"But you showed us it was safe to be them," Poppy said. "Showed us that being kind did not mean being weak. That being honest did not mean being cruel. That being brave meant choosing to be vulnerable even when it terrified you."
She reached over and squeezed Anthea's hand.
"You are going to be an amazing mother," Poppy said. "And your child is going to be so loved. By you, by Gregory, by two aunts who are already completely besotted even though they have not met them yet."
"Three aunts," Anthea corrected, thinking of Sybil. "Four, if we count Cassandra."
"An entire village of aunts," Veronica agreed. "This child will never lack for love or support."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, three women who had survived Beatrice's cruelty and found happiness despite her best efforts to destroy them.
The door opened, and Gregory entered, still wearing his riding clothes from the morning's estate inspections.
"I thought I might find you here," he said, smiling at the assembled sisters. "Plotting world domination?"
"Planning nurseries," Poppy corrected. "Though I suppose that amounts to the same thing."
Gregory moved to sit beside Anthea on the chaise, his hand immediately going to her stomach in the gesture that had become instinctive.
"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.
"Perfectly well," Anthea assured him. "The baby has been active today. I think they are practicing acrobatics."
As if to prove her point, a strong kick landed directly against Gregory's palm. His eyes widened with wonder—the same expression he got every time he felt their child move.
"Strong," he said. "Like their mother."
"Or stubborn like their father," Anthea teased.
"Both," Gregory decided. "Definitely both." He leaned down and kissed her temple. "We are in so much trouble when this child arrives."
"Completely doomed," Anthea agreed, but she was smiling.
She looked around the room—at her sisters with their growing bellies and happy marriages, at her husband who loved her with a steadiness that still sometimes took her breath away, at the future they were all building together.
A year ago, she had been certain happiness was impossible. Had believed love was a trap, marriage a cage, vulnerability a weakness.
And now here she sat, surrounded by proof that she had been wrong about everything.
"We should do this more often," Veronica said. "Once the babies arrive, it will be chaos. But right now, while we can still move without assistance—" She struggled to shift position, making everyone laugh. "Well. While some of us can still move without assistance. We should treasure these quiet moments."
"Agreed," Anthea said. "Though I suspect once the babies arrive, we will create new traditions. Louder, more chaotic ones."
"I look forward to it," Poppy said. "To all of it. The sleepless nights and the crying and the utter madness of having three infants in the family at once."
"You say that now," Gregory said dryly. "Wait until you have actually experienced a sleepless night."
"I am sure it will be dreadful," Poppy agreed cheerfully. "But we will face it together. All of us. That is the whole point, is it not?"
She was right. They would face it together. Face everything together—the joy and the challenges, the triumphs and the struggles.
Because they were family. Not just by blood or marriage, but by choice. By love. By the bonds they had forged through shared suffering and shared happiness.
Anthea leaned against Gregory's shoulder, her hand still resting on her growing belly, and let herself feel completely, unreservedly happy.
She was going to be a mother. Her sisters were going to be mothers. They were going to raise their children together, teach them together, love them together.
And Beatrice—bitter, cruel Beatrice—would have no part in any of it.
