“Is Rupert back yet?” The voice came from the doorway, breaking the silence that had settled over the room and making Beatrice, who was bent over her desk, quill scratching on a piece of paper, look up in surprise.

Beatrice had been so lost in what she was writing that it took her several seconds to realize what had been asked. She shook herself, rubbed her eyes, and then turned toward the door to see her mother-in-law standing in the doorway.

The dowager looked younger than she had in years, Beatrice observed. Although four years had passed since Beatrice and Rupert had married, when she looked at her mother-in-law she saw the face of a much younger woman.

It was happiness, she knew, that had smoothed some of the lines of her face, brought back the color to her cheeks, and made her walk with renewed energy. Happiness, family, and also her two grandchildren, who had brought more joy and liveliness into her life than she had seen in years. Although Beatrice often felt exhausted and even older than her twenty-six years when she was around her children, they’d had the opposite effect on their grandmother. The dowager was always running around after them as if she was a young woman herself.

“Children remind me that I am not so very old after all,” she had told Beatrice on more than one occasion. “I feel as if they give me some of their youthful energy.”

Beatrice was not sure she could say the same for herself, but she very much enjoyed watching the dowager moving with the fluidness of a much-younger woman. After everything she had gone through, all the loss she had experienced, she was very happy to see her content and full of life.

“Sorry,” Beatrice said, setting down her quill, “what did you say?”

“I asked if Rupert had returned yet,” the dowager said. “I have not heard a carriage, but I thought perhaps I missed it when I was playing with Alexander.”

“No, he has not returned yet,” Beatrice said. “At least, I have not seen him, and I imagine he will come and find me straight away once he is back.”

“Oh yes,” the dowager said, her eyes lighting up. “You must be very excited for him to arrive.”

Beatrice could not keep the grin from her face. “I am so eager that it is hard for me to sit still,” she said. “I have had to distract myself with writing. I dare say, it worked better than I thought. I was completely lost in the flow that I do not even know what time it is.”

“It is almost five o’clock,” the dowager said, and Beatrice gasped.

“My goodness, so late? Theodore, Vivienne, and Nathaniel will be here soon! I must get ready.”

Nathaniel had just returned from several years of traveling the continent, and all of them were gathering for a big dinner tonight to celebrate his return and hear about his travels. She was excited to see them, but had become so absorbed in her work she had nearly forgotten.

The dowager smiled knowingly. “Do not worry, my dear, I can help to get the children ready.”

Beatrice smiled gratefully, then stood and stretched. Before turning from the desk, she looked back down at the poem she had been working on for some time now. It was about the events of her life leading up to meeting Rupert, and written in the style of an epic poem. She’d had the idea to make it her Odyssey, a story of her life and the adventures that had kept her from finding her true “home” for so long.

It was difficult to write, however. In it, she had to revisit all the old feelings of her parents’ deaths, including the years after they were gone when she barely left her home in the countryside. But while it was difficult, she also found it very healing. She was finally honoring her parents’ memories, not just mourning them.

And she knew she had to face her sadness and grief, if she was going to become the poet she wanted to be.

The poet you are already becoming, as Rupert reminded her almost daily. My brilliant wife.

She smiled at the memory, then thought again of Rupert’s imminent arrival, and her stomach gave a jolt of anticipation.

The best way to distract herself, she knew, would be to see her children, so she put away her quill and ink and followed her mother-in-law out of the study and into the corridor. Sure enough, her son was waiting for her outside, clinging to the skirts of his grandmother.

“Mama!” Alexander cried, holding out his arms at once for her to pick him up. “Mama, I missed you!”

Laughing, Beatrice leaned down and swept her son into her arms. Lifting him, she set him on her hip and touched the tip of her nose to his.

“I was only writing for a few hours,” she protested. “Surely you did not miss me when you were having so much fun with your grandmother!”

“Grandmama let me ride her like a pony!” he said, clapping his hands together, and Beatrice raised her eyes at her mother-in-law.

“It was only for a few moments,” the dowager protested. “Then my knees realized they could not handle it, and I had to put a stop to it.”

“Can I ride you like a pony, Mama?” Alexander asked, and Beatrice laughed.

“We shall see,” she said, and made a mental note to ask Rupert to take on this particular task. “Now, shall we go and visit your sister?”

“Yes!” Alexander cried, clapping his hands together again. “I miss her!”

Little Margaret, who was just a year old, was up in the nursery, and the three of them made their way up to her, where the wet nurse was minding her. She was in her crib, but when she saw her brother, she smiled widely and crawled over to the side of it, stretching out her hands to him.

