Epilogue

County Wicklow, Ireland, January 1806

"Is that you, Ogilvie?" Georgiana woke with a bit of a start. Dear! She seemed to be dozing off at the drop of a hat these days! It was to be expected, she supposed, even more so now, when it was becoming more and more difficult to sleep comfortably at night.

"Yes, it is I," she heard his unmistakably smart step on the flags behind her chair. She smiled. He really was just incredibly pompous, her man of business. He came into view, bending from his great height, bowing at the waist. A thick shock of iron-grey hair fell forward as he looked up at her with those mournful brown eyes of his. "The morning post, madam," he said, presenting, with a great and ceremonial flourish, the silver tray he must have just taken off the footman in the hall.

"Oh, how kind of you," she shifted herself a little, struggling to bring herself a bit more upright. Oh, wasn't it a lovely day? And what a splendid idea it had been to build this little conservatory at the side of the house. So pretty, and so warm, even at this time of year, and it was lovely always to have flowers blooming, fresh herbs, and the fruit trees growing and bearing. She looked out of the bank of tall, delicately arched windows at the South garden, which was covered in a fresh dusting of snow. Icicles dripped from the eaves, sparkling in the winter sun.

She began to sift through the little pile of letters, and picked up one, noting at first only the address. "Oh, another letter from Eton!"

"I am afraid it is from the headmaster," Ogilvie intoned rather gravely. "Again."

"So it is," Georgiana said, setting it aside, with a bit of a wry smile. "I shall save that one for later. You know why Charles is forever getting into scrapes, don't you?"

"Because he is your son?" offered Ogilvie, in a tone seemingly without irony.

She laughed slightly, and gave him a rather arch look from beneath lowered brows. "No, it is because he is nearly sixteen, and he thinks I am going to take him out of school and buy him that commission he wants!"

A moment of silence followed.

"Don't say it, Ogilvie!"

"I beg your pardon?" He bridled a bit, drawing himself up to his full, impressive height. And then he seemed to shrug, turning up his hands. "I was only going to say, as I have said before, that it may be for the best."

Georgiana sighed, biting the nail of her little finger. "Oh, I know. It is all he has ever wanted. It is just, with this war…" She looked up at her husband, her deep green eyes brimming slightly with tears. "I could not bear to lose him again."

He crouched down beside her, folding his long frame until they were eye to eye. "There," he said gently, pulling up the thick woolen shawl that lay over her lap and tucking it snugly around her enormous, bulging belly. "Please don't fret. Are you quite warm?" He was suddenly like a little old midwife, tugging, clucking, adjusting the little footstool where she'd propped her feet.

She giggled in spite of herself, and swiped at the few tears that had managed to trickle out and run down her cheeks. "Yes, darling! Please don't fuss so. Oh, dear, I'm not usually such a watering pot, am I? I shall feel much more myself in a few weeks, I dare say!"

He picked up her hand and kissed it. "I daresay," he said with a smile, his handsome, but typically rather dour face alight with a joy that made her heart skip a little beat.

He picked up another letter from the tray and held it out to her. "Here, why don't you tell me what Lady Langford has to say?"

"Oh, Alice! She must be writing to tell me all about Archie's wedding! It was just last month!"

"Archie?"

"Yes, her youngest brother. The one we all thought had died. You must remember my telling you."

"I believe I do," said Ogilvie. "A rather complicated affair, as I recall. And he goes by a name other than Kennedy now, isn't that right?"

"Yes, well, he is meant to be…oh, never mind, it *is* complicated!" Georgiana slit the seals and unfolded the letter, two pages, written in Alice's perfectly flowing script. "He has married a girl from Cornwall. I met her once, very briefly. She is lovely, perfect for him. And they have the most beautiful little girl." She glanced up and grinned. "Oh, don't prink, Ogilvie! These things happen---although not to you, of course." She gave him a wicked smile, and thought she saw a hint of a blush beneath his slightly olive toned skin.

He cleared his throat. "A pity we could not attend."

"Yes, well!" she gestured to her burgeoning person. "And it was really meant to be a very small affair. I was surprised to have even been invited."

She skimmed the lines of Alice's letter, smiling happily. "She is sending me some rose cuttings. I do hope I don't kill the poor things…Oh! And here is a little note from the bride!"

"Kind of her," he said. "We sent a Waterford bowl, did we not?"

"Yes," she answered a little distractedly, as she read on. A lovely Waterford punchbowl, with a pair of stunning crystal candelabra to match. In the bottom of the bowl she'd had engraved a lucky shamrock. Archie would understand.

"What does she say?" asked Ogilvie, still fussing and tucking, in spite of her admonishment.

Georgiana smiled. "She writes to thank me."

The End

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