Page 77 of Debtor’s Daughter

Epilogue

At Lady Andover’s ball, it was once again noted that this season’s incomparable, the beautiful Miss Merrivale, was very much in demand.

Since the unveiling of her magnificent portrait by the acclaimed Mr Weston, there have been no end to the odes written in her honour, nor to the demands of every other debutante to have their likeness painted by the town’s fashionable new master artist.

―Excerpt from an article in The London Morning Star

Sixteen months later…

20thApril 1851, Easter at Merrivale’s Manor, Cawston, Norfolk.

“Come here, you little rogue,” Larkin exclaimed, but Gideon darted out of reach, a marchpane fruit clutched in each fist.

“Can’t catch me!” he shrieked, laughing maniacally as Larkin walked out of the kitchen after him.

“Oh, ho! That’s what you think,” Larkin said, grinning and letting the boy get a head start before giving chase.

“Don’t think I’m chasing you pair of lunatics!” he heard Maggie call after them, already breathless as she heaved her bulky form out of the chair at the kitchen table. At almost seven months pregnant, moving with any speed was quite beyond her.

Aunt Connie and Uncle Cecil had come to stay, bringing Caro too, all of whom looked the height of fashion and quite spectacularly glamorous. It was also their turn to host Larkin’s parents, as they had spent last Easter at the Priory. But, as much as she loved them all, Larkin knew Maggie was weary. As she’d refused to take a nap, he suggested a quiet moment in the kitchen leaving everyone else chattering noisily as they exchanged gossip.

They’d been having tea and a comfortable coze with their housekeeper and their cook, affectionately named by all, Moody and Goody, when the little thief had swooped in and filched the sweets.

Larkin ran after his adopted son, chasing him outside and into the orchard, which suited him fine, as they had a surprise for the lad.

The trees were full of blossom, drifting down like lazy snowflakes as Larkin ducked under branches and Gideon squealed with laughter.

“Come back, you two reprobates!” Maggie shouted after them, having made it as far as the gate.

As Gideon was red-faced and panting, Larkin decided he’d best catch him before he made himself sick, so he swooped the lad up and threw him over his shoulder.

“Got you,” he said smugly. “And if you get that sticky mess in my hair, I shall dunk you in the horse trough.”

Gideon snorted and Larkin heard smacking noises which told him the marchpane was being devoured in case his mother confiscated it. She’d already told him he’d had enough.

“I found this in the orchard,” he told Maggie as he strode back to her, turning Gideon over and holding him up by his ankles.

Gideon shrieked with delight, thinking this a great game, but Maggie exclaimed in horror.

“Oh, put him down. You’ll make him sick after all those sweets.”

Obligingly, Larkin deposited the lad on the grass at his mother’s feet.

“Pa caught me,” Gideon exclaimed, grinning up at them.

Both Maggie and Larkin sucked in a breath, for Gideon had never referred to him as anything other than Westie, and neither of them had thought to force him to do otherwise, feeling it was Gideon’s decision.

“So I see,” Maggie said, darting a glance at Larkin.

Larkin gazed back at her, a foolish smile curving his mouth. He couldn’t have said a word, for his throat seemed strangely tight, his chest full of emotion. Happiness lit him up on this perfect day, in this idyllic place. The manor was every bit as ancient and charming and beautiful as Maggie had told him. Rambling roses climbed everywhere and nowhere was there a straight line to be seen. Age had settled upon the old building, sinking the roofline here, making a wall lean preposterously there, until there was the perfect amount of imperfection, set among a garden that rioted out of control with flowers. It was their own little idyll, their escape from the hurly burly of town life, their home, and nothing could surpass it.

“I’ve asked Jeb to send everyone else around to the stables,” Maggie whispered in an undertone, and Larkin was glad she had flagged down the stable lad and organised everything as she always did, for suddenly he was all at sea. “But I don’t think we can show this little thief his surprise until he goes and washes his hands.”

“Surprise?” Gideon asked, immediately on alert and scrambling to his feet. “For me?”

“Well, I’m not sure you deserve it now, you naughty boy,” Maggie said, folding her arms and looking stern.

Gideon hung his head, kicking at a stone with the toe of his boot. “Sorry, Mama. Sorry, Pa. I like marchpane, but… sorry.”