The Foundling (Rags to Richmonds #3)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Cedarvale, Oxfordshire

May 1819

F rederica felt a delicious quiver of excitement as Penrith wrapped himself around her from behind and put his hand over hers on the knife. Together, they cut into their wedding cake, and a convivial round of applause went up amongst those gathered to celebrate the occasion. It was a relatively small congregation, the guest list carefully curated to minimise any unsympathetic attention towards Frederica’s family, yet with enough dignitaries present—Lady Tipton’s sister, the Marchioness of Carbrooke, and her family amongst them—to give a clear signal that the Duchy of Penrith stood firmly by the Tipton Earldom.

Her new husband placed a kiss on her cheek. “You always did know the perfect time for cake, Duchess.”

She smiled elatedly—as she had been doing all morning until her cheeks ached from it. “It makes a welcome change not to be dishing it out as a means of commiseration.”

“On the contrary, you must commiserate with me,” he said quietly. “I am profoundly distressed that all these people are still here, and I cannot be alone with my bride. The wait is insufferable.”

She felt a warmth that had become gradually more familiar as their engagement had progressed, and Penrith’s attentions had grown bolder. It was but one month since he proposed, and in some ways, the time had rushed past, for there had been much to arrange and a great deal of activity—and gossip—to manage. In other ways, it had felt like an age.

Prior to the duke’s impassioned declaration in the gardens at Chiltern Court, uncertainty had made them both guarded. Penrith had since admitted to having been convinced that Frederica would resolve to stay at Taverstock; Frederica had admitted to having persuaded herself that he could never return her regard. Once both obstacles were removed, they had each been emboldened to display a far greater degree of admiration, discovering a mutual ardour that had rendered the month of waiting difficult and long.

Once or twice, their desire had run so hot as to seriously imperil Frederica’s virtue—something that had delighted her as much as it had astonished her; she had never known such passions existed. Assuming none of the delicious sensations she was experiencing for the first time were new to Penrith, she had been captivated to learn, after one particularly heated tryst, that he, too, had never known yearning like it.

“What have you done to me?” he had said to her, reluctantly and breathlessly desisting his attentions. “I am a man crazed—or a green boy, more like. I have never been so woefully incapable of controlling myself.”

“Have you not? Not even with…?”

He had shaken his head emphatically. “It was never like this with Margot. I loved her dearly in the end, but I never wanted her like I want you. You drive me out of my senses!”

Telling him she was no less affected, and it was therefore a good thing that they had sense enough to spare between them, had tested his restraint and her patience to its limits.

Without sacrificing their closeness, they both relinquished the knife to a footman for him to cut up the cake. “His Grace and I will require equally generous slices,” Frederica said to him, earning herself a rapacious look from her husband.

The applause died away and Frederica’s brother raised his glass. “A toast! To the duke and his new wife, my dear sister, the Duchess of Penrith! I wish you both every happiness.”

There was a slight pause, a ripple of mumbling, and a host of sly glances before anybody took up the toast, and even then, it took Kem and Worthe to initiate it. Frederica wondered at James’s boldness. In his inimitable way, he had determined not to allow his altered situation to bring him low, declaring instead that it was his greatest joy to be able, at last, to drop the pretence of being a mere cousin and announce to the world that he was brother to the three finest young ladies of his acquaintance. Frederica and her sisters were deeply touched, but whilst James might be reconciled to no longer being the viscount, the ton was far from content to overlook the lie Lord Tipton had perpetuated. There was derision and censure aplenty amongst some in their circle without James adding fuel to the fire by advertising the matter in his every speech.

“Thank you, Richmond,” Penrith said collectedly. “It is much appreciated.”

Frederica saw Lord Tipton wince at the appellation. She felt for him. She had known her brother for only a few short months, and she could scarcely get used to calling him anything other than Oakley. After a lifetime of fathering him, not to mention the guilt of having landed him in his present fix, her uncle was struggling much more with the adjustment.

Penrith directed her with a delectable touch to her lower back away from the buffet table and towards the window, where her family were grouped. They had not quite reached them when the butler interrupted their progress.

“Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace, you have a visitor—Lord Humboldt.”

“The magistrate?” Frederica asked, perturbed. She had not seen him since the night of Lucy Baxter’s accident, and the circumstances then could not have been more disagreeable .

“It is my wedding day—I am not receiving callers,” Penrith said with an unusual flash of vexation on his countenance.

The butler inclined his head. “Apologies, Your Grace, I did impress that fact upon him, but he insists it cannot wait—and he has requested to see Lord Tipton as well.”

Frederica baulked. Recalling a recent mention in one of the gossip papers that her uncle might be required to forfeit his earldom altogether should the Crown take exception to his deceit, she became fearful of what new disaster this visit heralded. “Should you like me to join you?” she asked anxiously.

“No, my love, you stay here,” Penrith replied. “The less our guests are given to tattle about the better. I shall not be long, I promise.” With a kiss to her hand and a smile that seemed somewhat forced, he left her to speak to Lord Tipton. Moments later, both men left the room. Frederica guessed that Penrith had not told her uncle his real purpose, for his lordship had looked only curious and not at all worried. Taking her husband’s lead, she took a deep breath, pasted a smile on her face, and walked calmly to join the rest of her family.

