She went to find Thea. She had a great deal to tell her. But as she crossed the room, she glanced over at the duchess, still sitting in her chair with her champagne and her calculating eyes.
The duchess was watching Thea.
And her smile was rather terrifying.
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
The country estate was not yet rebuilt. But it was beginning.
Estella stood at the edge of what would become the new east wing and watched the workers move through the skeleton of timber and stone. The morning air was crisp with the scent of sawdust and damp earth.
Somewhere behind her, Charlotte was loudly informing the head carpenter that he was building what was to be her bedroom.
The carpenter, to his credit, feigned interest admirably well. "Then I shall take extra care to make it the finest room in the manor," he said with a wink.
Charlotte shot Estella a triumphant grin. Estella fought a smile and turned back to the view.
The old house had burned down to its foundations. For two years it had stood as a blackened ruin, a monument to guilt and grief. Sebastian hadn't been able to bring himself to visit, let alone rebuild.
It had been Estella's idea to come here. To stand on the scorched ground and see it for what it was—not a grave, but the perfect place to start fresh.
Sebastian hadn't agreed immediately. He'd gone quiet in the way he did when something touched the wound he still carried. Andrew's death was not a thing he'd ever fully set down, and she'd learned not to ask him to. But she'd put her hand on his scarred one and said, "We can build something new here. For our family."
And he'd looked at her with those dark eyes, and he'd said yes.
The new house was taking shape around the bones of the old. Different in design—lighter, more open, with wide windows that would let in the sun. The east wing, where Lydia had been trapped and Andrew had died, was being rebuilt as a library. Andrew had always loved books, and it felt like a more fitting memorial than a cold, weathered gravestone.
Arms encircled her from behind as she surveyed the progress. Warm, solid, smelling of wool and that familiar scent she'd never stop adoring. His hands settled on the slight swell of her belly, and she leaned back against his chest.
"I think the carpenter is afraid of your sister," Sebastian murmured against her hair.
Estella laughed. "Everyone is afraid of my sister," she teased. "It's part of her charm."
His thumbs traced slow circles against the curve of her stomach. Their baby would be born just in time to move into their new home.
Sebastian's arms tightened, pulling her closer, and his breath was warm against her temple.
He did this every time. Every time he felt the bump where the baby was growing, he went quiet and held her a little tighter, as though he still couldn't quite believe this was real.
"The library shelving arrives next week," she said. "And Thea's sent the soil reports for the south fields. She says if we implement the new rotation by spring, we should see a thirty percent improvement in yield."
"How is Thea?" he asked.
Estella smiled. "Busy. The duchess has her running all over London. Something about a new project. Thea's being very mysterious about it, which means the duchess has sworn her to secrecy, which means it's almost certainly something outrageous."
He chuckled. "The duchess's projects are always outrageous."
"Yes, well. This one apparently involves a young woman who's just arrived from the country and a gentleman the duchess described as—" Estella paused, trying to recall the exact phrasing from Thea's last letter. "'Dangerously charming and in dire need of reformation.'"
Sebastian's chest rumbled with a laugh. An actual laugh. Even after a year of marriage, the sound delighted her every time. "Heaven help him."
"Heaven help them both."
They stood together and watched the house rise. A robin had settled on a pile of new timber and was singing, and the morning light caught the fresh stone in a way that made it glow.
"I heard from the duchess this morning," Sebastian said. "Hartwell has made progress. There's a new witness."
