. His hand lingered on hers, thumb brushing across her knuckles.
“We should return soon,” Samuel said, helping Eliza stand with exaggerated care that made her roll her eyes. “The luggage won’t pack itself, and we leave at first light.”
“Oh, come off it, Sam. You only just arrived! Besides, the luggage has been packed for three days,” Eliza reminded him dryly. “You supervised it yourself. Twice.”
“Now, dear, one can never be too careful when traveling abroad,” Samuel wagged his finger. “Alexander, old boy, tell her about the bandits.”
“There are no bandits,” Alexander said firmly. “Godwin read one dramatic account in The Times and has convinced himself we are venturing into lawless territory.”
“Mama, what’s a bandit?” Marcus asked, eyes wide.
“Nothing you need concern yourself with, honey,” Marie said, shooting Samuel a reproving look. “Uncle Samuel is telling taradiddles again.”
After basking in the sun for another hour, they began their slow trek back to the manor, the children racing ahead while the adults followed at a more sedate pace. Alexander kept Helena on his shoulders, his hands steady on her small legs as she chattered about frogs and flowers and everything else she could set her little eyes on.
***
The manor buzzed with controlled chaos. Servants hurried between rooms, checking lists and securing trunks. Philips directed the operation with his usual stoic efficiency, though Lydia caught him smiling when Helena solemnly informed him that her favorite doll absolutely must travel in her special case, not with the other luggage.
“Of course, Your little Highness,” he said with perfect seriousness. “I shall see to it personally.”
An hour later, the children had been fed and were now corralled in the nursery with their nursemaids, ostensibly napping, though Lydia could hear excited whispers drifting down the hallway. The adults had gathered in the drawing room for a final evening together before the journey tomorrow.
“I still think we’re mad, attempting this with three children,” Samuel remarked. Not even a day yet into fatherhood, but ever since learning they were with child, his vigilance had increased tenfold, just as Alexander’s had when Helena was first born. “Do you remember our last trip abroad? That disaster in Paris?”
“That was entirely your fault,” Alexander retorted. “Who challenges a comte to a duel over a disagreement about wine?”
“He insulted English viticulture!”
“We don’t have viticulture, old chap. We have rain.”
Eliza laughed, leaning back against her husband’s shoulder. “And you wonder why I insisted on bringing my mother’s companion as an additional chaperone. Someone needs to maintain propriety.”
“Since when have you cared about propriety?” Samuel asked.
“Since I became responsible for preventing international incidents,” she replied tartly, though her hand found his and squeezed.
Marie stifled a yawn. “I should retire soon. Kitty was up half the night with excitement, which means I, too, was as well.”
“We all should,” Lydia agreed, though she was reluctant to end the evening. These moments of easy companionship were precious, she knew, made more so by knowing how hard-won they had been.
One by one, their friends departed to the guest chambers, until only Lydia and Alexander remained. He had moved to stand by the window now, gazing out at the darkening grounds, and she went to join him, slipping her hand into his.
“Are you happy?” he asked softly, the same question he’d been asking her for five years, ever since that fateful night when he had promised to give her everything and more.
“Incandescently so,” she whispered, the same answer she always gave.
He turned to face her fully, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek. “Italy tomorrow. Are you certain we should attempt this? Helena is young for such a journey.”
“She is strong,” Lydia assured him. “And curious about the world. She will love it. Besides, when will we have another chance like this? All of us together, with no obligations waiting?”
“Harrogate mentioned something about next summer,” he murmured with a wry smile.
“Heaven preserve us,” she laughed. “Though I suppose by then, we will all have experience managing an infant while traveling.”
Alexander’s hand slid down to rest over her stomach, a question in his eyes. They had been trying for another child for a couple of months now, and while the disappointment was gentle—they had Helena, after all—it was still present.
“Not yet,” she said softly. “But the midwife says there is no reason to worry. These things happen in their own time.”
He pulled her closer, pressing his forehead to hers. “We have time,” he agreed. “All the time in the world.”
From upstairs came a crash, followed by Helena’s voice declaring something about dragons and rescue missions. They both laughed, the moment of melancholy breaking.
“I should see what our daughter has destroyed now.”
