Uncle Dashiell and Aunt Cordelia direct them to huddle together on the steps, Gwen and James on one side, Beth and Bobby on the other.
As the photographer disappears under the cloth, Bobby’s pinky brushes James’ and James beams for the camera. This is his life, and he plans to take every moment of joy from it he can.
Epilogue
Five Years Later
Bobby
It’s giggles that wake them first, followed by a heavy whump and a whispered “Shh!”
Bobby smiles into James’ shoulder and James groans, burrowing into Bobby and pulling the covers over their heads. “James,” he prompts.
“Sleeping,” James whines, shaking his head against his pillow. “Too early.”
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Bobby says, laughing as James taps feebly at his forearm. “Did I tire you out?”
“Yes,” James mumbles, wiggling back against Bobby in a way that absolutely will not help either of them get out of bed. “The pint of whisky beforehand didn’t help,” he admits with a groan.
Bobby leans in to kiss the sweaty back of James’ head. “Parker got you, hmm?”
“We weren’t even drinking heavily, but he kept having them delivered to the table, and we were talking about the land for the orphanage, and did you know that Lady Ashmond could drink us both under the table if she wanted to?” James rushes out, his voice still a little slurred.
Bobby’s decision to stay home and pass a quiet evening playing chess with Miss Wilson was clearly the better one. “I do want a full report on the progress with the orphanage,” he says.
“When I can think straight,” James agrees, shifting to try to get comfortable again. “Was a good night, though,” he says, glancing blearily over his shoulder. “With Parker and, you know, after,” he says.
Bobby leans in to steal a kiss. It was a good night. And perhaps they have been going a bit overboard. But James leaves the day after tomorrow for two months; they have a lot of romping to bank up.
“So what you’re saying is if I go and handle breakfast, you’ll do that thing with your tongue to—”
“Yes, go,” James says quickly, all but forcing Bobby out of the bed, lest they end up tangled in the sheets long enough for either Beth or Gwen or... tiny eyes and ears to come looking.
“All right, all right,” Bobby says, crawling out of bed and hopping across the floor to don his pajamas and a robe. “I can buy you another thirty minutes.”
James’ hand emerges from the pile of blankets, a duvet, and scattered pillows. He waves Bobby on and then goes still. Bobby smirks and heads out of their room, making a note to ensure that no one comes to tidy their suite today. No one need see the aftereffects of their night.
He forces himself to remain cheerful as he wends his way through the house, arms tucked up to his chest against the coming winter chill. It’s always hard to have James in London, especially so close to the holidays, but it isn’t as if he gets to pick the parliamentary schedule. They’ll join him for the holsand new year, and then hopefully they can all return home until the start of the season.
He passes footmen Georgie and Henry on the first floor, the two of them awfully close together as they work on peeling potatoes outside of the kitchen. Perhaps there will be some shuffling of staff quarters needed soon.
He nods in greeting, withholding a smirk as they blush. They’ve created a haven not just for themselves, but for all of their staff as well. A place where they can live as their true selves, in love with whomever they like. As long as impressionable eyes never walk in on anything untoward, no matter between whom, it works swimmingly.
So far, little eyes have only walked in on their parents, so everything’s fine. The children hardly care; it’s just the mortification of it for Bobby and James. Though Beth and Gwen really take the cake—found in flagrante in Beth’s tree house by a very confused little Martha. Beth still blushes every time they take the kids there.
“Daddy!”
Bobby smiles, stepping into the river-stone kitchen where Martha and Sammie are already seated around the large oak table, jam on their faces and down the front of their aprons.
“Good morning, darlings,” he says, padding across the cool stone floor to press a kiss to Sammie’s messy head and to Martha’s cheek. “Strawberry jam?” he asks as she giggles.
“MissWilson said we could have the last of it,” Martha tells him seriously, patting the table at her side to get him to sit down.
He does as told, noting that both children are already dressed. Martha’s little flower-patterned dress goes nicely with her white frilly apron, even marred as it is now with jam. Sammie’s in asimple pair of trousers and a blue shirt, covered with another frilly white-sleeved apron, equally covered in jam. His blue eyes finally blink over at Bobby and he smiles shyly. Something about mornings always makes him a bit timid, but by afternoon he’ll be yelling just like his sister.
“How long until they get here?” Martha asks as Bobby reaches out to butter his own scone.
“About an hour,” Bobby says, chuckling at Martha’s responding pout. With her big brown eyes and curly brown hair, she’s how he imagines Beth must have looked at seven, which is charming.
