They were now gathered on the thirtieth of July to celebrate each child.It had become, in fact, a bit of a tradition over the years.
And the fact, John had saidsotto vocceearlier that day, that the four of them had lived long enough to see the wrong side of forty—without contracting the pox or some other horrible form of personal ruination—was a miracle.John’s statement, Leith knew, left implied the astounding fact that they had each found remarkable, deep love, which as young men, for their different reasons, they had all regarded as impossible.
Now, Leith looked around the party, which was sprawled out over the gardens where he knew John had once taken Catherine for that illicit wander, all of those years ago.His friend had kissed his wife once on these ruins and been changed for life.
Leith sighed.So much time had passed since back then and so much had changed.His own children, all three of them, were growing up so fast that he couldn’t believe it.It made his chest ache to see them how they shed their baby selves, the ones that he and their mother had loved so dearly, and become again and again someone new.
In the end, their family had split their time between London and Somerset.Beatrice could never stand to be away from Parkhorne Hall for long, so they had bought a small estate nearby.They spent part of every summer there, when they weren’t visiting Trem or John at their estates, and then spent the season in London.While some of thetonhad never accepted his wife fully, it had never mattered to them.Not when they had his friends, wealthy and powerful and loving, to drown out the sound (and influence) of any detractors.
He gazed across the lawn at the other guests.So many had come for their sons, it was really quite moving.He fixed his eyes on his mother and her husband, who were engaged in spinning hoops with his daughters, Lavinia and Eleanora, the latter of whom had been named for her grandmother, Beatrice’s mother.And indeed, right now, Mrs.Salisbury, stood close by, next to her beloved Mrs.Westmore, and they appeared to be deep in conversation with his boy, Luke.
Right next to Luke, Sally stood with her own little family.Charles had one of their sons on his shoulders and Fred was spinning both of their daughters round at once.
“Don’t tell me you are feeling wistful,” said a familiar voice.Leith turned towards Monty and smiled.
“I know, I know, you never thought you would see the day when I turned sentimental.”
Monty laughed.“Not at all.I always knew you were sentimental.It is why you were the last of us to marry.You had trouble saying goodbye to the old ways.No, what is harder to believe is that you wouldn’t mind showing it.”
“Age has made me soft, I suppose.”
“It’s good,” Monty said.“It suits you.I am sorry, brother, about Beatrice—”
“No, no, please,” he said, batting away his concern.He did not want to talk of it.Not now.“She would have liked to be here.”
Monty nodded.And then John and Trem appeared over his shoulder on either side of them.
“Come, it is nearly time.They are serving the cake.The children might not survive their ecstasy.”
“We may have violence between Griffin and Lavinia over a caramel tart,” Trem said with a laugh.“Who knewbothwould prefer caramel tart?It is deuced unlucky.”
“Well,” Monty said, a private smile on his face, “caramel has always been a favorite in our house.”
They moved towards the large table that Trem’s now retired steward, Mr.Foxcroft, had insisted on setting up himself.The old man sat at the table now, his wife, the former Mrs.Morrison and housekeeper at John’s country seat of Edington Hall, holding his hand.The couple beamed up at Henrietta, who was presiding over puddings of all varieties in addition to a truly enormous cake.
“That, Henrietta,” Leith said, letting some of his old disapproval leak into his voice, even though they hardly quarreled any longer, “is the most monstrous cake I have ever seen.”
“Do not blamemeLeith, if you dare.Blame my mother,” she said, gesturing to the woman who stood by her, the former, who had now been, for many years, Mrs.Ryerson.“She made it.Insisted upon it, really.”
“If I can’t spoil my grandchildren, then I don’t see the point,” the woman said, her strange blue-black eyes, so like her niece Catherine’s, sparkling with mischief.Once, Mary Forster and her illicit relationship with John’s father had been the reason that John and Catherine could not be together—but it had been ages since anyone considered such a possibility.It was not widely known in society that Mary was Henrietta’s mother, but among their little circle, it was merely reality.
“Oh, Augustus,” said Olivia, bustling up to the table, holding her youngest son’s hand.“There you are.William wantsyouto serve him his pudding.”
“Come here, you scoundrel,” Monty said, scooping the boy up into his arms.
At that same moment, Leith felt a tug on his own sleeve, and looked down.It was his own son, his only one, Luke.While Lavinia was the child who reminded him most of Beatrice, it was Luke who had inherited her eyes.They had that dark, nearly opaque mystery that he had found so alarming on the first day he had met his beloved wife.
“Is it time for pudding?”the boy said hopefully.
“Yes, my love,” he said.
The boy surveyed the offerings.“Mother would have liked the chocolate,” Luke said sadly.
“She would have,” he said, trying not to sound melancholy himself.
Just at that moment, Catherine appeared, holding a giant bowl of strawberries.
“Henrietta spent all morning preparing these.It would have been a shame to forget them.”
