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Epilogue
The wheel is come fullcircle.
—Shakespeare,King Lear
Catherine watched herson pick petals from the profusion of roses, mumbling a song as he dropped each one on Daniel’s tomb. They came here often, sharing with their son tales of their childhoods, beguiling him with stories of his uncles. He was too young yet to truly understand the anecdotes, but he’d listen and giggle, and she felt certain they were slowly becoming embedded in his memory too.
“Come, Daniel. Your grandfathers await their tea for you.”
He toddled precariously toward her, his small hand warm as he slipped it into her waiting one. The other he offered to his father. She and Nicholas smiled at each other over his head. The child had done the impossible, united generations and households. When her father was in residence, he rarely missed tea with his grandson, nor did Lord Woodfield. Gone was the old man’s roar. Young Daniel could get the man to practically purr like a kitten.
She looked fondly at her son, then glanced back at Daniel’s resting place. He would have been a superb uncle. As would her brother. She so wished he were here. Where was Laurence now? They’d only heard from him once, acknowledging he had received word of the truth of Daniel’s death. With Britain still at war with the United States, Catherine was perpetually worried Laurence would get hurt. Yet Nicholas had found no evidence that Laurence had actually enlisted as he’d planned to do. Despite that, Nicholas made regular inquiries about regimental losses but had found nothing. Nicholas assured her they would have heard if something had happened to Laurence.
Still, no word at all from Laurence himself? She could find no reason he would not contact them. Surely he planned on returning some day? Was he safe? Was he lonely? Had he found a measure of peace? If only—
“Let it be, Catherine,” Nicholas said and swung Daniel up into one arm, wrapping his free one around her, pulling her close. “There are no perfect endings.”
He kissed her nose, his love clear, pure, and comforting. He took his responsibilities seriously, but he’d softened in the last two years, especially since the birth of Daniel.
Nicholas whisked another kiss across her forehead and smiled. “But there are happy ones.”
Daniel leaned in, kissing her nose and forehead in perfect imitation of his father. “Happy ones,” he mimicked, his chubby, little hands pushing the hair from her face.
No, not perfect, she thought as she gazed into those blue eyes so like his father’s. But they were both correct. It was happy indeed.
