All was indeed well. Lucas could not imagine a happiness greater thanthis.
Epilogue
Easter came late that year, in the middle of April. Spring was already turning in the direction of summer as various members of the Ware and Arden families gathered at Greystone for the christening of the twins born to the Marquess and Marchioness of Roath in February.
Devlin and Gwyneth, Earl and Countess of Stratton, remained at Ravenswood, partly because they considered their own son still a bit too young to make the journey with them, though mainly because Gwyneth’s brother, Idris Rhys, and his wife, Eluned, who lived on the neighboring estate, were themselves in imminent expectation of the birth of their first child. Major Nicholas Ware was still abroad with his regiment and unable to attend. Owen made the journey with Stephanie and their uncle George, however, and Ben came from Penallen with Joy. The dowager countess had remained at Greystone since the birth of her grandchildren.
Jenny had stayed too, thus allowing her aunt Kitty to remain close to her parents. Charlotte and Sylvester had arrived morerecently with Timothy, Raymond, and Susan. Sir Gerald Emmett had come for Easter. So had his sister, Beatrice, with her husband and their two sons. They had planned a visit from Ireland during the summer but had changed the date in order to join the christening party.
The birth of another heir of the direct line was an occasion to be celebrated.
And so, both Lucas and Philippa insisted, was the birth of a firstborn, a daughter. Not that anyone argued the point. Indeed, the Duke of Wilby, despite what he had once said about the attractiveness of babies, was far more likely to be seen holding his great-granddaughter than his great-grandson. She had a way of gazing boldly back at him, frowning and blowing bubbles, while her twin was more inclined to fall asleep rather than endure the ducal stare.
“Little rascal,” His Grace would mutter to both of them.
Two new and identical christening gowns had been fashioned, since the one that had been worn by Lucas and his father and grandfather before him had been made without any thought to the possibility of twins. The new gowns were splendid indeed and looked equally gorgeous on the blond-haired Emily and the red-haired Christopher. Both slept angelically on the way to the church in the village and through the first part of the service. But while Christopher merely wrinkled his nose when the holy water was poured over his brow, looked for a moment as though he might protest more loudly, but resumed his slumbers instead, his sister woke up with an indignant squawk, flapped her hands, and bawled lustily until she turned purple in the face. She was not to be pacified for some time after. Her mother’s soothing murmurings and her father’s steady hand patting her back merely gave her hiccups and made her crosser than ever.
“That is my girl,” Lucas murmured, turning his head to grin at his wife.
“And that is myboy,” she murmured back, chuckling softly as she nodded toward their son, sleeping peacefully in his aunt Stephanie’s arms. It was amazing how two children, born of the same womb within half an hour of each other, could be so very different in temperament.
The two families celebrated and enjoyed one another’s company for several days following the ceremony while the children played and tried not to be too disappointed that neither baby showed any real disposition to play with them. Smiles could be coaxed from Christopher, it was true, and Joy stood beside his crib for endless minutes cooing at him and patting his hands and pulling faces at him until he beamed at her. Emilycouldsmile and did occasionally do so—usually for her father or her great-grandpapa—but she was more likely to bestow uncomprehending frowns upon the children, who clowned without all sense of dignity for her supposed entertainment.
The party was due to break up at last. The Wares would return to their respective homes. The dowager countess would accompany her younger daughter and youngest son. Ben and Joy would go to Penallen. Philippa and Lucas would go home to Amberwell with their babies and take Jenny with them. Kitty, all were agreed, would stay permanently with her parents at Greystone, and Gerald and Beatrice and her family would stay with her there too for a while longer.
They all sat down for a farewell dinner on the final evening, a warmly happy occasion, though it was cut a bit shorter than it might otherwise have been when the duchess announced she was going to retire early.
“You are feeling unwell, Mother?” Kitty asked, getting to her feet while everyone else stopped talking and looked with some concern at Her Grace.
“Not at all. Only very weary,” her mother told her. “It has been a lovely day and a lovely week, but now I am tired. No, you need not come too, Percy. Stay and enjoy the final evening with all our family and guests. How blessed we have been. I apologize for not staying longer.”
She left the dining room, leaning upon her daughter’s arm, while His Grace frowned after her.
“It is a good thing summer is coming,” he said, more to himself than to anyone in particular. “May has never fully recovered from that chill she had before Christmas.”
“Greystone will be quieter when most of us have left,” Clarissa said. “You will both enjoy some peace and quiet again, Your Grace.”
But the celebratory air had gone from the gathering, and they did not remain at the table for much longer or for very long in the drawing room after that. Most of them would be leaving in the morning and would be glad of an early night. They climbed the stairs in a group together and stood on the upper landing, bidding one another good night in hushed voices so they would not disturb the duchess—or the children on the floor above. The Duke of Wilby leaned heavily upon Lucas’s arm, looking a bit gray in the face again.
“Your Grace. My lord.”
The voice did not belong to anyone from either family. It was quiet, respectful, a bit urgent, not fully steady—and it commanded instant attention from everyone. The duke’s valet was standing a respectful distance from his master and Lucas, whom he had addressed.
Lucas looked inquiringly at him.
“Her Grace’s maid sent me,” the man said. “She thinks you ought to come.”
“May,” the duke said.
“My grandmother?” Lucas said. “She is unwell? She is in need of a physician?”
The valet did not speak with his usual tact, a sure sign that he was distracted.
“I believe she is dead, my lord,” he said.
—
Her Grace’s maid was distraught, though she was holding herself together and even managed to curtsy to the duke and Lucas as they entered the duchess’s bedchamber while everyone else crowded the doorway or stood in the hallway outside. She answered the question Lucas put to her.
