Two Years Later

“Lily, stop at once. Grass is not meant to be eaten.” Daphne’s voice carried across the lawn so easily that Fiona smiled before turning. 

Lily had crouched beside the edge of a picnic blanket, one hand buried in the turf, while Theodore lowered himself beside her, convinced anything his cousin examined deserved attention.

“I was looking,” Lily said, lifting her chin as a green blade clung unmistakably to her lower lip.

“You were tasting,” Daphne replied. “And butterflies cannot be caught by shouting at them. Also, neither of you may go near the pond, and your clothes must stay clean because Grandmama says the portrait will last forever.”

Theodore looked down at his stockings, already marked with grass. “Mine is ruined forever.”

“Only a little,” Daphne said, softening at once. She brushed his knee and offered them her hands. Lily took hers without hesitation. Theodore copied the exact angle of Daphne’s steps as she led them away from the flowerbed and declared a new game in which butterflies were to be followed in the gentlest matter. 

Fiona watched them from the shade of a chestnut tree. Daphne glanced back once for approval, and Fiona gave a small nod. That was enough. She turned to the toddlers again, patient when Lily forgot the rules before reaching the first rosebush.

Shaded tables and picnic baskets of food filled the lawn behind Ellington Abbey. The servants moved among the guests with lemonade, cold meats, fruit, and small iced cakes. After the chapel christening, the children still wore their best clothes, though the younger ones had begun defeating every effort to preserve them.

Alistair slept in a lined cradle beside Fiona, his christening robe folded carefully away from grasping hands. One fist rested near his cheek. A dark auburn softness covered his head, though whose coloring it would favor remained impossible to judge. When Fiona spoke, his mouth moved once, and he settled more deeply.

Someone nearby called him the heir.

Fiona looked down at him and thought only, Alistair.

Across the lawn, Dominic bent to hear something Daphne was saying. He answered with the same warmth he had shown over the cradle, and Lily pressed against his leg. No child had been moved aside to make room for another. Their family had widened and held.

A church bell rang out from the village. Daphne started. Her shoulders tightened, and the words she had been saying ceased. Lily tugged her hand and pointed toward a butterfly resting on a lavender bush.

Daphne drew one breath, found Dominic’s face across the lawn, and then looked back at Lily. “Walk slowly,” she said. “It may stay if you are quiet.”

Fiona did not rise. The family had learned to let Daphne recover without making her courage a spectacle.

Near the low stone wall, Dominic and Jonathan stood over an estate map spread across a garden table. Jonathan had become earl after his father’s death the previous year, yet the title had altered neither his friendship with Dominic nor his willingness to dispute him.

“The drainage channels reduced waste on my northern fields,” Jonathan said. “They may suit the Ellington land.”

“Provided the tenants are consulted before we tear up half their farms,” Dominic replied. “We cannot in the name of improvement give the people more labor.”

Jonathan laughed. “You once found gaming tables more interesting than drainage.”

“Drainage has proved less expensive and considerably more useful.”

Jonathan smiled. “No, I think it is more than that. I think marriage has made you respectable.”

Dominic looked across the lawn toward Fiona. His gaze moved from Alistair to her face, then toward Daphne and Lily. “It made me attentive.”

Their eyes met. Fiona’s smile answered his before either returned to conversation.

The two housekeepers continued toward the tables, trading complaints with evident pride. Fiona watched them go, warmed by the sight of Mrs. Agnew at Ellington as naturally as Mrs. Gumble. Dunvegan remained part of her life through visits, letters, and children who knew both homes.

Cecilia sat beside her, removing grass from Theodore’s abandoned hat. “We once believed our greatest difficulties concerned London seasons and proposals.”

“And whether either of us would find affection in a marriage,” Fiona said.

“Three years ago, I was certain one failed romance had determined my entire future.” Cecilia looked toward Jonathan. “Now I have a husband, two estates to travel between, and a son who follows Lily into every unsuitable adventure.”

Fiona shrugged. “Well, Lily generally begins them.”

“That does not lessen Theodore’s enthusiasm.”

Motherhood had brought sleepless nights, difficult journeys, household burdens, and unexpected decisions. It did not resemble the confinement she had feared. 

Her life contained Yorkshire, London, regular months in Scotland, estate work, Daphne’s schooling, Lily’s stubborn questions, and the infant sleeping beside her. Dominic had never asked her to become smaller for his comfort.

“We received confirmation yesterday,” Fiona said quietly. “Peregrine has been transported to Australia. He will serve the remainder of his sentence there.”

Cecilia’s hand stilled upon the hat. “Then he cannot reach any of you again.”

“Nae.”

“It troubles me still that he concealed such resentment beneath so much charm.”

“Trust is not foolish,” Fiona said. “Though I have learned it should sometimes stay with caution.”

Cecilia nodded. “Lady Davenport has married an obscure baron and settled in the country.”

“I do hope she is not as miserable.”

“As do I. She pursued rank so fiercely that she nearly destroyed every chance of affection.”

