Page 34 of The King of Whitechapel (Victorian Outcasts #7)

epilogue

T HE CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS and lights brightened the palace. Large wreaths and red lanterns were scattered around the courtyard while the tallest Christmas tree Elizabeth had ever seen towered in the middle.

Cold gusts blew from the north, carrying the promise of snow, not something she looked forward to. Since after the Great Blizzard, her appreciation for the snow had dwindled. Sometimes she loved it. Other times, it bothered her.

Christopher wrapped his arms around her from behind. “It’s getting cold. We should be inside. Everyone is there.”

“I checked the mail.” She rested her head on his chest. “There’s another letter from my parents. The third in a week. Can you believe it? Just because it’s Christmas.”

They’d sent her a Christmas card as a peace offering, then a short letter, and then another Christmas card. She didn’t want to see them yet, especially since Father had tried to blame her for the loss of Spencer Hall, but all the same, they asked to have a civil relationship with her, hoping they might apologise for the pain they’d caused her.

Rebecca had kept her word and told the truth to Pearce who had cleared Elizabeth’s name with a formal apology. Thus her parents were more than aware of her innocence, as they were aware that Christopher was now a rich businessman with a successful company. Pearce had helped him speed up the process of legalising the company.

She believed those were the only reasons for their sudden wish to see her. But she wasn’t sure they really cared about her.

“Don’t be too upset. We’re your family now.” He kissed her cheek, and the cold tip of his nose on her cheek made her giggle.

The air in the large common room was thick with the smell of cinnamon and mulled wine. Finn sat at one end of the long table covered with a bright-red tablecloth. Crumpled pieces of paper surrounded him.

“I told you to stop, Finn,” Jane said, lighting the candles on the table. “You’ll stain the tablecloth with ink, and dinner is ready.”

“I’ve almost finished.” He crushed another piece of paper and tossed it in the warm hearth.

“What are you doing?” Elizabeth asked.

“Trying to write a letter to Odette. She sent me a Christmas card, telling me that she’d like to see me again now that the duke made it clear that you were innocent and her parents aren’t against you anymore, but I don’t know where to start.”

“By being honest,” Pearce said from the sofa.

He was playing with Arthur, bouncing him up and down on his knee. Arthur laughed out loud, opening and closing his small hands in absolute delight. He grabbed a long curl of his father’s hair and pulled.

“Careful.” Sarah gently opened Arthur’s hand.

“It’s all right.” Pearce smiled at her.

The large diamond ring Pearce had offered to Elizabeth was on Sarah’s finger, and it was fitting, because Sarah truly loved Pearce.

“Being honest is good advice,” Christopher said.

Finn propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his fist. “I can’t be honest. She’ll run for the hills.”

“Then honest and polite,” Elizabeth said.

“Elbows off the table.” Jane clapped her hands, jolting Finn. “Honestly. And His Grace is present.”

Darko gave out a snort as if in agreement with Jane. His infatuation for Pearce was still ongoing without the need for bacon bribes. She would never understand that dog.

Pearce came to the palace often to spend time with Christopher, Sarah, and Arthur, but officially, no one knew about his son, which never failed to sadden Elizabeth.

But some aristocrats managed to give bright futures to their illegitimate sons, gifting them with unentailed estates and, in rare cases through the queen, even a title. Whatever happened, Arthur would always have the support of his loving uncle and his father.

“Arthur will have a share of my enterprise if you’re happy with that, Sarah,” Christopher said.

She smiled. “Your company has been legal for a matter of months, and you already plan to share it?”

He shrugged. “Good planning. The little one will have a safe future.”

“He’ll never be alone,” Pearce said, holding the baby. “I swear it on my honour in front of these witnesses on this holy day, Arthur will have all the opportunities I had.”

Christopher grimaced. “Hell, even being beaten up in Eton?”

“No swearing, please,” Jane said. “Not in front of the babe and at Christmas.”

“Eton was a sheer nightmare for me,” Christopher added.

“Because of me, mostly.” Pearce handed Arthur to Sarah. “I behaved horribly with you. I’m sorry.”

Christopher didn’t flash his usual cocky grin. Elizabeth could swear there was a suspicious shine in his eyes.

“It’s in the past,” he said.

Pearce stood up and put a hand on Christopher’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but she suspected the two brothers didn’t need many words. They patted each other’s shoulders, and that was it.

“Did you write back to your parents?” Sarah asked, cuddling Arthur.

“I’m still upset. Putting the past behind me is harder than I thought.”

Pearce caught her gaze. “If I may give a piece of advice. I was angry with my father because he used to spend so much time with Christopher. I didn’t have time to tell him how much I cared about him. Your reluctance to see them again is justified, but one day, your parents will be gone, and you won’t have the chance to make peace with them.”

“Since when are you so wise?” Christopher asked.

“Since I’m a father.” He smiled fondly at Arthur and Sarah.

That tender smile melted Elizabeth’s heart.

“Dinner is ready.” Jane carried a large bowl of steaming white soup to the table.

“I’m starving,” Finn said.

“Quickly, before it gets cold. Not you, Your Grace. You take your time,” Jane said.

Christopher rolled his eyes, muttering, “Favouritism.”

Elizabeth sat next to him among the scraping of chairs, the laughter, and Arthur’s cooing sounds. The warmth of her new family touched her heart, but Pearce was right. She could try to reconcile with her parents. The situation between them would never be as it was before the incident, but she’d try to get them back into her life, or at least not to resent them.

“I think I’m going to follow Pearce’s suggestion and write to my parents,” she said.

Christopher leant closer and whispered, “Do you think they’d approve of me as their new son if you marry me?”

She beamed, closing her hand around his. “They wouldn’t, but I don’t care.”

“So you agree to be my queen?”

“Absolutely, Your Highness.”