“It has been like that since the very first day we met. I sought every excuse to deny it. To avoid you, because we were so different. Most of the time I do not understand your thoughts; what goes through your mind.” He paused. “Though God knows I have tried.”
He was no longer whispering.
Viola nodded. “I know.”
“And when you are not there, or when you leave a room, I feel…restless. As though someone has snuffed out the light.” He took a breath. “And then I understood that it’s not about being the same. Nor about understanding and agreeing with each other’s thoughts all the time.”
“That would be very dull indeed.”
“It’s about accepting that we are different. And that it is all right. Because I would not change you for the world. I really would not.” His voice steadied. “And it is this feeling that matters more. The quiet one. The one that tells me I may be exactly as I am, and you may be exactly as you are, and there is this ease between us. An absolute acceptance, with and of each other.” He turned and cradled her face in his hands. “I am at home with you. We are at home with each other. I am not certain, because I am no expert on feelings, but if that is love, then I am wildly, deeply, irrevocably in love with you, and have been since the very first.”
“Yes,” Viola whispered, and with the pad of his thumb he stroked away the tear rolling down her cheek. “Oh, yes. That is it. That is love indeed.”
His mouth swooped down to capture hers, kissing her deeply.
When at last he drew back, his lips brushed her ear.
“You see,” he murmured, “I am far more skilful at showing you my feelings than talking about them…”
Viola laughed softly against his mouth.
“Good. Now.” He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, and she caught the glint returning to them. “About that scene in your book…”
Epilogue
December1818
Thick flurriesof snow drifted from the sky and draped Westwood Hall estate under a gentle dusting, like confectioner’s sugar, transforming it into a delightfully dreamy landscape.
The entire Fane family, including the Viscount with his wife and children, had gathered at Westwood Hall to attend the baptism of Sebastian and Viola’s twin daughters, Emily Ann and Ellena Adeline, who had been born three weeks previously. Viola’s confinement had passed without complication; by the third day after she’d given birth, she’d been tossing about restlessly in bed, itching to get up and about, but she’d received strict orders to remain in bed. Mainly from Sebastian, who wouldn’t even let her get up to tend to the babies. Instead, the nurse, or more often, he himself, would bring the children to her, one in each arm, and then he’d climb onto the bed to join his girls, happily, to watch Viola nurse first one, then the other.
“It’s all rather scandalous,” the nurse whispered to the other maids behind closed doors. She was new to the household and rather surprised that the other domestics theremerely shrugged, seeing nothing whatsoever wrong with these arrangements. No doubt they had become inured to the scandal attached to their master and mistress.
Now that Viola’s confinement was finally over, visitors had arrived.
They’d first gathered in the family chapel next to the hall, where Uncle Atti baptised the babies over a marble baptismal font. Each child had three godparents: two godmothers and a godfather.
Philip had insisted on being the godfather of the older child, Emily, whereas Ellena’s godfather was none other than Lord Liverpool himself. He held the baby in his arms, gently clucking his tongue as he looked down at the child. A whimsical look crossed his face. “Not having any children myself, I suppose this is as close as I can get to fatherhood,” he told Sebastian. “You are a lucky man, indeed, being blessed with the double load.”
Sebastian heartily agreed.
“Though,” Liverpool continued, “is there any significance regarding their names? I did not quite understand why everyone started giggling once the Archbishop announced their names earlier.”
Sebastian clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You must resort to reading some literature other than the Corn Laws, dear Robert. I recommend Ann Radcliffe.”
“Ah. So that is where Ann comes from. That means the other names…”
Sebastian sighed. “Names of heroines. All of them. It was my wife’s dearest wish, you know.”
Liverpool chuckled. “We stand in her debt, you know. The Asylum Act would never have passed without her support. Not to mention the whisky taxation motion, which she helped prevent. Penworthy cast his vote thanks to Lady Viola’s influence on his wife, I was told. And regarding that publication,after the initial scandal died down, public opinion shifted rather remarkably. It seems Mrs Selina Sable’s reputation for benevolence preceded her. The public adores her. The papers found it rather difficult to maintain her image as a scandalous woman and you as the fallen man when half of London’s hospitals have benefited from her generosity.” He paused. “She turned an embarrassment into a testament to Tory virtue. Even the most hardened critic would find it difficult to throw a stone at a man married to a wife so beloved by the public, wouldn’t you say?”
“It is no secret that she donates a greater part of her income to charity. Though you must know that Viola owes no allegiance to our party. She emphatically claims to be above all party politics.” Ellena became restless, and Sebastian relieved him of his little daughter, cradling her gently in his arms.
“You are talking about me?” Viola joined them, with Emily in her arms, sleeping soundly.
“Indeed, Lady Viola. I was just telling your husband how fortunate we are that you are married to him.”
“So I keep telling him daily.” Viola smiled fondly at Sebastian.
