Epilogue
September, 1817
Trevor settled at his desk to deal with a modest pile of correspondence that had arrived with the midmorning post. As was his custom, he saved the best till last. Thus, it was some time before he actually read the letter from his brother Marcus.
Marcus was now the Earl of Wyndham. Trevor thought with sadness of his father who had died only weeks before Napoleon escaped from Elba. At least he was spared the terror that event posed for England, Trevor thought. But he also missed knowing his newest grandchildren by only a few weeks.
Trevor’s heart filled as he thought of his family—Caitlyn, Ashley, and the twins, Terrence and Jason. He smiled at the memory of the surprise Jason had been. The midwife had warned them that she suspected there might be two babies, but Caitlyn had dismissed the idea and so he had as well. Later, he thought his wife had dissembled a trifle in that—to spare him the worry she sensed in him.
He remembered the sheer joy he and Caitlyn had shared with her pregnancy. If anything, she had seemed even more beautiful to him then. There had been a special glow or aura about her. And now she had it again, though it was early yet. They were both hoping for another girl this time.
Ashley had initially greeted the advent of baby brothers with special glee. She had warm, living dolls to play with! However, as the babies became pesky little brothers who refused to cooperate at her miniature tea table, she was less enchanted with them. Still, she tended to “mother” them—with a protective attitude that clearly imitated their mama.
He picked up the letter again. Seeing the earl’s coat of arms on the seal in connection with Marcus still caught him by surprise. Though it was not an especially welcomed idea, the entire family had fully expected Gerald to hold the title for several decades. Such was not to be. Within a matter of months, Gerald, too, was dead of a virulent fever, leaving no direct issue. Miranda’s tenure had been blessedly short, considering her grandiose plans for changing both Timberly and Wyndham House in London.
Taking the missive with him, Trevor went in search of his wife. He found her in the garden playing hide and seek with all three children and their nursemaid. Caitlyn strolled toward him, leaving the children at play under the watchful eye of the maid.
Seeing the paper he held, she said, “Is something amiss, love?”
“No, not at all.” He frowned. “Should you be running about like this?”
“Now, Trevor, you know very well I need to exercise.”
“Hmmph.”
She laughed and waved at his paper. “What have you there?”
“A letter from Marcus. He has invited us to this year’s Harvest Festival at Timberly.”
“He plans to renew the family tradition, then?”
“Yes. Proper mourning for first father, then Gerald, effectively eliminated the festival the last two years.”
“And you wish to go.” She smiled indulgently.
“Well—yes. It would afford opportunity to see Melanie and Andrew as well. And,” he could hear his own eagerness mounting, “Marcus is also inviting one of my comrades from the Peninsula days—Captain Berwyn. He is now a baronet.”
“How did Marcus come to know him?” Her voice showed casual curiosity.
“Hmm. I am not sure.” He consulted the letter again. “Apparently something to do with this ward Marcus inherited along with the earldom. Small world, what?”
“It would be nice to see Melanie again.”
“Aunt Gertrude will be there, too.”
“Wonderful! And the countess?”
“I doubt Miranda will be there,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding her.
She swatted him playfully on the shoulder. “You know very well I was referring to the dowager countess—my inimitable mama-in-law.”
“We are spared. My mother is still in Italy.”
Caitlyn did not say so, but Trevor knew his mother’s absence would make the proposed visit more attractive to his wife.
“I assume the invitation includes the children,” she said.
“Of course. The Harvest Festival would not be the same without multitudes of children.”
She laughed. “I see—they are part of the ‘harvest’—is that it?”
“You might say that.” He gave her a smug grin, then turned serious. “My only concern is whether you should travel such a distance.” He slid his arm around her waist and steered her to a more secluded area of the garden.
She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You must not worry. It is very early yet. I hardly show—even when I have few clothes on,” she said with a blush and a teasing smile.
“True.” He allowed his hand to rest on the barely perceptible swelling of her abdomen. He nuzzled her neck just below her ear. “And even with all these clothes on, you are a very enticing bit, my wife.” His voice was husky.
“Trevor! It is the middle of the afternoon!”
“So?” He laughed.
“So. Save your enticement—your children are demanding attention.”
And sure enough, insistent calls of “Mama!” and “Papa!” penetrated his consciousness.
He gave an exaggerated sigh and kissed her deeply. “Tonight, my sweet.”
“Tonight,” she murmured, her lips lingering on his, her promise a symbol of happiness that he might once never have imagined.