Fiona glanced toward Dominic, who was listening while Jonathan pointed at the estate map. Nearby, Henrietta insisted that Alistair possessed the Kingsley eyes. Duncan declared the child’s grip unmistakably MacGregor. Beatrice accepted congratulations as if the marriages and births so far had all occurred under her personal direction.

“The boy will be spoiled unless I supervise him,” she announced.

No one appeared persuaded that her supervision would reduce the danger.

“Mama!” Theodore cried from the lawn. “Lily took my butterfly!”

Cecilia squeezed Fiona’s hand and rose. “Duty summons me.”

As she went, Alistair stirred. Fiona lifted him carefully and settled his head against her shoulder. He remained asleep, warm and light against her.

She looked toward the garden table.

Jonathan stood alone, folding the map and Dominic was gone.

Fiona remembered the glance he had cast earlier toward the quieter path beyond the yew hedge. On a day marked by a christening, a son, and the future of Ellington, she knew where memory might have drawn him.

Without alarm, she adjusted Alistair against her and left the noisy lawn for the shaded garden path leading toward Gregory and Stella’s graves.

Fiona followed the path beyond the yew hedge, adjusting Alistair before she stepped into the quiet family plot. Gregory and Stella lay beneath simple stones bordered by clipped greenery and pale summer flowers. The graves stood close enough to the Abbey for children’s laughter to reach them faintly, though the garden walls softened every sound. The air smelled of roses, warm stone, and cut grass.

Dominic stood with his back partly toward her, his head bowed and his shoulders were still. Fiona crossed the grass and placed one hand against his back.

Dominic covered it with his own before he turned.

“Are ye well?” she asked.

“I am.” His gaze moved to Alistair, sleeping against her shoulder. “I did not leave because I wished to be alone from you. I needed a moment to understand what I felt.”

He touched one finger to the baby’s curled hand. Alistair slept through the gesture with the same solemn indifference he had shown throughout most of his christening.

“He was unimpressed by the ceremony,” Dominic said.

“He has strong opinions and limited means of expressing them.”

“I wonder who had that just a few years ago.”

Fiona smiled, then followed his glance toward the graves.

“Years ago, a day such as this would have sent me back into the same thoughts,” he said. “Gregory should have been duke. He should have raised Daphne. Every happiness that came afterward seemed borrowed from a life that belonged to him.”

His thumb moved gently over Alistair’s knuckles.

“A son after me would once have felt like another replacement. Today I watched him christened and felt only gratitude.”

Fiona rested her cheek briefly against Alistair’s hair.

“I still remember the dream after the poisoning,” Dominic continued. “Whether it came from fever, memory, grief, or something beyond all three matters less than it once did. Gregory did not accuse me. He asked after the people he loved instead.”

“That was the beginning,” Fiona said.

“Yes.” Dominic looked toward Gregory’s stone. “Only the beginning. Peace came more slowly.”

He paused, and Fiona waited.

“It came through loving you. Through raising Daphne and hearing her speak again and through Lily’s birth. I also understood that the estates required my judgment rather than an imitation of Gregory’s. Today I stood in the chapel and did not feel like an impostor.”

His expression softened and Fiona tightened her grip around him. 

“I no longer look into a mirror and search for my brother. I see myself. That is finally enough.”

Everything Fiona had learned of Gregory had come through love. In Daphne’s stories, in Dominic’s memories, and in the tenderness with which both names were spoken, she had found no man who would have demanded another life be ruined in proof of devotion.

“A loving brother would never ask ye to become another casualty of the accident,” she said. “Grief doesnae prove itself by the length of suffering.”

Dominic’s hand tightened around hers.

“Ye have no’ replaced him,” Fiona continued. Dominic looked at Alistair, then at Fiona.

“You did help a lot, you know? Without you, I doubt any of this would have happened.” he said. “You loved Daphne without trying to replace Stella and you built a home with me across England and Scotland. Lily and Alistair are part of that life, but I am grateful for you first. For my wife. For my chosen partner.”

Fiona’s throat tightened.

“And ye gave me a marriage I could choose after it began without me having a choice,” she said. “Ye gave me Yorkshire without taking Dunvegan from me. Ye listen, ye change, and ye remain. I have children and family without losing myself.”

Dominic raised her hand and kissed it.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love ye too.”

Alistair stirred between them and closed his hand around Dominic’s finger. He glanced down. “He has inherited your talent for interruption.”

“Our first interruption changed yer life for the better.”

“That is true.”

He looked once more toward the graves. “We must return. Daphne will keep hearing their stories.”

From the lawn came Daphne’s voice, calling for Lily, followed by Theodore shouting for Cecilia. Duncan’s protest rose above Henrietta’s reply, while Beatrice attempted to impose order upon everyone at once. Jonathan laughed.

Dominic offered Fiona his arm, then rested his free hand at her back when she took it.

Together, they left Gregory and Stella among the tended flowers and walked toward the living voices of their family.

THE END