They settled down to eat the meal, eagerly sharing their excitement for the future ahead of them. Eventually, they ended up pressed against each other, silently watching the flames in the fireplace die out slowly. Phoebe slowly stirred from where she lay curled against his chest, and hummed slightly.
“Edward.”
“Mm?”
“I have been thinking,” she began softly, “That I should like very much to see the opera you promised me, sooner rather than later. Not because I am impatient – only because I find I no longer wish to postpone the things that make me happy, waiting for some more convenient season to enjoy them.”
He turned his head to look at her, something achingly fond in his expression. “Then we shall go this very week, if a suitable performance can be arranged. I meant what I said, Phoebe. I do not intend to let any more of our happiness wait on ceremony.”
“Good,” she said, settling back against him with a contented sigh. “Because I have found, this past year, that I am rather done with waiting for things I have already been fortunate enough to find.”
EPILOGUE
TWO MONTHS LATER
The weeks after that brought more changes to the estate than Phoebe could have predicted but it was all welcome, as they had come with endless reasons for gratitude.
She felt even more strongly about it and she watched her and her husband’s family gather on her terrace, bathed in the warm summer sun and they conversed.
Rowland and Anna had arrived that morning, and Barbara not long after, declaring loudly that she refused to be left out of any gathering that involved croquet, gossip, or the opportunity to embarrass her nephew in front of witnesses. All three of them now stood scattered across the lawn in various states of good-natured chaos, mallets in hand, while a boy from the stables trailed after them collecting the balls that Rowland kept sending wildly astray.
“You are entirely hopeless at this,” Anna informed her brother, preferring to forgo the trouble of hiding her delight.
“I am adjusting to the terrain,” Rowland replied with great dignity, lining up another shot that promptly sailed past the hoop entirely.
“The terrain is flat grass, Rowland.”
“Deceptively flat.”
Barbara, watching from beneath the shade of a wide-brimmed hat, made a sound that might have been a laugh disguised as a cough. “I have known this family only a handful of months, and already I find myself endeared to the lot of you,” she declared. “Anna, my dear, once the season resumes in earnest, I intend to introduce you to every eligible gentleman of my acquaintance worth the trouble. I have a rather substantial list.”
Anna flushed with pleasure. “You needn't go to such trouble on my account, Aunt Barbara.”
Barbara had become an aunt to all of them at some point and she seemed rather thrilled to have even more nephews and nieces to look after.
“Nonsense. It is no trouble at all – merely the pleasure of matchmaking, which I have sorely missed since Edward robbed me of the opportunity of performing the duty for his sake. Though I will admit that it ended up better than we could have hoped.” Barbara's gaze slid pointedly toward her nephew, who was presently attempting, with limited success, to keep Phoebe from overexerting herself at the croquet lawn.
“Careful with your swing, darling,” Edward murmured, hovering at Phoebe's elbow with an attentiveness that had only grown more pronounced as the weeks passed and her condition became more apparent. “You needn't strain yourself for the sake of a game.”
“Edward, I am playing croquet, not hauling a bag of coal. I am certain I can manage just fine.” Phoebe huffed with fond exasperation.
“All the same–”
“He has always been like this,” Barbara called from her seat, without looking up from her lemonade. “Though I confess I had rather hoped marriage might cure him of it. You would do better to worry over your own dismal performance, nephew, than to fret over your wife's mallet swing. You have lost three matches running.”
“I have been distracted,” Edward stated with as much dignity as he could muster.
“By what, precisely? You have done nothing these past two hours but hover.”
“By my wife,” he admitted simply, and Barbara rolled her eyes so exaggeratedly that Rowland burst into laughter was loud enough to draw Anna's swift, pinching retaliation.
“I do not know how you expect any suitors to take interest in this one, aunt Barbara. It is much more likely that she will terrify prospective suitors away, given how intimidating Anna can be due to how sharp-tongued she can be.” Rowland reported to the dowager.
“If anyone in this family ought to be considered terrifying,” Barbara said, entirely without inflection, “It is you, Rowland. I have rarely met a man so committed to glaring at anyone who so much as glances at his sisters.”
Rowland opened his mouth to protest, found no adequate defence, and closed it again while Anna dissolved into helpless laughter and even Phoebe could not entirely smother her own smile.
“I shall have you know,” Rowland replied once he had recovered some of his dignity, “That I have never once glared at a gentleman without adequate provocation.”