Epilogue

Jay

6 months later

 

The annual Anaesthetic Department summer party is usually a sleepy affair. An old gag, my dad would heartily approve. Everyone was flabbergasted when Lucien agreed to host it—most of all me because although I’d made the suggestion, I hadn’t considered for a minute that he’d actually say yes. But the Dr Lucien Avery now graciously attending to his starstruck guests is a far cry from the haunted, lonely man I met almost a year ago.

It’s not been all plain sailing—breaking the macaroni cheese diet is proving harder than I imagined, and of course, his grief is never far away. Family birthdays and anniversaries come and go. Oliver’s birthday was particularly tough, but we got through it with a lot of tears, tantrums, and Campari. And love, lashings and lashings of love.

A life of coupledom clearly agrees with him, and we’ve settled into a quiet routine. In between shifts at the hospital, Lucien manages the estate, and I cook dinners and complete manly chores. While I’m occupied with those, I swear he invents novel ways to wake me up in the mornings. All I can say is I wish I’d never brought that bloody pink feather boa back from the place in Mayfair.

Our colleagues and their families mill around on the lawns in front of the house, and an exclusive outside catering company serves a broad selection of drinks and buffet-style foodstuffs. So it’s probably a little grander than the usual department get-together, where everyone volunteers to bring a dish and the result is a surfeit of soggy salads and cheap Prosecco.

Most people are somewhat surprised to see me greeting guests alongside the host—well, a lot surprised actually. I’ve kept a low profile both socially and at work since my time off, mostly because we’ve scarcely left the bedroom. Naturally, there have been a couple of rumours, and Evan has pinned me down once or twice. Lucien picking me up from his wedding reception was a particular point of gossip, but as he regularly reminds me, what goes on behind locked doors is no one’s business but their own. An Englishman’s home is his castle and all that, in our case quite literally.

This afternoon, I take a perverse pleasure in the moment Dr Leitner remarks that it is very good of the sixteenth earl to loan Lucien the use of the main house and grounds for the party, and would he be putting in an appearance? Smothering my laughter, I gravely point him in Lucien’s direction and then watch with fascination as his complexion becomes redder and shinier. He then dogs Lucien for the rest of afternoon, attempting to ingratiate himself, and generous soul that Lucien is, he refrains from pushing him into the lake.

Finding an empty bench under a shady cherry tree, I sit on my own for a while, gazing across the estate. But mostly gazing at my future husband, although I’ve yet to officially propose. He’s doing well for a guy who, a year ago, wouldn’t let anyone through the front door. He’s dressed in what I call one of his ‘I’m a mature, conservative gay’ outfits, which is a toned-down version of his New Romantic gear crossed with his work clothes, although there’s no mistaking the outline of the nipple adornments underneath his snug shirt, and the string of pearls is boldly displayed on the outside. Today, his eyes are beautifully ringed in kohl, smoky and seductive, his lips a pale-pink gloss, both of which will no doubt set Annabel and Emily chattering for weeks. He’s the best-looking woman here by a country mile.

I actually half expected Lady Louisa to put in a full appearance as she gives him courage when he needs it the most. That would have been okay, too, I guess, although this outfit is probably a little easier for most of them to swallow. To be fair, he can wear what the hell he likes because he’s the Mad Earl and master of all he surveys. Anyhow, I’ve got plans for Lady Louisa later when everyone has gone, involving a new grey silk negligee and very little else.

When I said I’d been lying low, it’s true, apart from a couple of trips to visit my parents. Lucien has accompanied me on both occasions. There has been no big coming-out moment, nor will there ever be, but even a blind man couldn’t miss how in love we are. And yeah, so maybe I did plant a titchy kiss on his cheek on the driveway while my mum was still probably waving goodbye at the kitchen window, but he looked so adorable clutching his Tupperware of bread-and-butter pudding and my dad’s offering of the latest Jack Reacher novel that I couldn’t resist. He’s invited my relatives to stay next weekend—sisters, nephews, nieces, granny, everyone. I think he’s cautiously excited about becoming part of such a large, rambunctious family. Reuben has been instructed to build a treehouse especially for it, just to keep the kids entertained.

Talking of families, Lucien’s going to start looking at surrogacy next year, and I’m cool with that too; he’s already made preliminary contact with an agency in Sweden. I’d like one or two of my own kids at some point, although we’re going to have a couple of little alabaster rug rats first—an heir and a spare—before the curly Latinos are allowed to feature. I’m imagining them toddling across the lawn, just as a pair of slender pale arms encircle me from behind. I lean back into him as he buries his nose in my hair.

“Gosh, you were miles away, darling. What were you thinking?”

“Oh, nothing much.”

“Go on, tell me.”

How much I love you? How I don’t think I could have survived another day on this earth without you? How we will watch our grandchildren playing on the lawn from this same spot one day?

“I was thinking that the guttering on the north wall of the orangery is looking like it needs a bit of attention. It’s probably just blocked with leaves. I might get the ladders out later, when everyone has gone, and have a quick look.”

“I had some slightly less worthy activities planned for later, darling, although equally strenuous.”

I bring his hand up to my lips. “The guttering will have to wait for another day, then. Heaven forbid I keep the sixteenth earl waiting.”

He sits next to me, and soon his head finds my lap, as it commonly does, his long legs stretched out along the bench, my fingers curling in his fine blond hair. We watch quietly as a pair of red kites swirl and swoop high above the grounds, one vigorously chasing the other, a seemingly haphazard game of tag played out against the blue skies, oblivious to the chatter and laughter from the lawns.

Soon, we will have to return to the house and our guests. But for now, this moment of peace under an old cherry tree, with my one true love, is nothing short of perfect.