“Frederica, where have Penrith and Uncle Charles gone? Is everything well?” Adelaide said immediately, not in the least bit fooled.

She felt her smile grow ever more fixed. “I do not know, but pray, let us continue as though it is nothing.”

They agreed without hesitation and did her proud with their efforts to act as though nothing was amiss. Kem, Worthe, and Lord Carbrooke proved invaluable, moving about the room with James in tow, drawing upon all their consequence to deter any undue speculation about him or the absence of Penrith or Lord Tipton.

Left with her female relations, Frederica did her best to maintain an unruffled demeanour. With a determined smile befitting a happy bride, she said, “Patty is settling in well at Taverstock, Adelaide.”

Her sister beamed at her. “I know—because she wrote to me! Her handwriting is atrocious, but I cannot tell you how well I like being able to correspond with her now. You and Penrith have given me an absolute gift by returning her to me. I do not know how I shall ever repay you.”

“That is easy,” Frederica replied. “You are about to provide me with a new niece or nephew to dote upon. I shall be very well satisfied with that as payment.”

Adelaide placed a hand on her growing belly and smiled. “Not long now, and I confess, I am impatient for my time, for I am not well suited to the inconvenience of increasing. I am exceedingly grateful that you chose to marry from Cedarvale. I do not think I could have endured the carriage ride to Chiltern Court.”

“It was no trouble. It was less disruptive for the children this way.”

“Yes! Our anticipation for Adelaide’s babe notwithstanding, you have three children of your own now,” Scarlett said warmly. “And we have two nephews and a niece to spoil rotten.”

Frederica smiled happily. She had spent a good deal of time with Ryde, Delphine, and Felix over the last month, and they grew dearer to her by the day. “They will be brought down later, when the other guests have gone.”

Lady Tipton smiled fondly. “I look forward to it. They are cherubs—ah, Your Grace, we were just discussing your darling children.”

Frederica turned to see that Penrith had returned and was crossing the room to her. His smile for her was as warm as ever, but that which he then turned upon Lady Tipton was distinctly less easy.

Her ladyship looked around him and at the door, then frowned at him in confusion. “Has my husband not returned with you?”

“No, madam,” he replied seriously. “In fact, he has requested that you join him in the library.”

Lady Tipton’s face fell, and she excused herself directly, insisting that her nieces and sister remain to enjoy the celebration.

“Enjoyment is impossible when we do not know what has happened,” Frederica said quietly. “Is it serious? Is my uncle in trouble?”

“Yes and no, in that order,” Penrith replied in a low voice. “Do not be too alarmed—he is well, only shaken. Let us get this over with and then I shall take you all to him.”

He refused to divulge any more, and after a tense moment, the twins and Lady Carbrooke and her daughters moved away to mingle with the guests—various of whom immediately turned in Frederica and Penrith’s direction, evidently intent on claiming their share of notice.

“Humboldt did bring one piece of indisputably good news,” the duke said beneath his breath before they were descended upon. “Tom Baxter has been returned to Taverstock.”

Frederica’s delight at this news buoyed her for the almost two hours that passed before their guests could be prevailed upon to leave. When it began to look as though they never would, Lady Carbrooke offered to start the ball rolling by taking her family home first. She announced loudly that it was time for the bride and groom to be left in peace, and one by one, everyone else took the hint until only Frederica’s brothers and sisters remained. As soon as the door closed behind the last departee, Penrith led them all to the library.

Lord Tipton was sitting next to his wife, looking pale and frightfully old. Frederica glanced at her husband in dismay; he squeezed her hand and gave her a reassuring smile, then drew her to one of the sofas nearest the earl, encouraging the others to follow suit.

Lord Tipton waited only as long as it took for them all to be seated before saying, without preamble, “My brother Damian has been killed.”

Frederica did not wonder that Penrith had refused to divulge this news whilst the wedding celebration was ongoing; there was no doubt her family’s absolute astonishment would have drawn unwanted notice. Nobody spoke; they only stared cagily at each other as the significance of Damian Richmond’s death settled upon them all.

“The magistrate informs me there was some manner of disturbance at the gaol last night.” Her uncle continued. “They are investigating, but all they presently know is that several men were involved, Damian among them. He was stabbed. And now he is dead.”

Still, nobody said anything, and Frederica felt the cruelness of it. She had no love for Mr Richmond, but none of his crimes made him any less Lord Tipton’s brother. “I am sorry, Uncle. You have my deepest condolences.”

Her uncle looked at her with something like wonder. “You are quite remarkable, my dear. Damian used you abominably, yet still you have the compassion to mourn his death. You truly are your father’s daughter.”

His words rendered Frederica as silent as the rest of her family. She was grateful to feel Penrith squeeze her hand again and returned his grip fiercely to steady herself.

