Three Years Later

“Edmund! Edmund, are you ready?” Lydia called up the stairs.

“Coming, Mama!” came the childish reply.

It was a fine day. Summer was here, and Lydia found herself greatly relieved that she could enjoy it out in the countryside, instead of sweltering in the heat of London.

The Season was going on, no doubt, but Lydia didn’t much care to join it. Even Arabella’s taste for Society had faded in recent years. Not altogether – Henry and she intended to spend a few months in London again this year, as they did every year, but Arabella was coming to love the months of peace in the countryside even more than Henry enjoyed the months spent with his friends in London.

Of course, they would all have to go to London this year, for Clara’s wedding. Society had not quite forgiven Mr Green for driving his boat into Lydia and Charles, although they had forgiven him immediately. No doubt the scandal sheets would remark upon it even as they discussed his marriage to Clara.

Oh, well.

A smiling, chubby-cheeked two-year-old boy appeared at the top of the stairs, hand in hand with his nurse. He beamed at the sight of his mother, and Lydia held out her arms to him.

The little boy came bouncing down the stairs, and Lydia swept him up into her arms.

“Are you ready for the picnic?” she asked, smiling. He nodded furiously.

“I want to show Uncle Henry and Uncle William my pond. There are newts.”

“Yes, but you must keep the newts away from Aunt Anne, yes? She doesn’t much like them.”

Edmund nodded obediently and began to babble on about the various beasties and creatures he would seek out in ‘his pond’ – which was a large, knee-deep body of water beside the hollow where they preferred to set up their picnic. Lydia uncharitably thought of ‘the pond’ as an oversized puddle, but in an effort to prove her wrong, Edmund constantly unearthed more and more forms of wildlife.

Carrying him in her arms, Lydia walked outside onto the terrace. It was mid-morning, and the heat of the day had not quite settled in. Even so, warmth radiated up from the paving stones beneath her feet, and the sun beat down hotly from a pure blue, cloudless sky.

It was going to be a hot day, and no mistake.

The nurse followed behind them, carrying Edmund’s bucket and net. They passed footmen going to and from the picnic area, bearing hampers and various dishes. It wasn’t anywhere near luncheon, but Lydia’s mouth watered already.

They left the terrace and walked across the grass, heading towards distant trees and a shimmer of the lake in the distance. Once they were over a small rise, the hollow opened up in front of them, laid with blankets.

Charles was already there, deep in conversation with Henry. William was lying on his back, apparently asleep, and Anne and Arabella were talking.

When Charles saw Lydia and Edmund appear, he climbed to his feet, grinning.

“There is my sweet boy! And my sweet lady, too.”

Lydia rolled her eyes at that, although she couldn’t quite manage to suppress a smile.

“Here, take your son. He’s been dreaming of splashing through that puddle all day.”

“Ah, in search of newts and toads?” Charles crowed, taking Edmund and tossing him up into the air, making him squeal in delight.

“Just don’t let him take a bucket full of frogs home again!” Lydia scolded, grinning. She found herself a spot on the blankets beside Arabella and settled herself down.

Charles was entirely in love with his little boy. The idea of parenthood had terrified Lydia – as it rightly should, in her opinion – but Edmund was perfect.

She was glad they’d had a son, so Edmund could be remembered this way. Everybody’s eyes had misted over when she told them what her new baby boy was to be named. It was right. It was right, she knew it.

Lydia’s hand drifted to her middle, where her stomach had not yet begun to swell, but it would. She was with child again. Of course, it was rather too soon to tell people – there was no rush, after all – but she had a feeling that it would be a girl. A boy would be just as nice, but still, the idea that it was a girl had lodged itself firmly in Lydia’s mind.

She leaned back on her elbows, shading her eyes against the sun, and watched Edmund and Charles splash through the pond.

The two-year-old twins, Roberta and Thomasin, came squealing out of some nearby shrubs, ignoring the shouts of Arabella, their poor mother, and went diving into the pond too, splashing cheerfully around.

William and Anne’s little boy, George, was three years old, and much preferred to sit quietly with his adoring parents and look at picture books.

Perfect, Lydia thought, smiling to herself. This is perfect.

“I hear that Clara has asked you to be her Matron of Honour,” Arabella observed. “Congratulations, by the way. I’m just a regular old… what would you call me? A Brides-matron?”

“I have no idea,” Lydia said, laughing. “I’m just glad that Clara had finally found someone she cares for. Mr Green and she took their time.”

“I think it took him a while to recover from that boating incident,” Arabella remarked, wincing. “That probably was an embarrassing incident for him, the poor man.”

“It was funny, though,” Lydia pointed out. The two women chuckled for a moment, watching their children play.

“Do… do you know what today is?” Arabella asked hesitantly, after a moment or two.

Lydia swallowed hard. “Yes, I do. Today is the day Edmund was supposed to arrive home, all those years ago. It was the day the ship docked, and we learned that he was dead. Good gracious, has it really been that long? Sometimes I can’t believe it. Sometimes I…” she faltered, but pressed on. “Sometimes I can’t quite believe that he’s gone. I expect to look up and see him coming in through the door.”

She closed her eyes, almost hearing Edmund’s boot heels ring out on the stone floor. She could hear his laugh, echoing through the halls, and could see his wide, lopsided smile.

I miss him, she thought, and her heart ached miserably.

She had thought that with a marriage and a child, her grief would go away. Lydia knew better now, of course. Grief was a strange thing, and it never truly went away. Edmund had been her brother, in everything but name, and she could no more remove him from her head and heart than she could fly.

But isn’t that a good thing? Lydia thought. Why would I ever want to forget him?

She was interrupted by squeals, and glanced over to see Edmund doing his level best to kick water onto his father. For a two-year-old boy, it was not easy, but he was certainly putting a great deal of effort into it.

Lydia smiled and laughed, shading her eyes. Soon the sun would be at its highest, and it would be too hot to picnic. They would go inside into the cool of the drawing room, talk and laugh with each other until the sun went down and the day was almost done. It was a strange, nostalgic feeling, and Lydia wasn’t entirely sure where it had come from.

Did it matter, though?

Happy, she thought. I’m happy. No more numbness, no more misery, no more wallowing in grief. Mama was right.

The children came splashing out of the pond, laughing and squealing, and went darting off, ostensibly to make mud pies or something equally messy. A breathless Charles staggered over and dropped heavily down onto the blanket beside his wife.

“They’re so energetic,” he gasped. “I think perhaps I’ll take a nap. William has the right idea.”

She glanced over at him, and he grinned at her, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips.

“Your hand is freezing,” she remarked with a soft smile. “What on earth have you been doing?”

“That pond is deceptively cold. Now, I was thinking, when we get back inside, perhaps you and I could perform a little music? You can sing, and I could play, if you like?”

A smile spread over her face. “Yes, I would like that a lot, I think.”

Charles beamed and stretched up to kiss her. Lydia kissed him back, letting her fingertip trail down the familiar, ridged line of his scar, the one that made him more handsome than she could ever have thought, and the world melted away.