Seven years later…

Scarlett Bradford sat at her writing desk, the quill pen scratching incessantly across the page. She didn’t know how long she had been seated in her chair, but at least this time she was not alone.

The clock chimed and Scarlett turned in her chair, smiling down at the emerald eyes looking up at her. 

Sunlight streamed through the high windows of the Hayeswood library, great blocks of it falling on the dark red carpet and the multitude of books on every wall. 

Emily Hayes, a beautiful young girl with ringlets in her hair and emerald eyes just like her mother, was seated on a wide cushion at her mother’s feet, reading Wordsworth to her in halting words, struggling over almost every syllable, but already beginning to grasp her reading very well. 

“You are a bluestocking in bloom,” Scarlett said, bending down and pulling her into her arms as the little girl giggled madly. 

“What is a bluestocking?” she asked. 

“It is a woman who prizes education over men,” Scarlett said in a harsh whisper. “For men are a plague on this world.”

“I object to that,” said a deep, familiar voice from behind her, and Scarlett turned, watching Simon enter the room, being tugged by his hand by their son, Edward. He giggled as Simon scooped him up and carried him into the room. 

“Your mother is being rude about us, Ed,” Simon said into his ear. “We must explain to her that we men are not all bad.”

“Hm, perhaps I can make an exception for you two,” Scarlett said as Emily wriggled in her arms. “Is anyone here yet?” she asked, and Simon shook his head. 

“I believe your father and mother are imminent, the butler saw their carriage driving up the lane not so long ago.”

“Is Grandmama coming today?” Emily asked. 

“Of course, it is your birthday, after all. A great many people are coming to see you, Em. You are the belle of the ball.”

“I like being a bluestocking,” she said suddenly, and Scarlett glanced at Simon, who hid a smile behind his hand. 

“Is that right, dearest, and where did you hear that phrase?”

“Mama told me I was one. I am educated.”

“And so you are,” Simon said giving Scarlett a weary look. “I shall have two women telling me I am misquoting Shakespeare instead of one.”

“How lucky you are,” Scarlett said with a laugh, rising from her seat as Simon’s gaze fell on the parchment behind her. 

“Are you writing?”

“I am, but it is not for your eyes just yet,” she said, pushing him gently toward the door. “It is not finished.”

“I shall read it when it is published in any case. Are you writing about me?”

“You always ask that, and I never am.”

Simon put his arm around her waist, pulling her to him as the children left the room before them. 

“Are you sure? Perhaps I should give you something to write about,” he said, kissing her soundly as she melted into his arms before he pulled away, keeping his arm around her waist. “You are looking more beautiful every time I see you, I do wish you would stop.”

Scarlett snorted. “I shall try to remember.”

They went outside onto the terrace where the tables were all laid with Emily’s favourite foods. She adored scones, jam, and cream, taking after her mother, and the cook had made a magnificent cake that towered over everything else on the table. 

“Lord knows how we will all eat that,” Scarlett said. “But Emily has never been more excited.”

Simon watched his daughter with the bright affection he always had in his eyes with their children. 

The dukedom had fallen to Simon two years before, and his father was happily retired in the country with his mother. 

Alistair and Silas’s friendship had recovered after the scandal of Thomas Pembroke’s advances. Although Simon’s relationship with his father was still somewhat frosty, the prudent investments he had made in the intervening years had thawed his father’s ire a little more each day. 

Simon was an excellent duke and had made many changes that his father had been promising to deliver for some time. All of their tenants were praising his efforts, and Scarlett had never been so proud of him. 

There was a happy shout from across the lawn, and Scarlett laughed as she saw two little blonde-haired girls running toward her. Anna and Henry followed behind their daughters, arm in arm, looking happier than ever. 

Felicity and Grace were the same age as Emily, and they were all very close. Scarlett hoped that Emily might teach them the word bluestocking today, which would certainly have their father rolling his eyes at her again. She did love to go against the grain, which was evident when anyone came to read her poetry. 

