Page 105 of The Rose of a Sultan's Son

EPILOGUE

Two years later, on the edge of the Aegean Sea

Adeline stood next to her godmother, Charlotte, as they leaned over the edge of a balcony and watched their husbands play with their youngest children in the garden below.

“He’s really quite ridiculous,” Charlotte murmured, referring to her husband, Ziyaeddin. He was tossing his grandson, Girgus, into the air as his daughter, Zehra, giggled and his son, Ahmed ran in circles around his legs.

Sitting cross-legged on the short-clipped lawn, Ertugrul was chuckling at something his father had said when he was suddenly bowled over by Ahmet. A chase ensued before, breathless, the sehzade collapsed back to the ground and the toddler went after a butterfly.

“I’m so glad we came,” Adeline said. “Although I do love the home Ertugrul has built for us, it’s good to spend the first day of spring here. He’s only twenty-four years old today, but there are times I think he’s far older.”

Charlotte winced. “Ziyaeddin usually mourns his first wife’s death on the first day of spring, but these past two years, he has not.”

“That’s because he loves you,” Adeline stated.

“As much as Ertugrul loves you,” Charlotte commented.

Adeline gave her a brilliant smile. “I think he learned from watching my father.”

Charlotte tittered. “When I first met Ertugrul, he was so reserved. So timid. So quiet. Of course, back then, I didn’t understand that he wasn’t supposed to look at me.”

“Perhaps that’s why he liked staying in England for a time,” Adeline remarked.

They had married and remained in the capital with her parents at Bostwick House until well past the end of the Season. Once they had helped welcome George Junior into the world—Adeline claimed she wanted practice caring for a newborn—they then opted to remain for Christmas of 1844. Her older sister, Christina, and her husband, Richard Hartwell, and their children had joined them for a fortnight. With Daniel home from university, the crowded house was a chaotic scene until all but Daniel departed in early January 1845.

He had left on his Grand Tour a month later, leaving Elizabeth and George with almost an entire house in which to engage in their playful antics.

“Any news from your older brother?” Charlotte asked. Although she usually heard from Elizabeth at least once a month, the latest mail hadn’t been forwarded to the western palace.

“Rose wrote to me. She’s expecting her second babe in a few months,” Adeline said with a grin. “Georgie is walking and apparently babbling incoherently, and my father is probably behaving exactly like your husband is right now.” Her gaze followed the sultan as he sat on a bench with her son mounted on his booted foot, his leg bobbing up and down while he imitated a horse.

Charlotte tittered. “Do you have any regrets?”

“About what?” Adeline asked in alarm.

A quelling glance was aimed in her direction. “Marrying a Muslim? Moving to Constantinople? Having to learn a new language and wear different clothes and eat different foods?”

Adeline shrugged. “Oh, not really. I do wish I was better at learning the language,” she admitted. “I still have a translator to help at the charity.”

“Is it going well?”

“It’s better now. At first, I couldn’t make the employers trust me, but I remember my mother saying she had the same problem when she started,” she explained. “Once I was able to place a few men into positions, word began to spread. I do think having the sultan as my father-in-law helps a good deal.”

“He is willing to help all he can,” Charlotte commented, not adding that the first few wounded men had been placed in their positions of employment because Ziyaeddin had ordered it.

“Do you miss anything about England?” Adeline asked.

Charlotte sighed. “My oldest son, of course. Your mother and Hannah,” she added, referring to her best friends. She shrugged. “I cannot imagine what my life would have been like if I had stayed, though. Once John married Arabella and I became a dowager duchess...” She rolled her eyes. “I might have ended up in Brighton or Bath pretending to enjoy the entertainments. I like this life much better.” She tittered when Girgus ended up in her husband’s arms, a huge yawn suggesting the boy was about to fall asleep. “What about you? Do you miss anything?”

Adeline angled her head to one side and said a drawn out “ahh” as Zehra hugged her younger brother and then an “oh!” when the young girl pushed him to the ground. “Although there are some things I miss about England—such as everyone speaks English—there are others I do not.”

“For example?” Charlotte prompted.

“The clothes,” Adeline stated. “I love these gowns. The fabrics are divine. And the food. So much better,” she added. When she noticed the men appeared to be tiring, she asked, “Shall we rescue them?”

Charlotte glanced back over the balcony. “Oh, I suppose,” she said. “If I have not said it before, I am very glad you agreed to be Ertugrul’s wife, as is Ziyaeddin.”

“I think you have told me that at least a dozen times,” Adeline said with a grin as they made their way through the wide corridors and down the steps to the palace’s atrium. Had anyone told her she might one day be the sultana in charge of such a palace, she would have thought them a candidate for Bedlam.

“Ziyaeddin was so relieved when you two arrived. He was beginning to think Ertugrul wouldn’t return and that he’d have to choose a different heir.”

“He had nothing to be concerned about,” she insisted. “Ertugrul is all about doing his duty,” Adeline said, her hand going to her rounded middle. “In more ways than one,” she added on a giggle.