“You mean what she shall convince you to help her destroy,” Lydia corrected with an arched brow. “I know you, Alexander Rayment. You are utterly incapable of denying her anything.”
“I learned from the best,” he murmured, stealing a quick kiss. “After all, I’ve never been able to deny you anything either, dear.”
She watched him go with a subdued smile, listening to his footsteps on the stairs and then Helena’s delighted squeal of “Papa!” when he appeared. Through the window, she could see the last traces of sunset painting the sky in shades of rose and gold.
Rosie appeared in the doorway a moment later. “Your Grace? Shall I help you prepare for bed?”
“In a moment,” she said quietly, her gaze drifting back to the window, toward the pond hidden far beyond the trees. “I think I would just like a moment to… reminisce.”
The maid withdrew quietly. Lydia stood there a while longer, thinking of the frightened girl who had once sought escape in those dark waters, and the boy who had pulled her free. Neither of them could have imagined this future then—this life full of love and laughter, friendship and family.
Alexander appeared in the reflection behind her some minutes later, little Helena drowsing in his arms, her small face tucked against his neck. He had removed his coat and cravat, and his shirt was mysteriously decorated with what appeared to be chalk drawings.
“Dragons vanquished?” she whispered, turning to stroke Helena’s sleep-warmed cheek.
“Most thoroughly. Though I’m afraid the nursery may need some attention from the staff.” He shifted Helena’s weight slightly. “I’ll put her to bed.”
“I’ll come with you.”
They walked together through the familiar hallways. The nursery was indeed in slight disarray, with cushions forming a fortress and Helena’s collection of toy soldiers engaged in an elaborate battle across the carpet.
Alexander settled their daughter into her bed with practiced ease, drawing the covers up to her chin. Helena stirred slightly, mumbling something about tomorrow and boats and gelato—a word Samuel had taught her in preparation for Italy.
“She is perfect,” Alexander murmured, brushing a curl from her forehead.
“She is stubborn, willful, and far too clever for her own good,” Lydia corrected.
“As I said. Perfect. Just like her mother.”
They stood there a moment longer, watching their daughter sleep, before retreating to their own chambers. The rooms that had once been separate were now fully joined, the connecting door permanently open.
Alexander was already in bed when she joined him a short while later, reading through some correspondence by candlelight. He set it aside immediately when she appeared, opening his arms so she could curl against his side, her head on his shoulder.
“No regrets?” he asked, fingers combing through her unbound hair.
“Never,” she assured him. “Well, perhaps one.”
He tensed slightly. “Oh?”
“I wish we’d started this tradition sooner. The traveling together, all of us. Think of all the adventures we’ve missed…”
He relaxed, chuckling. “I’ll be sure to make up for lost time then.”
They lay in comfortable silence for a while, the candle casting dancing shadows on the walls. Through the open window came the familiar night sounds of Halston Manor—an owl calling, the distant bark of a fox, the whisper of wind through ancient trees.
“Thank you,” Alexander said suddenly.
“For what?”
“For saving me. For giving me this life. For Helena, for turning this house into a home, for…” He paused, searching for words. “For being you, I suppose.”
Lydia pushed up on one elbow to look down at him, her heart full to bursting. Even after all these years, he still sometimes looked at her with wonder, as though he couldn’t quite believe his good fortune. She never tired of proving to him that it was real.
“We saved each other,” she reminded him gently, bending to kiss him softly.
When she pulled back, his eyes had darkened with familiar heat, and his hand curved around the nape of her neck to draw her down again. The kiss deepened, five years of marriage having taught them exactly how to drive each other to distraction.
“We have an early start tomorrow,” she reminded him breathlessly when they parted.
“Then we’d better make the most of tonight,” he suggested, rolling them so she was beneath him, laughing up at his wickedly intent expression.
Later, much later, as they lay tangled together in the aftermath of passion, Lydia thought about the journey ahead. Italy waited with its sun-drenched villas and ancient art, with gelato for Helena and wine for the adults, with new memories to make and adventures to share.
But none of it would compare to this—to falling asleep in Alexander’s arms, knowing that tomorrow and all the tomorrows after would be theirs to share. The girl who had once stood in a frozen pond, desperate for escape, could never have imagined this life.
Sometimes, Lydia thought as sleep began to claim her, the very best adventures were the ones that brought you home.