The Earl’s Imperfect Countess – Extended Epilogue

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29th June, 1821

A husband’s love heals and fulfills. A child’s love is innocent and pure.

Blessed is the woman who has both, but happy is the woman who loves herself enough to enjoy both.

~Lady Thornfield

“Sebastian,” Margaret called as her son darted between flowerbeds. “Let’s not have a repeat of the other day.”

Her four-year-old son immediately slowed down but didn’t stop his onward march through the garden. His energy and curiosity were limitless.

 “What did he do the other day?” Henry asked.

“Ran face-first into a hedge, fell on a flowerbed, and squashed newly planted flowers,” Margaret revealed. “The gardeners didn’t bat an eyelash. They dote on their little master far too much to care, but I wasn’t impressed. I do not want my son to grow up thinking it’s acceptable to disregard the work of others.”

 “I agree,” said Henry, pulling her closer and tucking her body against his side.

Margaret giggled, slapping a hand on his chest. “How am I supposed to walk when I’m glued to your side?”

“I could carry you,” he suggested. “Maybe give you a ride on my back or shoulders.”

“I am not Sebastian,” she said. “I do not ride on backs or shoulders. Imagine what the servants would think?”

“I doubt they’d think anything,” said Henry. “They adore you. You can do no wrong in their eyes.”

“Still, I’d rather not do anything that could mean being embarrassed before our people,” she said. “What if my underthings were to be exposed? Which would be possible given the positions I’d be in. I’m now a respectable poet with a reputation to uphold.”

She said the last bit with mock pride, but she was proud of her accomplishments. Her first poetry book was published two years earlier and has continued to be praised by poetry enthusiasts and fellow poets. She had begun compiling another poetry book but wasn’t rushing to have it published. Being with her family was far more meaningful than what other people thought about her work. Even the recent invitation to exhibit her botanical artwork at a famous London salon paled in comparison to seeing her son’s smiles and hearing her husband’s laughter.

“What is it about wildflowers and our son?” Henry asked in amusement. “He’s grabbing them by the handful again. Should I stop him?”

Margaret shook her head. “He knows that patch is his. I’m glad I kept patches of wildflowers dotted around the garden. I’d much rather our son grab them than ruin the cultivated flowers.”

She watched as her son grabbed a few and pressed them against his nose before dropping them on the grass.

 “Come, let’s sit here,” her husband said, pulling her down on a stone bench.

She jerked just a little when she felt the cold surface penetrate through her dress but soon welcomed its coolness. It had been a rather warm day, and while it had cooled down mid-afternoon, one could still feel the humidity in the air.

Feeling content, she leaned into her husband and placed her head on his shoulder. She always felt so secure and happy in his arms. Sometimes, Margaret thought back to the very beginning and was amazed by how far they had come.

 “You’ve been silent for a while,” Henry said some moments later. “What are you thinking about?”

 “Do you recall the first time we met?” Margaret asked, raising her head.

Henry nodded. “You were in your relatives’ garden with a sketchbook. You were so different from what I expected. You made me think about the way I saw my life. That was the beginning of your influence over me.”

 “We’ve been married for five years, yet you’ve never told me this,” she said.

“I haven’t?” he asked, sounding surprised. “I didn’t know. It must not have come to mind during the conversation. You were so different from other women. I briefly considered not marrying you because I was worried you would bring unwanted change to my life.”

He chuckled, earning him a soft punch on the arm. “I did bring change to your life,” she pointed out.

 “But it wasn’t unwanted,” he countered. “Well, it was at first, but it was necessary. Now, I thank the heavens every day that you came into my life and turned it upside down. Thornfield Manor has bloomed because of you. From the people to the nature around us, we have all fallen under your spell.”

“Spell makes it seem as though I used coercion,” she said. “Gentle persuasion is a better way of putting it.”

“I don’t know,” Henry said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “Thornfield Manor seems to be under an enchantment. Everything and everyone thrives on the estate. The world seems different the moment you step off the land. It’s like the beauty around us dims, and people seem miserable.”

“You make me sound like a mighty being capable of ruling nature,” said Margaret. “Flattering but exaggerated.”

Henry tapped her on the tip of her nose. “These are my opinions, my love,” he said. He looked around. “I haven’t seen Courage today. He usually comes running when you’re outside.”

“He’s probably napping somewhere,” said Margaret. “He isn’t as nimble as he used to be. Now, he loves to eat, sleep and occasionally go for walks.”

 “I think he’s influenced by that old mutt you took in last month,” said Henry. “All he does is eat and sleep. He only leaves his favorite spot when he needs to relieve himself outside.”

They had found him on a rainy day while on their way home from a party. Margaret had insisted they take him home. She couldn’t stand seeing others suffer, be they animals or people.

“At least Lyon is well-trained,” said Margaret. “And he’s very gentle with Sebastian.”

 “I suppose there is that,” he begrudgingly agreed. “I just don’t like sharing my wife with so many beings. And before you say it, yes, I’m possessive and proud of it.”

A cheeky kiss on her lips followed his words, making her gasp slightly. “Oh, you!” she cried, but was secretly pleased.

Her husband’s affection for her was well-known by everyone who knew them. A few thought it was excessive, but most were envious. Margaret didn’t care either way. She would never think it was too much.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Sebastian called out, clapping his hands and laughing. “Papa! Kiss Mama again.” 

Henry chuckled. “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, gently grasping Margaret’s chin and kissing her soundly.