Her uncle cleared his throat and gave a sad little shake of his head. “I had put off visiting him, for there seemed nothing to be said or done about the situation. Lord knows I regret that now. Just as I regret not seeing Robert before his death. It seems I have learnt nothing. I did not want Damian to inherit, but I certainly did not wish him dead.”

More awkward glances passed between them all, everyone seeming reluctant to be the first to ask the most obvious question. Eventually, James—who looked really rather ill—looked plaintively at his father.

“What will happen now?”

An expression of pure affection overtook Lord Tipton’s countenance. “You will be lawfully recognised as the true heir to the Tipton Earldom. ”

James took a deep breath. “Then I shall be Viscount Oakley and openly recognised as brother to Robert Richmond’s daughters?”

Both Lord and Lady Tipton looked deeply pained at his question, but neither opposed it. Lord Tipton answered simply, “Yes.”

“That would surely have made our father happy?” Scarlett said hopefully.

“I hope so,” Lord Tipton replied sombrely, giving one, unhappy nod.

James met Frederica’s eye. She smiled encouragingly at him. He turned his gaze on Adelaide and then Scarlett; they each smiled back at him with equal fondness. Seeming to take heart from them all, he then addressed Lord and Lady Tipton with more of his usual verve. “I am sure Robert and Susan would be delighted that my sisters and I are together again, as we always ought to have been. But I should like to know whether my mother and father are happy about it.”

Lady Tipton let out a small sob. “Oh James, you dear boy! Of course we are!”

Lord Tipton appeared too moved to speak, but after a few curt nods and vigorous blinks, he managed to convey his vast satisfaction and relief.

“Does this mean we can revert to calling you Oakley?” Worthe asked.

“Dear God, please say we can,” Kem added with feeling. “It galls me to call you by the name I have always associated with…” He paused and looked contritely at Lord Tipton. “Pardon me. ”

“Do not apologise on my account, Kemerton. Your antipathy is more than warranted—and it goes without saying that I share your feelings on the matter of my son’s rightful name.”

It was impossible to rejoice in the face of a man’s death, but there was much cause for relief. Robert and Susan’s children were properly reunited at last; the Tipton estate was safe from ruination at Damian’s hands; Lord Tipton’s gamble on Oakley’s upbringing had paid off, for a lifetime as the assumed heir had prepared him for the destiny that would come his way after all; and Oakley’s name might yet not be entirely ruined.

“For all the good it will do me,” he said good-naturedly. “It is not as though I held much appeal for anyone before all of this. I should think my hopes of convincing someone I am a good catch now are next to none.”

Scarlett straightened her spine as though she had taken personal affront. “That is nonsense.”

“Do not be discouraged by that Huntington trollop,” Adelaide added.

“Sister!” Scarlett exclaimed.

“Well, she is.”

Huntington? Frederica had heard Oakley lament his missed opportunities with numerous women—Lady Veronica, Mrs Marshall, Scarlett’s friend Bess, to name but a few—but she could not recall ever hearing the name Huntington. She began to comprehend just how ill his luck with the fairer sex truly was and begrudged the injustice of it. He was such a kind-hearted person; he deserved more. She angled her body enough to pat him on the arm. “You will make one fortunate lady a wonderful husband. You are certainly the finest brother anyone could wish for!”

Adelaide and Scarlett joined their agreements to hers, but Oakley was saved from the embarrassment of their insistent praise when the nannies arrived with Penrith’s children.

“Should you like us to go to a different room and leave you in peace, Uncle?” Frederica asked Lord Tipton.

“Goodness, no,” he replied, sitting up straighter in his chair. “This is their home! Besides, there is nothing like the innocence of children to help ease one’s troubles.”

Frederica gestured for the nannies to release their charges, all three of whom ran directly to her and Penrith. She took Delphine onto her lap, Penrith took Felix onto his, and Ryde climbed proudly to sit between them.

“Nanny said there was cake,” he said hopefully.

“There is,” Penrith replied. “Should you like some?”

All the children nodded enthusiastically, and Frederica asked a footman to bring a tray of leftover wedding cake and some tea for them all, with chocolate for the children.

“Thank you, Mama,” Delphine said—so nonchalantly that it took a moment for Frederica to fully comprehend what she had said. Her heart contracted powerfully in her chest when the word sank in. Nevertheless, she looked at her husband uncertainly.

“I am sorry, I-I did not ask her to?—”

“It is well,” he said, reaching to place his hand on her upper arm and regarding her with a sublimely loving gaze. “You are their mother now. And they are fortunate indeed to have you. We all are.”

“Hear, hear!” Oakley seconded—a sentiment that was quickly echoed by everybody else.

Frederica regarded them all with a lump in her throat, unable to respond for the strength of feeling overtaking her. Happiness like she had never known filled her eyes with tears and her heart with joy. She hugged Delphine gently to her, kissed her head, and made a silent promise to the late duchess that she would love her children as dearly as though they were her own. Then she declared to her family that they should all eat cake and forget their worries for a time. Privately, she was hopeful that they might be able, at last, to forget their worries for good, but she would settle for the respite lasting for the duration of this day—without doubt the happiest of her life.