Simon’s words in the lead-up to their wedding had proved truer than ever. 

She could not have found a more supportive husband for her writing, and she published regularly in various journals and now had quite a following behind her.  

Scarlett waved happily as the little girls bounded up the steps, wishing Emily a happy birthday while Anna and Henry came to greet them. 

The sun blazed fiercely upon the grown folk as the young ones proceeded to frolic upon the lawn; all gazed on with amusement, while Simon clandestinely filched a scone for Scarlett, passing it covertly behind his back, as Scarlett chuckled and took a hearty bite.

 “It is the most beautiful day in the world,” Henry said as his daughters shrieked with laughter, Ed attempting to keep up with them, his little legs working madly to keep pace. 

Scarlett glanced at Anna with a wan smile. They both had a secret they had not yet told their husbands, both of them expecting another child in the spring but holding back from giving them the news for a little while longer. 

Anna looked beautiful, her blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight, and they shared a smile of secret pleasure as they turned back to the gardens. 

Footsteps behind her made her look up as Thomas entered from the house, followed by Millicent his wife, whose pregnancy was far more difficult to hide with a bulge at her waist. 

A servant fetched her a chair, and she took Scarlett’s hand gratefully as she lowered herself into it. 

“My goodness, it is hot,” Millicent said tiredly.

Simon was by her side instantly with a glass of lemonade as Thomas fetched her parasol before turning to Scarlett and kissing her on the cheek. 

“Good afternoon, where is my goddaughter?”

“In a tree,” Simon said disapprovingly. “Emily, would you get down from there!” he shouted as there were shrieks of laughter from the garden when Thomas ran down the steps mimicking the sound of a hungry bear, and all the children scattered as he lifted Emily carefully from the tree she had climbed. 

Thomas’s days of heavy drinking and getting into debt were over. He had become a successful businessman in his own right and was sober and married, that dark time in his past only ever a shadow in their memories. 

Lord Fawcett was disgraced, never to be heard from again after the scandal. Some spoke of him occasionally, only to mention that he was quietly living in exile abroad and would never return to England. 

Scarlett was exceedingly glad of it. She had never even met the man, and he had chosen to ruin her—she had no interest in his life and hoped never to hear his name again. 

Scarlett watched Thomas as he spun her daughter round in a circle. Owen, too, was married to a woman who was far too good for him, in Scarlett’s opinion, but they were blissfully happy and living in Bath for much of the year.

She touched her belly, stroking it gently as she felt a movement beside her, and Simon came to put a hand around her waist. 

“May I ask an imprudent question?” he asked. 

She looked up at him, squinting into the sun. “Of course.”

“Why have you not told me you are expecting our third child?”

She turned in his arms, staring at him in amazement. “How did you know?”

“Scones. You were like this with Emily and Edward. Can’t get enough of them when you are with child, I noticed you had three at dinner last night, too, and you have requested that the cook make them every week. It is a certainty now, is it not?”

His eyes softened and he kissed her gently. 

“You know me too well.”

“I should think so, I have adored you all my life. Have you been ill? You were terribly sick with Ed.”

“No. I am quite well this time, I believe it will be another girl, they are far more sensible, and I was not sick at all with Emily.”

Simon chuckled. “I hope it is a girl, but with my eyes this time.”

“I will love her all the more for it if she has your eyes, they are your best feature,” Scarlett said warmly. 

“Is that true?” he asked, sounding amused. 

“It is.”

“Mama! Can we cut the cake?” Emily cried, running up the steps and over to the table. 

“I suppose we can if your father says so,” Scarlett said, and Simon leaped over the table, lifting the knife alarmingly above his head as he declared that the birthday girl must have the first slice. 

They were a very merry party that afternoon, the adults spread about the terrace watching the children play on the lawn. 

The wind skimmed through the trees as Simon sat with his hand resting gently on Scarlett’s belly, a light in his heart and the song of a nightingale in his ears, as he watched his beloved family, quite content and happy with the world. 

~ The End ~