Three Years Later

 

The south garden at Wolverton had ceased to resemble anything a sensible gardener might have designed. A pony stood beside the rose walk wearing one of Elise’s blue ribbons in its mane, the gravel path had acquired three sets of muddy footprints, and Adelaide’s youngest child was attempting to scale the Duke of Wolverton as though his father were a particularly inconvenient tree.

“Charles, no.”

The two-year-old ignored his father completely.

Adelaide remained beneath the shade of the terrace awning, one hand wrapped around a cup of tea she had long since forgotten to drink, and she watched her husband attempt to remove their son from his waistcoat without surrendering either dignity or several buttons.

“Charles,” Eric repeated with greater authority. “Your father is not climbing apparatus.”

Charles planted one small boot against Eric’s thigh and reached higher.

Elise, now eight and considerably more certain of her opinions than anyone had encouraged, stood beside the pony with both hands on her hips. “He wants your watch.”

“I am aware of what he wants.”

“You should give it to him.”

“I should not.”

“Then he will keep climbing.”

Eric looked at her. “You were meant to be watching him.”

“I was.”

Adelaide bit the inside of her cheek, and Eric glanced toward her. “Do not laugh.”

“I haven’t.”

“You are visibly preparing to.”

“I am drinking tea.”

“You have not taken a sip in ten minutes.”

Adelaide looked down at her cup. “You have become distressingly observant.”

“Marriage has ruined me.”

Charles succeeded in reaching Eric’s watch chain. The child gave a triumphant squeal. Eric caught his hand before he could pull. “No.”

Charles’s lower lip appeared, and Elise immediately came to his defense. “He doesn’t understand.”

“He understands the word ‘no’.”

“He understands that you keep saying it while preventing him from doing interesting things.”

“That is very often the purpose of the word.”

From the bench beneath the elm tree, Adelaide’s father raised his voice. “I agree with the boy.”

Eric turned. “You are not helping.”

Lord Talbot sat comfortably with his walking stick abandoned beside him and Adelaide’s daughter, Margaret, pressed against his side. At nearly four years old, Margaret had inherited her mother’s hair, her father’s eyes, and apparently neither parent’s interest in keeping jam on bread rather than clothing. One sticky hand rested inside her grandfather’s palm while the other held what remained of a currant tart.

The earl examined Charles’s progress with great seriousness. “The child has demonstrated ambition.”

“He has demonstrated theft.”

“Many successful men begin that way.”

Adelaide laughed, and Eric looked betrayed. “You see what I contend with.”

“You married into this family willingly.”

“I was misled.”

“By whom?”

“You.”

Adelaide smiled over the rim of her cup. “I believe our arrangement was very clear.”

Elise’s head snapped around. “What arrangement?”

Eric and Adelaide answered together. “Nothing.”

Elise narrowed her eyes; a particular expression which belonged entirely to Olivia.

Adelaide had noticed it increasingly over the last year. Elise had grown taller and lost some of the roundness in her face, but the family resemblance had become unmistakable. More importantly, she had become exactly the sort of child Adelaide had once hoped she might: curious, argumentative, compassionate, and stubborn enough to make every adult who loved her periodically regret encouraging independence.

Elise pointed toward the pony. “May I try again?”

Eric finally pried Charles from his coat and settled him on one hip. “You fell off twelve minutes ago.”

“I slid.”

“You landed in mud.”

“That was because Uncle Theodore said not to pull the reins.”

From the lawn came Theodore’s offended voice. “I said not to yank them.”

Olivia walked beside him carrying a basket of flowers gathered from the cutting garden. “You also told her to relax.”

“That is generally considered good instruction.”

“Not to an eight-year-old who interprets relaxation as removing both hands.”

Theodore looked toward Elise. “I did not know she would take me literally.”

Elise called back, “You should speak more precisely.”

Olivia stopped and then looked at Adelaide, who lost the battle and laughed outright. Theodore stared at his stepdaughter. “That sounded like you.”

Olivia shook her head. “No. Unfortunately, that sounded like Adelaide.”

“I accept full responsibility.”

Eric adjusted Charles higher against his side. “I do not.”

Charles had abandoned the watch and was now attempting to insert one muddy finger into his father’s ear.

Eric caught his wrist. “Why are you wet?”

Charles grinned and everyone looked toward Elise, who sighed dramatically. “He sat in the watering trough.”

“You allowed him to sit in the watering trough?”

“I removed him.”

“Eventually.”

“I was getting the pony.”

Eric stared and Elise chose to stare back. Adelaide could see precisely when he realized he was losing, which happened often now.

