THE ARROGANT LORD
Bonus Epilogue
|
CHAPTER ONE
Ten years later
“Do I have to come, Papa?” Ambrose looked down at the boy who was leaning on his leg while he read him a story. He had dark hair, and his mother’s nose, but he was all Octavia, the gentlest of Ambrose’s three sisters. He had her way of asking questions and accepting the answer, even if he didn’t like it. “Of course you have to come, Harry. It is your grandmother’s birthday.” He wrinkled his nose and then sighed loudly. “I love grandmother, but all the girls will be there.” “As will Alistair.” Ambrose’s sisters had six daughters between them, and only a single son, Alistair, and even though he was four years old, he was a boy in a sea of girls. A lifeline according to Harry. He understood the feeling entirely. “Girls, Papa,” Harry sighed again, sounding at least fifty years old. “There are so many of them, and they giggle and talk loudly.” “Surely not all of them behave like that,” Ambrose protested. “And what is wrong with giggling and talking loudly? It means they are happy.” Of course, he knew exactly the pitch of giggling and talking his son spoke of, as he’d been raised with three sisters who did exactly what Harry was protesting about. He remembered hiding in the library with a book, pressing himself small behind the curtains when they came looking for him to play their games. Some things, it seemed, ran in families. “Harry!” A shriek came from the hall outside the door. Ambrose placed a hand on his son’s shoulder as he sighed once more. “You love your sisters just as I do mine, so don’t tell me otherwise, young man. I understand completely how they can also be maddening at times, but remember, I had three and you only have two.” “I’m not sure how you coped, Father,” Harry said, straightening as his two sisters burst into the room. The first to arrive was Joanne. Tall like him, she had a confidence that he admired but also terrified him, because Ambrose was never sure what she’d walk into next. She had his colouring, and some of his stubbornness too, though he had the wisdom not to say so aloud. Behind her was Louise. Shorter, with an infectious smile, and a need to fill every silence with chatter, which incensed her brother. She was, in her own particular way, entirely herself, and Ambrose loved that about her. “Come, Harry, we are to get ready, and your clothes have been laid out for you,” Joanne said in just the right tone to annoy her brother. “I will come when I am ready to come.” “Oh, do hurry up, Harry, or the cake will be gone by the time we get there. They made it at Appleblossoms Bakery. There will also be apricotines!” After this statement, Louise clapped her hands together loudly. His son loved apricotines and Crabbett Close, so that may actually get him moving. “Very well, but you have to stop yelling at me, it hurts my ears,” Harry said, leaving the safety of Ambrose’s legs. He watched them go, the sound of Joanne and Louise’s voices already fading down the corridor, Harry’s heavier footsteps trailing reluctantly behind. He stood there, listening until they had disappeared entirely. Ambrose then returned the book they loved him to read to the shelves. When Tilly walked in he was staring out the window wondering how it was he’d got so lucky in his life. Ten years. And still, sometimes, it surprised him. Ambrose had believed his life would follow a certain pattern, but it had deviated, and he could not be happier. “Hello, what has your attention?” Tilly had changed, as had he, over the last ten years. Together they’d learned what happiness really was, and the art of sharing, which, if they were honest, neither of them had been terribly good at. They were two people who had lived for years according to their own rules, so compromise had required a great deal of effort on both their parts. They’d had their ups and downs but had worked them through with a lot of heated debates and patience. “I just had some quiet time with your son. The girls have been harassing Harry again, and he was seeking a few minutes of solitude.” Ambrose watched her walk toward him and held out his hand. He loved this woman more than he’d ever loved anyone. She was his other half in every way. They laughed and loved together, and argued furiously over things they believed in strongly, but he could not imagine his life without her. “Poor Harry, I’m sure you were able to sympathize with him, seeing as you were once in his situation.” She wore an emerald dress with ruby ribbons at the cuffs and bodice. Her hair, which had not a single grey strand—much to the annoyance of his youngest sister, Violet, her best friend—was still the colour of rich honey. Ambrose loved to run his fingers through it at night, when they were alone in their room. “I was, but it offered him little comfort, especially when his sisters arrived and dragged him away to dress for the party.” Ambrose tugged her close until their lips met, then kissed her softly. He breathed her in, the familiar scent he could pick out in a room full of people blindfolded. “Are you ready to head to Crabbett Close, wife?” “Of course, you know I love it there, and I’m so pleased my parents feel the same way,” she said with the smile she saved just for him. “Then let us collect our children and depart.” There was a little more than her mother’s birthday party happening today, but Tilly didn’t need to know about that, yet. CHAPTER TWO
The carriage ride to Crabbett Close was not a long one, but both Tilly and Ambrose spent most of it reminding their children to lower their voices and remain in their seats. Excitement had been building since breakfast, and now that they were nearly there, containment was proving impossible.
