Page 23 of Greystone’s Legacy (To All The Earls I’ve Loved Before #5)
Epilogue
The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of Greystone Court's breakfast room, casting long golden fingers across the Meissen porcelain and sterling silver that graced the table.
Hester watched contentedly as her aunts presided over a morning ritual with that would have seemed impossible just six months ago.
Gone were the stiff formalities that had characterised breakfast at Greystone Court on their arrival, shortly after Hester and Freddie's wedding in London.
The change had come about gradually, beginning with Aunt Cecilia's gentle suggestions about the proper preparation of porridge and what constituted a healthy breakfast. Now, the earl sat at the head of the table looking remarkably well, his white hair gleaming in the spring sunshine as he helped himself to a portion of kedgeree.
"My dear Felicity," he said, his blue eyes twinkling, "I must confess that your insistence on raw honey in my morning tea has worked wonders. Though I confess I was sceptical at first."
Aunt Felicity beamed, her round face pink with pleasure. "It's all in the timing, my lord. The honey must be stirred in precisely three times, always widdershins, and only when the tea has steeped exactly four and a half minutes."
"Indeed?" The earl raised one silver eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, happens if one stirs it the wrong way?"
"Oh, terrible things," Aunt Felicity assured him with perfect seriousness. "The whole therapeutic effect is quite ruined. One might as well drink water."
Hester caught Freddie's eye across the table and saw her own amusement mirrored there.
Her husband was looking particularly handsome this morning, she thought, the sunshine bringing out golden highlights in his fair hair.
He had recovered his memories completely now, though sometimes he claimed that the bump on his head had given him new and improved ones.
Aunt Cecilia, ever practical, was supervising the placement of a fresh plate of toast. "Do remember to cover it properly with the warming dome," she instructed the footman. "Cold toast is an abomination."
Hester smiled, letting the familiar banter wash over her.
How different everything was now from those first awkward days after the wedding, when the aunts had arrived with their trunks full of herbal remedies and their heads full of plans to revolutionise the ancient household.
She had worried then that their rather unconventional ways might clash too severely with the traditions of Greystone Court.
But somehow, impossibly, it had all worked out. The aunts had known exactly when to push and when to defer, when to insist and when to suggest. They had brought their practical Welsh mountain sense to bear on the running of the great house, and somehow made it work better than before.
The breakfast room itself seemed to reflect the change.
Where once it had been formal and rather cold, now flowers brightened every surface, their sweet scent mingling with the aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread.
The morning light caught the crystal drops of the chandelier, sending rainbow patterns dancing across the cream-coloured walls.
"I was thinking," Freddie said, breaking into her reverie, "that we might walk down to the home farm this morning. The lambs are coming along splendidly."
"An excellent idea," the earl approved. "Though perhaps I might not come quite so far. A turn about the rose garden, ladies?"
"Oh yes," Aunt Felicity said eagerly. "But before you go, Hester, I have a new tonic that would be perfect for the weakest lambs. Made from dandelions gathered at midnight under a waning moon."
"I'm sure the shepherd will be fascinated," Freddie murmured, and Hester had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
Looking around the table at her family, Hester felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the spring sunshine.
The earl was looking better than ever, thanks to the aunts' determined ministrations.
Freddie had fully recovered from his accident and subsequent amnesia, growing more confident in his role as heir with each passing day.
And the aunts... well, they had transformed Greystone Court from a mere stately home into something far more precious: a true family home.
The gentle clinking of china and silver continued, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the steady murmur of conversation.
Outside, birds sang in the gardens, and somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed the quarter hour.
Hester reached for another piece of toast, perfectly warm beneath its silver dome, and thought that she had never been quite so content in all her life.
The air was crisp and fresh as Hester and Freddie made their way across the meadows towards the lambing barn.
New grass sprouted beneath their feet, and overhead larks trilled their endless songs against a sky without so much as a wisp of cloud marring the endless blue.
The season's early lambs were growing well, frisking merrily all around while their mothers grazed contentedly.
Hester's hand rested comfortably in the crook of Freddie's arm as they walked, their steps naturally falling into the same rhythm.
She had given up wearing her finest boots for these daily inspections, having learned early in her marriage that Greystone Court's fields could be every bit as muddy as those at Plas Wyn.
Today she wore sturdy leather boots that had been properly waxed, and her skirts were sensibly shortened to avoid the damp grass.
"I saw Thomas heading out early this morning," Freddie said, referring to the head shepherd. "He seemed quite pleased with how things are progressing."
"The last ewes should lamb any day now," Hester replied, then pressed her lips together firmly. She would not interfere. She had promised herself that she would not interfere. The shepherds at Greystone Court were perfectly capable and had been managing the flocks for generations.
Freddie glanced down at her with an amused smile. "You're thinking about the lambing techniques you used in Wales, aren't you?"
"I most certainly am not," Hester said with dignity. Then, unable to help herself, she added, "Though I do think that if they tried positioning the ewes differently during the difficult births..."
"Darling," Freddie said, patting her hand, "I believe you promised not to give any more advice after the discussion about the timing of the shearing."
"That's different," Hester protested. "And I still maintain that shearing according to the phases of the moon makes perfect sense. Aunt Felicity swears by it."
"Yes, well," Freddie said diplomatically, "perhaps we should leave the sheep management to Thomas for now. He's been doing this since before either of us was born."
