Three years later…

 

Susanna married on a morning when the sun seemed determined to make the whole world gentle.

There was no great assembly, no crowded church filled with curious neighbors, and no elaborate display of flowers. The wedding was small, just as Susanna had wanted. A handful of familiar faces sat in the pews, and the vicar’s voice carried quietly through the small country church.

Beside her stood the man she had chosen.

She had met him two years before through a connection of Mrs. Allen’s. He was the second son of a modest family, a quiet-mannered gentleman who had been reading law and had little patience for the glitter and noise of fashionable society. He preferred the country to the ton, books to crowded assemblies, and long walks beneath the trees to evenings spent making conversation with strangers.

Most of all, he had possessed the good sense to court Susanna slowly.

He had never pressed her.

He had written when he said he would write. He had listened when she spoke. When she had needed time, he had given it to her without complaint. When she had been uncertain, he had simply remained beside her until certainty came.

Now, as the vicar spoke the final words of the ceremony, Susanna looked at him and found herself smiling.

His answering smile was quiet, but it held everything important.

Outside, the sun was generous, spilling gold across the churchyard and warming the old stone walls. A soft breeze stirred the leaves overhead. Somewhere beyond the hedge, a bird sang as though the morning belonged entirely to itself.

When Susanna walked from the church on her husband’s arm, she paused upon the steps.

For a moment, she looked back at the small church.

Then she turned toward the road, toward the waiting carriage, toward the life that had been so uncertain before.

Her husband squeezed her hand.

Susanna looked up at him.

And this time, when she smiled, there was no fear at all.

Marianne watched it all unfold with a grateful heart. She had wished so much for her sister, but God had given them so much more. 

The reception took place at the house, with tables and chairs spilling across the lawn while children ran up and down shouting their games. It did Marianne’s heart good to see all of the jovial chaos. It reminded her that the simpler things in life were what made it worth living. 

She scanned the lawn of guests, her gaze landing on her parents, her mother by her father’s side, weeping tears of joy. Her father, in turn, was speaking to the vicar with a quite enthusiastic look on his face. She smiled to herself, enjoying seeing her parents so happy. 

Just a few feet away from them stood Joseph, who was using a cane. He had recovered quite well over the past few months and was now able to resume some of the lighter duties of the house. 

Thomas strode over to him with a glass of punch in hand and began a conversation. 

It warmed her heart to see her husband looking so happy and carefree just as Robert and Beatrice came up to join them.

Robert was holding their infant son, cradling his head against his chest as he cooed something in a loving tone. 

Beatrice laughed, the contented sound of a wife who had heard her husband make the sound a thousand times. 

Marianne shifted her gaze, finding Jenny standing nearby with a soft warmth in her eyes, a grandmother radiant with pride.

A little farther across the lawn, beneath the broad branches of the oldest oak, another kind of gathering had taken place.

Amelia, now ten and precisely as strong-minded as she had been at seven, had taken command of three younger children who sat in a solemn little row at her feet.

One was scarcely more than five, another perhaps seven, and the eldest of the three had reached an age when he was beginning to suspect that adults did not know everything after all.

Amelia had apparently decided that this did not matter. She stood before them with an acorn held between her fingers. “Now,” she said with great importance, “the reason acorns fall in autumn is not that the tree is tired of them.”

The smallest child looked impressed.

The eldest frowned thoughtfully. “Then why does it drop them?”

“Because the tree has finished making them.” Amelia held up the acorn. “The acorn is the beginning of a new oak. It contains what it needs to grow, provided it lands somewhere suitable.”

“What if it lands on the road?” the youngest asked.

“Then it will not grow,” Amelia confirmed. 

“What if a squirrel eats it?” The eldest child asked again. 

“Then it certainly will not grow.” Amelia shook her head quite solemnly.  This produced a small ripple of laughter. Amelia frowned at them. “It is a serious matter.”

“Yes, Miss Amelia,” the children chorused.

