Extended Epilogue
One year later
Jane wore a scarf tied around her hair, in the style that her father told her that women in East Africa favored. The purpose was the same too. It was to protect the hair during work. Jane was tackling a substantial piece of work, the restoration of her family home. Frederick supplied an army of artisans and laborers but could not aid her even if he was disposed to get his hands dirty in that way. The healing of his broken leg was a slow process, he may need the cane for a long time to come. Jane did not care. Frederick was her perfect Duke, the most impossibly handsome man she had ever met. The most gallant. The most noble and determined.
“Those pictures are to come upstairs, please. Follow me and I will show you the way,” Jane called down to a group of laborers carrying in a collection of framed canvases.
“My dear, you are so lucky. I have rarely seen finer pieces than this,” Aunt Louisa remarked through the open door to the room that was taking shape as the Brookhouse Gallery.
Jane moved slowly along the corridor to the doorway, waving to the workman that this was their destination. She did everything slowly these days and her contribution to the renovation had, over the last few months, become relegated to a supervisory role. The large swelling in front of her put paid to anything more physical. It had also given her an insatiable craving for salted fried potatoes. She smiled as Aunt Louisa goggled at the paintings being brought in, part of Frederick’s obsession with painting his wife.
The Dowager Countess immediately began instructing the men in the arrangement of the pictures. Jane smiled sadly, thinking of her only son, living alone at Welterham once he had been forced to admit his fraud and sign Brookhouse over to its rightful heir, Jane Grant. Aunt Louisa had been the chief architect of that surrender, but a fear of Valhurst and Ashwick had also motivated Ernest.
“Have you heard from Ernest since you have been living with us?” Jane asked.
“At Valhurst? No, my dear. I have not. I know that boy. He is sulking in his grand house, licking his perceived wounds, and arranging matters in his head so that he is the victim after all. The fact that he kidnapped three people has been erased from his perception, I think.”
“He still despises Frederick. Even though, as Justice of the Peace, he was instrumental in ensuring that Ernest faced no prison time.”
“Oh, but he has, my dear,” Louisa said. “He is a pariah now. Imprisoned in his own home. The Ton will not accept him as once they did. He will not be welcome in town. And you are forever beyond his control. That is a terrible punishment for him.”
“It seems somehow too much and not enough, all at the same time,” Jane said.
“Hullo, up there!” came a jolly voice.
It was carefree and laughing and could belong to only one man. Jane beamed as she moved to the balcony which looked down on the main hall. The door was open to a gorgeous summer’s day and a young man was entering the house, resplendent in his military red and white uniform. An equally radiant young woman was on his arm.
“Edmund!” Jane exclaimed. “And Lucy! I did not know you were coming! Hold on, I can’t move quickly these days. This one is becoming quite the burden.”
“Stay right where you are, Your Grace,” Edmund said, holding up a hand. “We will come to you.”
Edmund and Lucy Brandon, whose wedding Jane and Frederick had attended a month gone, held hands as they skipped up the stairs. Both beamed at the simple fact of running in public, treating it as a jolly jape. They seemed to take the same attitude toward most things in life. Edmund made to pick Jane up in his customary bear hug, but was stopped by the size of her bulge. He goggled.
“Good grief. Pay close attention, Lucy. This will be you someday.”
Lucy blushed prettily and put a hand to her stomach. She glanced up at Jane from beneath her eyelashes and gave a secretive smile and a wink.
Oh my goodness! But she clearly has not told Edmund yet. So, I will not spill the beans and spoil the surprise. How wonderful? Our children can be playmates!
Edmund bent to kiss her hand, then her cheek. Jane kissed Lucy’s cheeks, giving her shoulders a squeeze of congratulations.
“Where is Frederick?” Edmund asked.
“He is painting the house,” Jane said.
Both Edmund and Lucy looked startled for a moment. Jane laughed.
“No, no. He is out in the park painting a picture of the house. To go in the main hall. A view of the second life of Brookhouse. It will be a modern house, you see, with modern grounds designed using today’s methods and philosophy, not those of the past. Frederick wants to capture the spirit for future generations. And I agree, I must say. We have a duty to immortalize the house as it stands now, so that in generations to come, our descendants will know how it was.”
