Epilogue

Stevenage Manor, Christmas 1815

Ariana walked around the room, putting the final touches to the candles, ribbons and glittery red paper amongst the green of pungent fir. She’d had a tree brought in from the woods and decorated that, too, with small china ornaments of various shapes and sizes that trailed from its boughs. Mistletoe hung above the door as well, the white waxy berries alluding to all that might happen beneath.

In the corner, away from the cold of the windows, sat a small cradle, its occupant fast asleep and warm. She checked him every few moments, just to gaze in on his face and make sure that he was breathing.

Such a thought made her smile. Their precious bundle of a small son was unusually quiet. More often he was crying to be fed and held and loved, and North and she were more than willing to comply.

Footsteps outside had her turning. Her husband stood there, a bouquet of holly in his hand.

‘Christmas has come to Stevenage Manor early this year,’ he said, looking around.

‘You have made me believe in the season again, my darling, so how can I fail to render the house joyous? Besides, we have a son to tutor in the art of Yuletide celebration, and there is nothing better than starting him young.’

He laughed, placing the holly on the table as he wrapped her in his arms.

She could feel the cold of outside on his clothes and his skin and she shivered. ‘Where have you been?’

‘In the stables, helping with the birth of a new foal.’

‘That’s very late.’

‘Or extremely early. I thought we might train him for Alexander to use.’

‘He’s only three months old, North.’ Her hands covered his, giving him some heat. ‘I think we can wait a while.’

‘But he’s bonny and strong. Like his mother.’ Tugging her over to the cradle, he gazed down at their tiny dark-haired child. ‘I still can’t believe we have him...that he is our flesh and blood.’

She watched him tidy the sheet and make certain the woollen blanket was well across him. A protective father. A good man.

‘The Duke has spent the morning in here, telling me stories of your childhood. He is most insistent that Alex looks just like you did at that age.’

‘Papa is happier, isn’t he? I think having us here suits him—and you are the crowning jewel of his family, Aria. You know he loves you like a true daughter—especially since you refused to leave Stevenage.’

‘Well, returning to America didn’t seem like an option any more, with Alexander coming.’

‘And the house reaches out somehow to claim you, too, doesn’t it? Reeling you in with its history and its solidness? Is your aunt coming to stay for Christmas?’

‘She is. And your father was pleased to hear it, for he enjoys her company.’

‘Alistair Botham is arriving with all his family as well. Seems he is feeling lonely over there in Wales. And Seth Douglas has asked me if they can join us, too, if there is room.’

‘A long table of good friends and family,’ she replied. ‘What could be better than that?’

‘A night alone with you,’ he returned without pause, and kissed her soundly. ‘You are curvier now than you were on the night we first made love, Ariana, and I like it.’

‘The night Alexander was conceived...’

‘And I pray to God we will have other children as easily. Lots of them, I hope. But a girl next time, with your eyes and smile, would be agreeable.’

A cry from the cradle had them both bending, and she lifted her son in her arms and rocked him quietly.

‘Your papa is just instructing me on your brothers and sisters, sweetheart. How do you feel about that?’

When he closed his eyes again and fell back into slumber they both laughed.

‘We have some time now, if you are willing?’ North whispered.

‘When am I not?’ she whispered back.

‘Ariana, I love you more than I have ever loved anyone before—a thousand times more. If I had not jumped into that doorway on Regent Street—’

She interrupted him. ‘We would have found each other anyway. I swear it. We were meant to be together, and all that had come before for both of us was only leading up to this.’

She put Alexander down and tucked him in. She would ask the nanny to come and sit with him while she took North upstairs, but first...

Leading her husband over to the lintel of the door, she bade him look up.

‘Mistletoe?’ The smile on his face was knowing.

‘You told me it is a custom that began in Greece in marriage ceremonies, because of its association with fertility, and I know the Georgians continued it in the games they enjoyed at Christmas.’

‘You are an expert now? A reformed lover of the season? A woman with an abundance of Christmas knowledge?’

‘Only because of you, my North,’ she answered, and leaned in to kiss him.