From across the lawn, Marianne watched with a smile.

Thomas had noticed them too.

He glanced toward his daughter, then back at Joseph, who was listening with an expression of solemn amusement.

“She has your manner,” Joseph observed.

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“I have never instructed three children beneath an oak tree.”

“No,” Joseph said. “But you have explained the natural world to anyone unfortunate enough to stand still long enough.”

Thomas laughed.

Marianne heard him and turned.

For a moment their eyes met across the lawn.

Thomas lifted his glass toward her, and she smiled in return.

Beneath the oak, Amelia had progressed to demonstrating the difference between an acorn and a leaf, while her three pupils watched her with complete devotion.

Marianne thought there could hardly have been a happier afternoon.

The past seemed very far away, and, for once, she allowed herself to enjoy how peaceful the present had become.

Marianne watched the proceedings for another moment before deciding that the lesson might benefit from one more pupil.

She crossed the lawn with her younger son balanced upon her hip. He was nearly two, round-cheeked and bright-eyed, and had been watching his sister beneath the oak with the intense curiosity of a child who had not yet learned that some activities were not intended for him.

As Marianne approached, Amelia looked up. The transformation in her face was immediate. “Good afternoon, Mama,” she said with the clear diction of a young lady who had taken her lessons very seriously. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Worthington,” Marianne replied with an exaggerated solemnity. “I wonder if I might speak to the teacher.”

Amelia straightened at once. “Certainly.”

Marianne lowered her voice as though the matter were of great importance. “I have brought a prospective pupil. Would the teacher, with all proper respect, be willing to permit him to join the lesson?”

Amelia stared at her brother; her entire face brightened. “Of course!” She rose so quickly that the youngest child startled. “I have been hoping he would come.”

Marianne smiled. “I thought you might.” 

“I shall take very good care of him.” There was such earnestness in Amelia’s declaration that Marianne could not help laughing softly.

“Well, then, I believe he is fortunate to have been accepted.” She lowered the little boy carefully onto the grass.

He immediately looked at the acorn in Amelia’s hand.

Amelia regarded him with grave consideration. “Come here.”

The boy toddled toward her.

Amelia took him gently by the hand and led him to the other children, then proceeded to arrange the small assembly with the seriousness of a scholar preparing an important lecture.

“No, you shall sit here.” She pointed to a patch of grass directly before her.

The little boy obediently sat.

Amelia adjusted his position by half an inch. “There.” She looked at him with immense satisfaction. “You are in the front row.”

The youngest child shifted to make room.

Amelia nodded as though confirming the seating of an important guest at the Royal Society.

Marianne covered her smile with one hand.

From behind her came Thomas’s amused voice. “I believe our son has just received an appointment of considerable consequence.”

Marianne turned to find him approaching. “He has,” she said.

Thomas looked at Amelia, who was already explaining the importance of acorns to her newest pupil.

“I should hope he understands how privileged he is.”

Amelia looked up indignantly. “He does not yet, Papa. But I shall teach him.”

Thomas came up behind Marianne and slid an arm around her waist.

She leaned back against him instinctively, and for a while, neither of them spoke.

They watched Amelia continue her lesson beneath the oak, her three original pupils now joined by her youngest brother, who sat in the front row with his legs stretched out before him and his round face lifted toward his sister in solemn attention.

Marianne tipped her head against Thomas’s shoulder. “He is taking her very seriously.”

“As he ought,” Thomas murmured. “She is clearly an authority on the subject.”

“She has been waiting years for this responsibility.” Marianne placed her hands over his. 

“And he has been waiting two years to put his fingers into everything she owns.” Thomas laughed. 

Marianne laughed softly, and Thomas’s hand tightened around her waist.

A little farther away, Robert was speaking to Beatrice while their infant son slept against his shoulder.

“Speaking of Robert,” Marianne said, “do you know whether he has decided what to do about the copper ribbon?”

Thomas glanced toward him.

“I believe he has. He was quite determined this morning.”