“Those sound like Frederick’s sentiments,” Edmund said. “All that talk of duty.”
“Mine too. When we first met, I thought I was simply myself. Responsible to no one and free to do as I please. Well, I still am, to a degree. But I am also mistress of two houses and a Duchess too. Duty must play a part in my life.”
“Well said, Jane. Shall we go out and enjoy the sunshine and track down Frederick?” Lucy said. “It seems a day to be out of doors. Do you not think?”
“Yes, let’s,” Jane said. “You’ll have to wait for me though.”
They made their way downstairs and out of the house. In every room, there were joiners and carpenters, stone masons and blacksmiths, glaziers, and painters. The place bustled and hummed. Jane had been carefully recruiting a household staff ready to take over when the interior work was complete. An army of gardeners were at work transforming the gardens, under Jane’s direction. Jane took a parasol from a stand by the door, opening it against the summer sun. They made leisurely progress out from the house and across the lawn.
She saw the lone figure standing midway between the house and the wall marking the boundary of the Brookhouse estate. He wore a broad-brimmed hat and stood in his shirtsleeves, with braces holding up tough, working man’s trousers. Jane could not see but knew that the man would be barefoot. Frederick had discovered a joy of walking on grass barefoot, of feeling connected to nature. And had reveled in the strange looks he got from those who saw him walking about his estates carrying an easel, canvases, and paints. The Barefoot Duke.
It made her heart swell. He and Aunt Louisa talked for hours on the subject of art, though he shied away from discussing his own, which he seemed to think was the least of art. But Louisa had ensured it was being seen in London and that his name was becoming known. As Jane, Edmund, and Lucy approached, Frederick was staring past them toward the house, over the top of his canvas. The intensity of that focus would admit no distraction. Then, suddenly, it broke. Frederick blinked, looked to his visitors, and smiled.
The smile was the simple, happy grin of a contented man.
“My friends! Welcome! How good of you to come see us. What do you think of the new Brookhouse?”
“Spectacular!” Edmund enthused. “It will be a wonderful place when it is finished.”
“Jane and I have been talking about allowing the public access. Setting up a charitable company to manage it when we are not in residence. So that the art we are collecting there can be seen.”
“But also to show the history of the house, the family, and the area. I think we might be able to persuade the owners of other grand houses to do the same. Imagine, if ordinary people were able to see how the gentry live. See the history that is such an important part of England, embodied in these houses. It will bring people closer together,” Jane said.
“How wonderful!” Lucy enthused. “I personally would be ecstatic if the royals did the same. Can you imagine taking a tour of the King’s palace?”
“May we see the work in progress, old chap?” Edmund said, trying to peek around the side of the picture.
Jane waited for the reaction and saw the sudden flow of tension across Frederick’s face. This had always been utterly taboo. Then it vanished and Frederick smiled, stepping away from the half-finished painting. They crowded around the house to look.
“It will be a triptych,” Frederick said. “I have painted the house as it was, or rather as I imagine it was, in the days of Jane’s father. Based on descriptions of local people and some pictorial references. This will be the house as it is now, or will be when it is finished. And the third piece will have to be undertaken by the next generation. By our children. Or perhaps yours. I hope they will record the house as it is for them.”
“Who are those people standing in front of the house? There are four of them,” Lucy said. “Actually…oh golly…how super!”
Jane peered closely as Frederick blushed. Four figures were walking across the park towards the house. One was resplendent in a shining red officer’s uniform. The other was tall and broad. Each had a woman on his arm. Jane recognized herself just as Lucy had seen the resemblance to herself.
“It is us. The saviors of Brookhouse. Edmund, without your help, we could not have won through that night. And Lucy is your true love just as Jane is mine. It seemed fitting that we should all be included in the picture. For posterity.”
Jane took her husband’s hand. He moved to stand behind her, putting an arm about her waist and resting his hand atop the unborn child, caressing gently. Jane looked from the picture to the house that was taking shape in the distance. She did not have many memories of it as it used to be. But that did not matter. She and Frederick would make more memories. A lifetime’s worth.