“But how marvelous!” Ellen said. “What do you plan to call it?”
“The Peace Rose,” Henry suggested.
“I have a better idea. Remember how you described it? We could call it Gift for a Lover.”
“Good,” he mused. “Or perhaps Love’s Gift.” He raised an eyebrow in question. When a smile lit her faced, he kissed her, and that confirmed it. They would ambush both families and the Rose Council with Love’s Gift.
Part Three
Love’s Gift
My crown is in my heart, not on my head.
–Shakespeare,Henry VI Part3
Epilogue
The York Rose Show, six years later
Richard Bradley, ViscountLansdale, aged five and a half, ran to his father, filling Henry with pride. “Papa, Ned has escaped nurse’s attention because Algie made a mess and she has to go back to the town house with him. Ned is crawling under the tables. Aunt Birdy is trying to catch him.”
Edward Ansel Bradley, now four years old, had proven to be as adventurous as his brother Richard was reserved. Henry wondered about Algernon’s personality, which had yet to emerge fully. Strong-willed, he suspected.
“Come quickly, Papa. Mr. Jones will have a fit,” Richard urged.
“Worse, Dickon. If anything happens to the roses, Ned will have your mother to deal with,” Henry said, putting down his ale and nodding to his father-in-law, Martin Grey, and the other gentlemen in the refreshment tent. Grey had married Aunt Blanche the year after the great rose ambush and Henry’s marriage, making Henry and Margaret’s life much more peaceful. Grandsons, as it turned out, had finally won her father over.
His son pulled him by the hand toward the entry displays. Margaret and Amos Jones had proven to be a formidable partnership once they’d made their peace. Not only fixtures of the York Rose Show, they published widely, had developed a brisk business in supplying seeds and cuttings to enthusiasts, and were working on a book. Margaret had become a force to be reckoned with on the Rose Council.
When they reached the tables, Mary and Birdy had Ned in hand, each of his in one of theirs, two of Mary’s children at their feet. Henry grabbed the boy around the waist and threw him in the air. “Bedeviling Mr. Jones, are you, Ned?” he asked, taking him in his arms.
“No, sir. I just wanted to see the Roseleigh rose, and there were so many people crowding around I thought I could get there faster under the table.” Ned laid his head on Henry’s shoulder. “The Rose Show needs an omnibus to pull people around. Or one of those steam locomotives.”
Heaven help me, Henry thought. Ned had inherited his mother’s creative energy.
To Henry’s relief—and everlasting joy—Margaret hurried up, with Jones at her side. “We’re all registered,” she said.
He leaned over and kissed her, Ned wiggling between them. Not to be left out, Dickon inserted himself between them as well. Jones bowed with a grin and took himself off.
“Isn’t it time these little rogues had their tea? And maybe a nap.” Henry waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
She gave the shoulder not full of mischievous boy a gentle smack with her fist, but the gleam in her eyes told him she had the same idea. He put Ned down, and they walked, the four of them hand in hand.
“Besides, we’ll need our rest for the Rose Ball,” she told him.
“How so?” he asked, though he knew the answer.
“I plan to waltz with my husband. Twice.”
“Shall we have three dances?” he asked.
She grinned back. Scandalizing York was their custom, after all.
The End