They had reached the lambing barn now, and Hester could hear the gentle bleating of ewes and the higher-pitched cries of new lambs from within. The familiar sounds and smells brought back memories of springs at Plas Wyn, where she had spent so many hours helping with the lambing.
Through the open barn door, they could see the shepherds moving efficiently among the pens, checking on ewes and adjusting bedding.
Everything was clearly well in hand, though Hester couldn't quite suppress a small noise of concern when she saw a particularly large ewe that looked ready to deliver.
"I hope she doesn't have triplets," she murmured.
"We'll have to try and get one of the ewes with a singleton, or that's lost a lamb, to take one… "
"Shall we move on?" Freddie suggested quickly, clearly recognising the signs of imminent interference. "There's a lovely view of the valley from the hill beyond the barn."
Hester allowed herself to be led away, though she cast one last glance over her shoulder at the barn. "I suppose they do know what they're doing," she admitted.
"Just as you knew what you were doing at Plas Wyn," Freddie reminded her gently.
They climbed the gentle slope hand in hand, pausing at the summit to look out over the patchwork of fields and hedgerows that made up the vast Greystone estate in the southern Cotswalds.
The morning had warmed considerably, and Hester found herself grateful for the light breeze that played with the ribbons of her bonnet.
"It's beautiful here," she said softly. "Different from Wales, but beautiful in its own way."
"Are you happy?" Freddie asked, turning to face her. "Truly happy?"
Hester looked up into his beloved face, seeing there all the strength and gentleness that had first drawn her to him, even when he couldn't remember his own name. "More happy than I ever imagined possible," she said honestly.
"Even with all the changes? The responsibility of being a countess-in-waiting?"
"Even with that," she assured him. "Though soon, there will be even more changes to come."
Something in her tone made him look at her more closely. "What do you mean?"
Hester took both his hands in hers, suddenly feeling rather nervous despite having planned this moment carefully. "Well," she said, "I believe that by the time next spring's lambing season arrives, we shall have a new arrival of our own to celebrate."
For a moment Freddie just stared at her, then his face broke into a smile of such radiant joy that Hester felt tears spring to her eyes. "You mean... are you certain?"
She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
"My darling!" Freddie swept her into his arms, spinning her around despite her startled squeak of protest. "How long have you known? Have you seen the doctor? Does anyone else know?"
"A few weeks," Hester managed, clinging to his shoulders. "Yes, I've seen the doctor. And no, no one else knows yet, though I suspect Aunt Felicity has her suspicions. She's been watching me like a hawk at breakfast times."
Freddie set her carefully back on her feet but kept his arms around her. "The next heir to Greystone," he said wonderingly. "Grandfather will be overjoyed."
"I thought we might tell him at dinner tonight," Hester suggested. "Though we should probably warn him first that Aunt Felicity will immediately begin preparing all sorts of peculiar remedies for the baby's health."
"Poor Grandfather," Freddie laughed. "Though I must say, her remedies have worked wonders for him." He sobered suddenly, looking down at her with concern. "You're feeling well? No sickness or fatigue?"
"Some," Hester admitted. "But nothing too terrible. Though I may need to stop joining you on these morning walks soon, at least until the ground is firmer."
"Then we shall find a comfortable bench in the garden where you can sit and direct all the gardening activities instead," Freddie teased. "Since you're not allowed to interfere with the sheep."
Hester laughed and leaned against him, breathing in the familiar scent of him mixed with the fresh spring air.
Above them, the larks were still singing, and from the barn came the peaceful sounds of new life beginning.
Soon enough, she thought, those sounds would be echoed in the nursery at Greystone Court, where the next generation would begin their own story.
For now, though, she was content to stand in her husband's arms, sharing their joyful secret while the spring breeze whispered promises of the future all around them.
THE END
Don't forget to look for other books in the To All the Earls I've Loved Before series! While linked by the theme of having an earl as a principal character, every book can be enjoyed as a standalone story. More to come soon!
A Suitable Countess by Susanne Bellamy
Lady Viola Winspear's parents are missing in a sandstorm in Egypt and she must secure a proposal, preferably from the wealthy catch of the season, to save them.
If she fails, her only chance to keep her siblings from starvation will be to risk everything, even if it means dressing as a man and playing poker in a gaming hell.
Lord George Amhurst, the Earl of Romney, must marry by his thirtieth birthday.
Grimly determined to fulfil the promise to his mother in order to return to his explorations in Africa, he attends a ball where he is intrigued while dancing with Lady Viola.
She is unlike all the others, and his hopes rise—until he later discovers her dressed as a man and winning at poker in a gaming hell.
What sort of earl would still consider her a suitable countess?
All Roads Lead To Earls byEbony Oaten
Patrick Belconnen, Earl of Tullamore, loses his carriage and almost his life on the dangerous road through North Wales.
Fortune smiles upon him as he finds shelter and hospitality at Rosstrevor Hall. He also finds the enticing Miss Jones, who captures his attention.
At a party given in his honour, he is ensnared in a dubious trap. Miss Jones defends his innocence against baseless allegations. Alas, her defence of his honour compromises Miss Jones herself.
The only decent thing to do is offer for her.
Hannah Jones, lady’s companion, yearns for true love. It’s difficult not to, when she’s surrounded by newlyweds who dote on each other.
The Earl of Tullamore is completely out of her social class. When he makes her an offer after a public scandal, Hannah frees him from his obligations, knowing he asked out of duty and could never love her. He should be happy that she’s set him free, so why is he so put out?