Alexandra wriggled out of his mother’s arms at once and hurried over to his sister and began to play with her and talk to her, which was his favorite activity. It always warmed Beatrice’s heart to see them together, to see how well her children got along and what a good older brother Alexander was turning into already.

He will be like Theodore, she thought with a happy smile. Always watching out for me.

Other than that brief period where Theodore had wanted her to marry the man of his choosing, he had been an excellent older brother, especially since he and Vivienne had married. They now had a child of their own, a little girl whom Alexander adored, and Vivienne was expecting another, as well.

Mrs. Hughes, meanwhile, had moved down to Sussex, where she was living with her daughter, who had also had another child. It had been hard to see her go, especially since she had expressed interest in helping to raise Alexander and Margaret, but in the end, Beatrice had insisted that she retire and spend time with her own grandchildren.

“You spent so much of your life raising Theodore and me,” she had told her own governess and guardian. “You deserve to spend time with your own family now.”

She still visited regularly, of course, and Alexander adored her. But she did not have to work, which made Beatrice very happy.

Sir Reginald, meanwhile, was still in prison, after being convicted for his crimes, and the Viscount Hastings gave them frequent updates that he would not be released for a long time. Isabella, they had heard, had settled in the countryside of the north and married a family doctor. Beatrice and Rupert were quite certain she would not be bothering them again.

Beatrice had just gotten out a book and had begun to read to the children when there was a knock at the nursery door and they all turned to see Rupert standing in the doorway, a wide grin on his face, his hands behind his back.

Beatrice’s heart leapt at the sight of him, as it always did when she saw her husband. Even after four years, she still found him so handsome that it took her breath away and made butterflies flutter in her stomach.

“Papa!” Alexander cried, and he flung himself at his father. In order to catch his son, Rupert had to bring his hands out from behind his back, and Beatrice saw what he was holding: a small, leather-bound book.

Her heart leapt again.

She knew what that was.

“You are back!” Alexander cried, snuggling his face into his father’s neck. “I hate when you leave.”

“I was only gone for the afternoon,” Rupert said, laughing, and Beatrice shook her head.

“Our son hates to be apart from us,” she said. “I do think we should count that as a blessing. I am sure that it will not last. If he is anything like you were, he will want to go and travel all over Europe in a few years.”

“We have some time yet,” Rupert said, winking at her as he made his way over to her and kissed her forehead. Leaning back, his eyes sparkled. “Are you ready to see it?” he asked.

Breathlessly, she nodded, and Rupert handed her the leather-bound book.

It was small, the leather a rich brown color and soft to the touch. Heart in her throat, she cracked open the book, the smell of the pages filling her nose. And there, on the first page, were the most beautiful words she had ever read in her life.

Collected Poems. By Her Grace, Beatrice Sinclair, Duchess of St. James.

Tears in her eyes, she looked up at her husband. He was beaming down at her.

“It is beautiful,” she whispered.

“And there are many more of them,” he assured her. “I picked up a whole crate from the publishers, but of course, many more will be going to book shops this week. And Mr. Edison would like you to visit London in the next few weeks and do a reading at one of the lady’s organizations. He thinks that you will be a hit with the other writers and artists. Ladies and gentlemen artists.”

“My goodness!” Beatrice shook her head. She could barely believe this was happening. After years of working on her poems, perfecting them, editing them, getting input and advice from Rupert and other writer friends she had cultivated in London, she had finally been ready to try and publish a collection. Mr. Edison, an editor at Bloomsbury, had loved her work, and he had encouraged her every step of the way. It was dizzying now, to hold the final product in her hands, the work of so many years.

“You deserve this,” Rupert said, laying a warm, large hand on her shoulder. “You are the most brilliant woman I know, and you worked diligently, even while raising two children. You should be very proud of yourself. I know I am proud of you.”

“I am proud of you too, Mama!” Alexander said, which made them both laugh. “And I am sure that Margaret will be proud, too, when she is old enough to read!”

“You are not yet old enough to read,” Beatrice reminded him, and he giggled.

“Our children are very lucky,” Rupert said, and his eyes were so soft and warm and full of love that she felt her heart swell in her chest. “They have the most brilliant mother in the world.”

“And the most supportive father,” she said.

“I do not take any credit,” he said. “Now come, we must get ready for Theodore, Vivienne, and Nathaniel. Tonight, I believe that Nathaniel will be regaling us with stories of his travels in Europe. And perhaps we shall all persuade you to do a reading as well.”

Beatrice laughed, then stood, and together, she and her little family made their way out of the nursery to prepare for dinner with the people they loved most in the world.

THE END