“Jenny thinks he should accept it,” Marianne added. 

“Jenny thinks Robert should accept anything that gives him an opportunity to look important.”

Marianne smiled. “Perhaps she is right.”

“She usually is.” Thomas conceded. 

They watched Robert gesture animatedly while Beatrice laughed.

“And what of the invitation?” Marianne asked after a moment.

Thomas looked down at her. “You mean the one everyone pretends not to be discussing?”

“The very same.” Marianne nodded. 

“I should think it is likely to be extended next season.” He considered her words for a moment. 

“Likely?” She raised an eyebrow. 

“I have learned never to say certain when society is involved,” he said with the air of a man who had learned his lesson over the years. 

Marianne smiled. “Wise.”

Before Thomas could answer, Mrs. Allen appeared beside them.

“I thought you might wish to hear something amusing.” She chortled. 

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “That expression generally means trouble.”

“Not for us.” Mrs. Allen looked entirely composed. “Rebecca Cooper has apparently caused another scandal.”

Marianne tensed. It had been a few years since she had last heard that name. “Rebecca?”

Mrs. Allen nodded. “Indeed. Three years abroad, and she has somehow managed to distinguish herself in a Milanese drawing room.”

Thomas’s mouth twitched. “What did she do?”

Leaning forward, Mrs. Allen spoke with the air of someone who enjoyed scandal immensely. “I am told the details vary according to the person telling them, but there was a gentleman, an opera singer, and a rather unfortunate argument involving a champagne fountain.”

Thomas stared at her and then suddenly burst into fits of laughter. 

Marianne turned her face into his coat, laughing against his chest.

Mrs. Allen continued serenely. “She is presently believed to be considering relocating to Vienna.”

Thomas shook his head. “Vienna has my deepest sympathies.”

Mrs. Allen gave a small, satisfied smile. “I thought you might appreciate the news.” She moved away before either of them could respond.

Marianne remained against Thomas for another moment before lifting her face. “Thomas?”

“Yes?” He looked down at her, his eyes still shining with mirth. 

“There is something I wish to tell you.” Something in her expression made his amusement fade into quiet attention. She took his hand. Slowly, she guided it downward and rested his palm against her stomach.

Thomas went completely still. His eyes dropped briefly, then rose to hers. He understood. He did not speak. His arm tightened around her, drawing her firmly against him, and then he bent his head and kissed her.

It was not a hurried kiss. It was full of tenderness, wonder, and the quiet astonishment of a man who had already believed himself blessed beyond measure.

When they parted, Marianne’s eyes were shining.

Thomas rested his forehead against hers.

Behind them, Amelia’s lesson continued without interruption.

The little boy had raised one small hand.

Amelia regarded him gravely. “Yes?”

He pointed toward the acorn. “Can I eat it?”

Amelia considered this with the seriousness of a scholar faced with a difficult scientific question. “No,” she said at last. “Absolutely not.”

Thomas laughed softly against Marianne’s hair.

She smiled.

The sun moved slowly across the lawn, touching the old oak, the children, and the tables scattered with flowers and half-finished glasses of punch.

Marianne slipped her fingers through Thomas’s.

They stood together beneath the warm afternoon sky, watching their children, while the noise of the gathering drifted gently around them.

And for that moment, there was nothing left to fear, only the life they had made, the family they had become, and the promise of another child quietly growing beneath Marianne’s heart.

Never was there a happier family than the one Thomas and Marianne had created over the years. They had worked together, grown together, and in doing so, had built a life as close to perfect as human happiness could allow.

Leaning down, Thomas whispered in her ear. “I love you, my dearest Marianne.” 

Her heart filled with so much gratitude that Marianne thought it would burst. “And I love you, my dearest Thomas, duke of my heart.” 

Around them, the festivities continued, but all that Thomas and Marianne could hear was the beating of their own hearts. They were one in all the ways that mattered, and very soon, they would be a family of five and counting.