Her breath hitched, but she leaned into him, holding onto his thigh for balance. Henry released her lips and nuzzled her nose with his before drawing away. 

 “Kissing again,” Catherine complained, appearing from around a hedge. “You have been married for five years, but it seems just like yesterday by the way you behave.”

 “Jealousy does not look good on you, Cathy dear,” her brother taunted teasingly.

Catherine poked out her tongue as she approached him, her belly round with child. She had married Tommy the previous year and lived in a cozy cottage on the estate. One might think she would be unhappy living a simpler life with a commoner, but she was thriving. From managing the family’s charitable works to volunteering at a local school and church, her life was busy and meaningful. Tommy also adored her and always looked at her as though she was his very breath. Margaret recognized the look because Henry was the same.

“I’ve come to see my sweet nephew,” she said, looking around. “And there he is. Sebastian! Aunt Cathy is here!”

Sebastian turned around quickly when he heard his aunt’s voice. He squealed happily and went running toward her. Aunt and nephew shared a special bond that Margaret savored. It was nothing like the relationship she’d had with Aunt Beatrice.

 “My sister seems to glow more every day,” Henry commented.

“It’s the pregnancy, but also love,” said Margaret. “You did this. You gave her the opportunity to find happiness with someone she loves.”

One might doubt Henry had ever given resistance to his sister and Tommy’s union, not when he praised their relationship so much. He had also become friends with Tommy, often going on horse rides together. Henry had even taught him how to box, but the younger man wasn’t much of a fighter. 

“I’d like to take him with me for the day,” said Catherine, holding her nephew’s hand. “I’ll bring him back before dinner.”

 “Stealing my son again, are you?” Henry playfully complained.

“It’s not stealing if I tell you about it beforehand,” his sister replied.

 “Fine, fine,” he said, waving them off. “Take him, but bring him back before his dinner, not ours. Those are two different times.”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. I’m his aunt, after all.” She turned to Sebastian. “Bastian, say your goodbyes. You’re going with Aunt Cathy now.”

Margaret chuckled when her son merely waved his hand before he turned away with his aunt.

 “Little traitor,” said Henry, laughing. “Look how easily he leaves us?”

 “He adores his aunt,” said Margaret.

 “Yes, he does,” Henry agreed. He looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Shall we go inside? You said you wanted to help organize a few documents. You can do that while sitting down and drinking your tea.”

Margaret saw right through his words. “You just want me to go inside, put my feet up, and eat,” she accused.

 “I said drink, not eat,” Henry countered.

 “But that always means eat, doesn’t it?” she argued. “You say tea, but you mean fruit, biscuits, cakes, and soups.”

Henry tried to hide his smile, but she could see the slight curve of his lips. “Well, I’m only trying to keep my wife healthy.” He stood up and held out his palm. “Shall we?”

Margaret sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be happy unless she agreed. “Very well,” she said, taking his hand.

They walked hand in hand to the house, commenting on the landscape along the way. Part of Margaret still felt like she was living in a dream and that she would wake up one day. Her life was just too perfect. Just to be safe, she pinched herself just as they entered the study.

 “Ouch!” she muttered.

 “Is it the baby?” Henry asked, his voice carrying a hint of panic. “Are you in pain? Where?”

 “I’m fine,” she assured. “Nothing to worry about. I just need to sit down.”

He still looked worried as he led her to a chair and lifted her legs to rest them on a leather-padded footstool.

 “Better?” he asked.

 “Much. Thank you, my love.”

Henry smiled and kissed her brow. “I am your faithful servant.”

He gently squeezed her shoulders before walking around the desk to his armchair. Margaret noticed an unopened letter that looked familiar. Judging by the penmanship and seal, it was from Lady Eugenia.

“Another invitation from your stepmother?” she asked.

 “Yes,” said Henry.

The woman had become rather desperate to repair her relationship with Henry and Catherine. No longer being socially respected had forced her to turn to them in the last few years, but they didn’t seem to care.

“I suppose you’re not going to respond?” said Margaret.

“I don’t see why I should,” said Henry. “Her intentions are not good, and I do not want someone like her around my child. Catherine feels the same.”

Margaret understood their feelings. She didn’t want questionable people around her son, especially not her aunt and uncle. The pair were still locked away and couldn’t interfere in Margaret’s perfect world.

 “I’m ready to help with those documents,” she said, changing the subject.

 “Why don’t you just sit there so I can admire you while I work?” he suggested.

“So what will I do?” she asked. “I’ll grow bored.”

 “Why don’t you read to me? I can get you one of the books you left in here the other day.”

 “Very well,” she said in mock exasperation. “I suppose I’ll read to you if I must.”

 “Oh, how kind of you, my love,” said Henry, chuckling.

He stood up and grabbed a few books from a smaller table. He placed them before her, kissed her brow, and returned to his seat. Margaret selected one of them and settled into her chair to read. The words flowed from her mouth, and as she turned a page, her mind briefly drew comparisons between her life now and before her marriage. Grief, loneliness, and unhappiness had been her daily friends when she lived with her aunt and uncle. While her life had materially improved when she became the Countess of Thornfield, it still lacked love. Then, her husband’s heart began to thaw, and they gave each other a chance. Now, she couldn’t recall the last time she had felt fear, dread, or despair. Thornfield had become her sanctuary, a place of love, joy, and peace. Most importantly, she had a husband who cherished her as she was. Nothing could ever compare to such bliss. Nothing at all.

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OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!

Grab my new series, "Whispers of Regency Love", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!

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