“Joanne.” Ambrose’s voice was quiet, which made it all the more effective. “If you kick your brother again and think I am not aware of what you are doing, I will send the carriage home with you in it.” Their eldest daughter arranged her expression into something resembling contrition. “Sorry, Father.” Ambrose’s own expression conveyed precisely what he thought of that apology. Tilly pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. He had positioned himself between the two eldest, which left Harry tucked in beside her, his small warm weight leaning into her arm as the carriage rolled along. She looked down and saw he was watching the London scenery pass by, which was one of her son’s favorite pastimes. “I have found a location for the next club,” Tilly said once the children were quiet. Ambrose raised a brow. “Have you now. Where?” “A five-minute walk from Fleet Street. There are a great many working women in that area, and I think it will do very well.” “And what will this one be called?” “The Violet. It stands for modesty, humility, and faithfulness.” He smiled—the real one, not the polished one he wore at dinners and assemblies. “I like that very much and have no doubt it will succeed as well as the other five, Tilly.” Ambrose always said things like that, and his support for her women’s club was unwavering, and had been since they were wed. For that alone she loved him, without the other two hundred reasons she had collected over the years. The man was still ridiculously handsome, and when the occasion called for it, still entirely capable of being pompous. He had become an earl five years ago, following his father’s death, and he handled the title the way he did everything, with quiet competence. He loved her and their children unconditionally and had a protective streak he tried to deny when she pointed it out to him again and again. His mother, however, was another matter entirely. She was still the most difficult woman Tilly had encountered, and likely ever would. They had arrived at a truce of sorts over the years because of her love for her son and Tilly’s wish to never come between them. Heaven help her if the woman ever discovered that her son’s countess was the illegitimate daughter of a servant girl. “You will be devastated to learn,” Ambrose said, his eyes alive with laughter, “that my mother is unable to attend your mother’s birthday celebration due to a prior commitment.” “That is a shame,” Tilly said. “Of course, I would have liked her to be there.” “I almost believed that.” “You were not supposed to.” He laughed which deepened the lines at his eyes. Their children had simply expanded on what they already had. Family, love, and happiness. Both she and Ambrose had their own interests, and neither had an issue with that, even as she knew other households in these times were run differently. “Have you had any more luck with your search?” Ambrose asked, his voice gentle now. She shook her head and let him take her hand across the gap between them. His fingers were warm around hers. It had been two years since Ambrose had urged her to employ someone to start looking into her birth mother’s family and find out if there was anyone left alive today. Thus far there had been no success, and Tilly had thought about giving up, but hadn’t and wasn’t precisely sure why. A need to know where she came from, perhaps? She had no memories of her own to call on, so it was indeed like finding a needle in a haystack. The carriage turned, and she lifted her eyes to the window. Crabbett Close. The park at the centre of the street was full of people already, gathered in clusters beneath the trees, and Tilly felt something warm settle in her chest. Her mother would be overwhelmed at the fuss, but she deserved it and so much more. This woman had given her a home when Tilly’s birth mother had passed away, and for that she would be forever grateful. It had not only been a home, but her parents had loved her unconditionally, as they now did Ambrose and their grandchildren. She had first brought them here to Crabbett Close the day she married Ambrose, uncertain how it would go, hoping simply that they would not feel out of place. They had loved it. Her mother attended painting classes through the warmer months and knitting evenings at the Iris most weeks through winter. Her father had discovered that he and Bramstone Nightingale liked to debate loudly about England’s problems over a game of chess and plenty of whisky. Of course, the other Crabbett Close residents often joined in. The carriage slowed to a stop. Ambrose straightened and looked at his children with the expression of a general preparing his troops. “You three will behave yourselves and not annoy one another. You will not fight with your cousins, and you’ll speak to adults with excellent manners. There will be no stuffing food into your mouths like heathens, no matter how good it is.” The door swung open as he finished speaking, and there stood Charles, Violet’s husband, grinning. “Hello, hellions. Your cousins are waiting for you. There are sugar plums and taffy cake,” he said. The shrieks of delight were deafening. The three children were out of the carriage and gone before Ambrose could draw breath to add anything further to his lecture. “And I had just finished talking to them about behavior,” Ambrose said watching them run across the grass. Charles leaned against the carriage frame, entirely unrepentant. “Have your children ever actually behaved themselves at Crabbett Close?” Tilly and Ambrose looked at one another. “Never,” they said, and climbed down to join the party. CHAPTER THREE
“Do you think they will come?” Leo said, his voice low.
