Four Years Later

Gwen picked up the large, embroidered cushion and fluffed it several times, trying to bring back some of the spring that it had once had, before setting it back down on the grass. It was one of the cushions that Aunt Ottilie had brought back from India when she had first arrived home after the death of Lady Harbury, and was embroidered with several elephants making their way to a watering hole. The threads were in the most vibrant shades of red, yellow, and green, although they had faded somewhat over the years.

It was hard to believe that more than four years had passed since Aunt Ottilie had arrived at Harbury House with all the exotic, wild stories of her life in India. Back then, Marianne had been so sad that Gwen had been convinced the only way to cheer her up was to try to get her to fall in love with Alistair.

She laughed as she remembered this now, plopping down on the pillow and shading her eyes with her right hand to try and see where Edmund had gotten to. But he was only just farther down the hill, running after several butterflies with his small net.

Gwen smiled as she watched her two-year-old son totter after the butterflies. She knew he would not catch one, but he absolutely loved to try. In fact, one of his first words had been “butterfly,” an accomplishment that she and Alistair still discussed with hushed awe.

“Our son is going to be a brilliant orator and scholar someday,” Alistair had declared after this miraculous event.

“That or a penniless poet,” Gwen had quipped.

“Hardly penniless,” Alistair had snorted. “He will be a viscount!”

This had made them both laugh, and now, as Gwen sat back on the cushions, she smiled at the memory of it. A picnic blanket was spread in front of her, upon which her infant daughter was lying, fast asleep. At just six weeks old, Charlotte was at that lovely age when she slept all the time and was an angel to both look at and hold.

It would not stay that way for long, Gwen knew. Soon, her daughter would begin crying through the night, and she would demand the wet nurse even at the most inconvenient hours.

But right now, she was all sweetness, lying fast asleep on the blanket.

Farther down the blanket were the picnic baskets that held their food for the afternoon. Marianne and Benedict would be arriving shortly, as would Lord Harbury. Aunt Ottilie had been staying with Gwen and Alistair for the last few months to help with the baby, and Gwen could see her now, making her way up the hill to the old oak tree, carrying another picnic basket.

Alistair followed close behind, holding the mallets for a game of croquet.

“Croquet, really?” Gwen asked, as Alistair finally reached the top of the hill and stopped to catch his breath. “With three children under three between us, I hardly think we are going to be playing much croquet with Marianne and Benedict.

Alistair sighed as he set the mallets down. “You do make a good point,” he said, plopping down on the blanket next to her and leaning against the cushion next to her. “I suppose we shall be spending most of this visit running around after Edmund and Marie.”

“Marie does seem to be very taken with Edmund,” Gwen said, laughing as she remembered the last time that her son and niece had met. Marie, who was only eighteen months old, had been obsessed with her slightly older cousin, and the two of them had become inseparable. “I suppose they will get into lots of mischief when they are older.”

“As they should,” Alistair said approvingly. “I shall not be raising my son the same way I was, with an expectation that one must always be perfect. I hope Edmund gets into trouble now and again.”

“As long as he does not turn out too wild,” Gwen said, raising her eyebrows. “We would not want a Lucian Deverell on our hands.”

Alistair laughed as he leaned forward to touch his daughter’s cheek. Charlotte was still fast asleep on the blanket, so he sat back and took Gwen’s hand, pressing it against his own cheek.

“I have heard news of Lucian, by the way,” he said, his eyes glinting. “Would you like to hear some very amusing gossip indeed?”

Gwen’s eyes went wide. It had been some years since she had heard anything about Lucian. As far as she knew, he had left Bath and gone to London, and she had not been sure of what happened to him after that.

“Yes, I would very much like to know,” she said. “I hope he got his just deserts for all his machinations and scheming.”

“I believe that he did,” Alistair said with a chuckle. “According to my sources, he married Miss Verity Ainsworth a year ago.”

Gwen’s mouth actually fell open. “Miss Verity Ainsworth?!” She gasped. “The same one who tried to steal you away from me all those years ago?”

“The very same,” Alistair said. He shook his head. “I do not know exactly how it happened, but I do know she went to London shortly after he did. Perhaps they met there. Anyway, from what I hear, they are running up debt all over the country, getting into screaming matches at wayside inns, and earning quite the reputation as a duke and duchess that cannot be trusted, even by the most liberal creditor.”

Gwen shook her head as she took all this in. “That does make me a little sad,” she said at last. “I would have hoped that Lucian had learned his lesson.”

Alistair shrugged. “I cannot say I am so sorry to hear that he has not found a blissful marriage or financial solvency. He did try to blackmail you into marrying him against your will and was only courting you for your money. That is rather unforgivable, in my book.”

Gwen smiled and leaned against her husband, letting the weight of him cushion her. He was so strong and solid, and she always felt safe when she was leaning against him or being held in his arms.