He had spent half his life commanding servants and tenants with almost no difficulty, but an eight-year-old niece and two small children had discovered that the Duke of Wolverton could be defeated simply by forcing him to answer three questions at once.

Lord Talbot leaned toward Margaret. “Your father appears outnumbered.”

Margaret licked jam from one finger. “He always is.”

Eric heard that. “I am standing here.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Whose side are you on?”

Margaret considered. “Grandpapa’s.”

Lord Talbot looked enormously pleased at the small girl’s quick reply and bounced her on his knee a few times to reward her. Adelaide crossed the lawn and rescued Charles, who came willingly only after discovering that his mother wore earrings.

“No.”

His hand dropped and Eric stared at her. “How did you do that?”

“I said ‘no’?”

“I have said ‘no’ repeatedly.”

“You said it as though you expected an argument or negotiation.”

“He cannot speak properly.”

“He can do both perfectly well, in fact… and has done… clearly.”

Charles demonstrated by pointing at Eric and announcing, “Papa?”

“Yes,” Adelaide said. “Papa has failed.”

Eric took her tea from her hand and drank it. “That was mine.”

“I needed it.”

“You dislike it when it has gone cold.”

“I dislike today.”

“You love today.”

Eric glanced across the garden and his expression betrayed him immediately.

Elise had climbed onto the pony again, this time with Theodore holding the bridle and Olivia standing at her other side. Margaret had abandoned the tart and was dragging Lord Talbot toward a patch of daisies despite his insistence that grandfathers ought not to be moved immediately after luncheon. Charles squirmed in Adelaide’s arms until Eric took him back without being asked.

“Yes,” Eric admitted. “Unfortunately.”

Adelaide rested her shoulder against his.

Beyond the garden, Wolverton stretched toward the distant cliffs. They no longer seemed to belong to another life. The children knew them as places where gulls nested and where picnics required heavier blankets because of the wind. Elise knew the old stories, but not as secrets whispered around frightened servants. Olivia had told her the truth gradually, in pieces suited to her age.

Truth had become easier in this house, which was perhaps the greatest change.

Olivia reached the edge of the terrace and set down her basket. “I nearly forgot. A letter came for you.”

“For me?”

Adelaide took the folded paper she offered. “The London committee.”

Eric glanced down at it. “Another meeting?”

“Next Thursday.”

“And you intend to go?”

Adelaide looked at him. “Was that a question?”

“No.”

Three years ago, it might have been.

Not because Eric had ever tried to forbid her work, exactly, but because there had been a time when everything about their marriage had required negotiation. Her meetings. Her causes. The women she received at Wolverton. The petitions that occasionally irritated men who preferred women’s opinions delivered privately and preferably not at all.

Now Eric merely asked which carriage she wanted. “You will have the larger one,” he said. “The road near Hertford was miserable last month.”

“I can survive a bad road.”

“I know. I cannot survive listening to you complain about it afterward.”

Adelaide smiled. “You support the advancement of women entirely for selfish reasons.”

“Almost exclusively.”

Olivia laughed, and Theodore came up behind her and brushed a loose curl from her shoulder. “Do I need to attend this meeting too?”

She looked at him. “You attended the last one voluntarily.”

“I was promised luncheon.”

“You stayed through the entire discussion.”

“The luncheon was very good.”

Elise called from the pony, “Papa believes women should vote.”

Theodore nearly choked and Olivia closed her eyes. Adelaide looked at Eric.

Eric looked toward the child. “Where did she learn that?”

“From listening.”

“That is becoming dangerous.”

“It usually is.”

Theodore pointed toward Elise. “For clarification, I said I saw no convincing reason they should not.”

Elise beamed and Olivia reached up and kissed his cheek.

“There. Rewarded for progress.”

Adelaide watched them for a moment.

There were still occasions when Olivia startled at some small thing. A door shut too hard. A man raising his voice unexpectedly. A room in which she could not immediately see an exit.

Theodore never treated those moments as inconveniences.

He simply stood beside her.

That had been the answer to the fear she once carried into marriage.

Not a husband promising never to restrain her.

A husband who never imagined he possessed the right.

Elise had gained something in the bargain too.

A father who attended pony lessons, endured long explanations about insects, inspected scraped knees with solemn care, and understood that loving Olivia meant loving the daughter who had existed before him.

Adelaide’s father finally reached the terrace with Margaret. “I have been kidnapped.”

Margaret clung to two of his fingers. “No.”

“No?”

“I asked.”

Lord Talbot looked at Adelaide. “You see? Consent has reached the nursery.”

Adelaide laughed. “Excellent.”

“I blame you.”