He and Ambrose stood together, both with their eyes fixed on the entrance to the Close. “It is my hope that they do,” Ambrose said. “I sent a carriage to collect them this morning.” Leo glanced sideways at him. “And Mrs. Wilson is happy for this to happen at her celebration?” Their eyes found her. Mrs. Wilson, Tilly’s mother, was seated at a long table with Ivy and Bram, her husband beside her, and no fewer than three small children distributed across various laps. There were plates laden with food, cups being refilled, and everyone clearly comfortable in the company they were keeping. People who had known one another long enough to sit together and discuss almost anything upsetting no one. “I spoke with the Wilsons before I began looking,” Ambrose said. “They are fully aware, and more than happy for it.” “And Tilly?” Leo asked. “I haven’t told her, because I wasn’t sure they’d arrive.” Ambrose found his wife chasing Joanne, who was shrieking with laughter. Happy, he thought, and he wanted her to stay that way. “Come along, Father!” Harry appeared at his elbow, flushed from exercise and enjoyment. “We are to play croquet. Mother said she will beat you soundly.” “We shall see about that,” Ambrose said, and laid a hand briefly on his son’s shoulder. “Go on. I will be there shortly.” He turned back to Leo. “Let me know the moment you see the carriage.” “Will do.” He moved through the gathering, pausing to acknowledge his sisters and their husbands, exchanging a few words with the Nightingales, nodding to the other residents of Crabbett Close who had become, over the years, something very close to an extended family. He was nearly at the croquet lawn when a sharp whistle turned him around. Leo was pointing to the left. Ambrose saw the carriage at once and changed direction. “Father!” Harry called after him. “I will be there soon,” he said, and kept walking. He was nervous. It was an unfamiliar sensation, and he did not particularly enjoy it. When Tilly’s own search for her mother’s family had stalled, he had begun one of his own. Ambrose had gone first to her parents, knowing that Tilly, unsure how they would react, had avoided asking questions that might upset them regarding her past. The Wilsons had been generous with what they remembered, starting with the name of the agency they had used to hire Tilly’s birth mother all those years ago. Surprisingly, the agency was still operating, and they’d kept records. From there, he had engaged an investigative firm he trusted. The results, he hoped, were in that carriage rolling down Crabbett Close. When the first letter had arrived, Ambrose had nearly told Tilly everything. He’d held back only because he had not yet been certain that the family the firm had located were truly who he believed them to be. He’d not wanted to give her hope and then watch it taken away. So Ambrose had travelled the short distance outside London himself, and spoken with them, and had left knowing they were her blood relatives. Keeping the secret had not been easy, in fact it had been the hardest ten days of his married life. “Ambrose.” A hand caught his arm and stopped him. He turned to find Tilly at his side, her expression uncertain. “Is everything all right?” He looked at her, this woman who had made him the best version of himself, and bent to kiss her softly. “Everything is well. But I would ask you to hear me out, because if that carriage carries who I believe it does, I hope you will be very happy soon.” Her eyes widened. “Ambrose. What did you do?” “And I need you to understand that what I have done, Tilly, I have done entirely for you.” She nodded but did not speak. “Come,” he said, and took her hand. “It is better I show you.” They crossed the grass together. The carriage had drawn to a stop near the entrance, and as they reached it, the door opened. Three people stepped out. Two men and a woman, all of them somewhere past middle age, all of them looking around at the gathered crowd with an uncertainty that changed the moment they found Ambrose and Tilly. The woman’s eyes filled with tears immediately. One of the men exhaled as though he had been holding his breath. The other went still. Tilly’s hand tightened around Ambrose’s. “Tilly,” he said quietly as they drew close enough to speak. “While you have been searching for your family, I have been searching as well.” She made a sound that was barely a word. “No.” “Yes.” He kept his voice steady, because one of them needed to be. “These are your mother’s two brothers and her sister.” He turned to the three people before them, who were all, he noticed, trying very hard to compose themselves and failing “Mr. Wright, Mrs. Haven, Mr. Wright, please allow me to introduce you to your niece. Lady Matilda.” The silence that followed lasted only a moment before Mrs. Haven spoke. “You are the exact image of her,” she said, her voice breaking on nearly every word. “The absolute image of our Joanne.” “Aye,” one of her brothers said, rougher but no steadier. “I never thought in all my years I would have someone to remember her by.” Ambrose placed his hand gently on Tilly’s back and guided her forward. It was Mrs. Haven who moved first, stepping toward her niece. She opened her arms, and Tilly walked into them. The sob that followed had Ambrose’s eyes itching. Then the brothers were there too, and what followed was loud and messy and to him, entirely wonderful. Ambrose stepped back and watched. Ready if Tilly needed him. “Is this them?” He turned. Tilly’s parents had followed at a discreet distance, and now stood beside him. Her mother on his left, her father on his right, and both watching the four people before them with expressions that held joy. “It is,” Ambrose said. “How wonderful,” Mr. Wilson said quietly, and he meant every word. These were good people. Ambrose had understood that early in his life with Tilly, and had never had cause to revise his opinion. They loved generously and without condition, which was, in his experience, a rare thing in his world. As if she sensed them, Tilly turned. Her cheeks were wet, and she made no effort to conceal her tears. “These are my parents,” she said to her aunt and uncles. “They took me in when my mother died. They gave me everything.” Two hours later, as the sun lowered in the sky, Tilly found her way back to him, while her new family chatted with her parents and others from Crabbett Close. She said nothing for a moment, but stood at his side, looking at her new family. “They didn’t know about me because my mother didn’t tell them. She came to London and disappeared. It was not until one of her brothers came to find her that they heard she had died,” Tilly said. “That must have been a terrible shock.” Ambrose slid an arm around her waist. “I cannot repay you for this,” she said, looking up at him. “You have it the wrong way around, my sweet wife,” Ambrose said. “Had you not come into my life I would have floundered along comfortably, entirely convinced that I was perfectly happy, and never known the difference.” She kissed him right there in front of everyone. “I love you,” she said against his lips. “My arrogant lord.” “And I you,” he said. “My most determined lady.” THE END |