“You are always so protective of me,” she murmured. “I love you for that more than I can ever say.”

“I will always protect you,” he said at once, wrapping an arm around her. “You, Charlotte, and Edmund. Until my very last breath.”

For a moment, the two of them sat still together, letting the warmth of the sunshine filter in through the oak’s leaves and warm them.

Then Gwen murmured, “I am glad, at least, that everything worked out for Miss Strickland. Or, should I say, Mrs. Ashton?”

They had had a letter a few years previously from the former Miss Cecily Strickland, telling them that she had finally broken free of her mother and married a kind, respectable gentleman by the name of Mr. John Ashton, and that the two of them now lived in Bristol. Gwen had written back to Cecily, and, over the years, the two of them had begun a correspondence. It turned out that Cecily was actually a very sweet and intelligent young woman, which had finally blossomed once she came out from under her mother’s thumb.

“We should invite the Ashtons to visit,” Gwen said after a moment. “I should very much like to meet Cecily’s husband.”

“Very well,” Alistair said, pulling her closer. “Anything for you.” He then released her and stood up, stretching. “Now, I think I ought to go help our son catch some butterflies. He is quite useless on his own.”

With Alistair’s help, Edmund was able to catch several of the butterflies he chased, and he was just showing them to his mother when Marianne, Benedict, and their daughter Marie arrived, shortly followed by Lord Harbury. They then made their way up the hill to the picnic, and after they were all gathered together, the whole family dug into the delicious spread of jams and bread, fruit and nuts, cheese and melon, and all sorts of lamb chops, pheasant, and mince pies.

It was a wonderful afternoon full of laughter, and, indeed, running after the children, as Edmund and Marie decided to begin a rather serious game of tag that only ended after Edmund fell and scraped his hands.

It did not take long to soothe him, however, as he was a sweet and positive boy, but Gwen made sure to sit him next to her for the rest of the picnic and feed him pieces of sliced ham, which he gobbled up happily.

At last, just as the sun was setting over the horizon, Gwen stood up, and a hush fell as everyone turned to look at her.

“Thank you so much for gathering here today,” she began, looking around with undisguised joy at all of her family gathered around her. “Although we all live so close together, it is not often that we get to be all together like this, so I thank each and every one of you for coming today to celebrate this momentous occasion.”

Gwen took a deep, steadying breath. She looked at Marianne, whose eyes were watering slightly, but who gave her a small, reassuring smile, and felt her courage rise.

“As all of you know,” she continued, “today marks the five year anniversary of the death of our mother, Lady Emily Harbury. This is a difficult day for my sister and I, but especially for our father, who lost not only his wife, but his companion of more than twenty-five years.”

She looked at her father, whose eyes were shining. He tried to smile at her, but the attempt was not entirely perfect. Still, she smiled bracingly back at him.

“I think for me, the hardest part of losing my mother is not being able to introduce my children to her,” Gwen said after a moment, looking down at where Edmund was now holding his baby sister. She cleared her throat, which was suddenly tight. “I know that Mama would have loved Edmund, Charlotte, and Marie with all her heart. But I also know that she is here with us today, just as she has always been, guiding me and making sure I did not end up in too sticky a situation after her death.”

She laughed slightly, as did the rest of the family, as they remembered her bungling attempts to matchmake her sister and how she nearly ended up married to Lucian.

“Personally,” she continued, turning now to Alistair, “I like to think that she was the one who helped you fling open those doors at my first wedding and prevent me from making the worst mistake of my life. I think that probably was guiding you, giving you strength and courage to interrupt my wedding and tell me you loved me.”

“I think so, as well,” Alistair murmured, and he stood up and took her hand. “I wish with all my heart that Lady Harbury were here to meet our children, that I could tell her how much I love you, and promise her that I will always take care of you like I promised your father.”

He looked around at Marianne, Benedict, Marie, Aunt Ottilie, Lord Harbury, and finally, their two children, and his hand tightened around hers.

“We are so lucky to have the family we do,” he said, “which is why we are so glad to have you here today to celebrate and honor Lady Harbury’s life. In honor of her, we are dedicating this tree to her, which we have fitted with a plaque.”

He turned to the old oak, and Marianne gasped in delight as everyone took in the small stone plaque that had been fitted into the tree the night before. The plaque had Lady Harbury’s name and the dates of her life.

“Oh, Gwen, it is perfect!” Marianne murmured, while Lord Harbury openly wept as he gazed at it.

“We want her memory to be infused throughout our home,” Alistair continued, “so that even though our children will not know her, they will grow up feeling her presence.”

Gwen looked up at her husband, her eyes shining with tears, and he felt her gaze instinctively and turned to look at her. She had never loved him more than in this moment, she knew, never felt the power of their love and family more strongly.

Pulling her closed, he placed his forehead against hers. “She is always with us,” he murmured. “Just like I am always with you.”