“You seem healthy enough to withstand it.”

He did.

That still gave her quiet pleasure.

His hair had gone almost entirely silver, but he stood straighter than he had three years ago. He rested more because he had finally accepted that resting did not constitute surrender. Wolverton’s air agreed with him, but Adelaide suspected his grandchildren did more.

Margaret held up a crushed daisy. “For you.”

The earl accepted it as though she had handed him something priceless.

“Thank you, my darling.”

Adelaide watched his face.

Once, he had been so afraid of leaving her unprotected that he arranged a marriage before either she or Eric understood what it might become.

Now his daughter had a husband who loved her, children who climbed furniture and dukes indiscriminately, work that mattered to her, and a home so full of noise that solitude required deliberate effort.

Her father caught her looking. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You have your sentimental face.”

“I do not have one.”

“You inherited it from your mother.”

Adelaide reached up and kissed his cheek. “Go sit down.”

“I have only just been dragged here.”

“And now you are being sent back.”

He muttered something about tyranny but obeyed.

Near the fountain, two older guests had begun discussing London.

Adelaide heard Atlas’s name.

Only briefly.

“He remains at Newgate, I believe.”

“No, transferred after sentencing.”

“And the Blackthorn holdings?”

“Entailed portions settled elsewhere. Everything he schemed to gain from Wolverton was lost before trial.”

Someone mentioned Loretta next.

Ireland.

Relatives.

A dairy farm.

The phrase produced a scandalized whisper and then laughter about how Loretta, who once refused invitations from women with insufficiently fashionable drawing rooms, now lived among cows and cousins three counties removed from anyone she considered worth impressing.

Adelaide found she felt very little.

Once, their names could alter the temperature of a room.

Now, Atlas was a man serving a sentence, his frauds and forgeries proved, his inheritance schemes useless. Loretta lived far outside the society she had once guarded so viciously.

A shriek interrupted Adelaide’s thoughts—Charles had escaped.

The toddler ran across the grass wearing one of Theodore’s gloves and nothing on his feet.

“Charles!”

H ran faster.

Elise immediately abandoned the pony. “I’ll get him.”

“That is how this began,” Eric shouted.

Elise ignored him.

Charles headed directly toward a patch of wet earth beside the fountain. Eric went after him.

The boy planted both feet in the mud.

Then he sat.

She watched on as Charles looked down at himself. Eric stopped several feet away, and Adelaide covered her face. Theodore started laughing first.

Olivia followed.

Lord Talbot laughed so hard he had to sit down.

Charles slapped both palms into the mud.

Eric stared at his son. “No.”

Charles slapped it again.

Elise arrived beside him and considered the situation. “You should pick him up.”

Eric looked at her. “You pick him up.”

“He is your child.”

“You are responsible for him.”

Adelaide’s head came up.

“Who taught you that word?”

Elise pointed toward Adelaide.

Of course she did.

Eric looked across the garden at his wife. Adelaide smiled sweetly.

“You wanted a family.”

“I did not understand the terms.”

“You should have read the agreement more carefully.”

He looked at Charles and then at Elise. Then down at his ruined boots.

Finally, with the resignation of a man who knew surrender was inevitable, the Duke of Wolverton stepped directly into the mud and lifted his delighted son.

Charles immediately wrapped muddy arms around his father’s neck.

Eric closed his eyes.

Everyone laughed.

Adelaide did too.

But beneath it was something gentler.

She remembered the man she had first known.

A man who believed an empty house was safer.

A man who had decided there would be no children, because children could be lost. No wife, because wives could die. No future worth wanting, because wanting made grief possible.

Now Charles smeared mud across his collar while Elise argued that the pony ought to be permitted one more attempt before tea.

Eric opened his eyes and looked at Adelaide. She crossed the lawn and arrived with arms outstretched. “Give him to me.”

“No.”

“You are covered in mud.”

“So is he.”

“That is my argument.”

Eric shifted Charles against his chest. “I have him.”

Adelaide looked at the small, filthy boy tucked comfortably beneath his father’s chin.

“Yes,” she said softly. “You do.”

Eric’s expression changed.

He understood.

He always did now.

His free hand found hers.

Around them, Elise demanded another pony lesson, Theodore objected, Olivia sided with Elise purely to annoy her husband, Margaret attempted to feed Lord Talbot a daisy, and somewhere a gardener made a sound of despair over the state of the lawn.

Adelaide stood in the middle of it all with Eric’s fingers woven through hers.

No bargain.

No convenience.

No careful distance left between them.

Only the life they had chosen, and all the beautiful trouble that came with it.

THE END