Epilogue: Brancaster
"Is everything ready?"
She took a deep breath, steeled her nerves before replying, "Yes, mother. I think so."
"This luncheon is important. I'm sure I do not need to remind you of that."
Edith watched as her mother-in-law retreated through the heavy oak library door, no doubt to check that Bertie too was ready for the impending invasion. She glanced around the dining room, searching out things that might have slipped her attention. She'd agonised over the choice of silverware, the glasses, cutlery, everything really, and who'd known they'd be a selection of all these things on which to dwell. She'd even resorted to calling Aunt Rosamund for advice, not daring to ask Mama for fear Mary would hear of her worries. There'd been an endless back and forth on the seating plan, whether Mrs Jackson of the Women's Institute could really be expected to sit comfortably next to Miss Wells representing the church's Young Wives group given that the rift over the musical selection at last year's summer fete hadn't yet healed. Especially when you considered that neither was currently speaking to the postmaster Mr Malham for reasons that Edith still couldn't quite fathom. It had been an interesting introduction to local life if nothing else.
But all was in order, she was sure of that. The silver sparkled in the crisp light filtering through the high windows, the floral arrangements were perfect, the delicate blooms giving a garden scent to the air and, all in all, she was content with her menu choices. She was even quite pleased with how the placecards had turned out given that she'd been forced to write them herself, realising as soon as she'd asked that Mrs James hated the task. They'd bonded over that, she felt, which had been a reassuring step in convincing herself that she could do this after all.
Since her crisis of confidence on the train she'd resolved not to let her doubts consume her as she feared they would. It hadn't been easy. Bertie was sure she could do it of course, her mother-in-law less so but was willing to take a chance on it at least. She sensed the household had mostly been holding onto blind hope after so long without a mistress that they'd forgiven a lot in the early days and weeks. But she'd proved herself committed and diligent and that counted for a lot it seemed.
She felt Bertie approach her from behind and squeeze her hips lightly. God, how she loved it when he did that! It jolted a memory of an intimate moment that would forever remain between them.
"Do you remember that morning in Paris, our second week maybe? I was attempting to catch the hotel waiter's attention to place our breakfast order."
"Of course," she replied lightly, her eyes crinkled in amusement, "It will be hard to erase the memory of you gesticulating in such a manner for quite some time to come. You're usually so unflappable."
"Well, he was being damn rude!" Bertie retorted before adding an apology for his language. "I thought of it earlier whilst listening to Mother drone on about today, how vital it all is to establish you in the county, on and on..."
She turned at this, surprised to hear him speak of his beloved mother this way. Given it had been just the two of them for so long he was usually very kind and considerate towards her.
"She's not wrong, Bertie. These things do help," she soothed, adjusting his tie that had become crooked in his embrace of her. "They set a standard of how we're going to be as the new Marquis and Marquess. Surely you see that?"
He smiled knowingly, "And you're right, of course. Just as you were when you told me to be patient with that infuriating waiter, try to see it from his angle, what else he was having to contend with."
She tilted her head to one side, "What are you trying to say?"
"That you know exactly what you're doing, my darling," he said, "You know how to placate and charm, when to wait and when to respond. You know how to do this."
His words were sincere and full of warmth and admiration for her, but she shook her head, still resistant to believing it was as he described. As she struggled to find words to respond, they heard the sound of the butler's unmistakeable tread on the polished wooden floors as he strode through the hall, preparing to open the great front door in welcome. They pulled apart and subconsciously checked one another to ensure they still looked the height of respectability before walking in step together to greet their guests.
A soft, gentlemanly knock on her bedroom door caused her to look up from her dressing table but she didn't respond, she knew he'd enter unless he was alerted otherwise. Not that she'd had any call to do that since they were married, she couldn't ever imagine wanting to delay having him come to her. The sight of him in his dressing gown and slippers made her smile. It seemed adorable to her, the way he arrived each and every night with a book tucked under his arm. She wasn't quite sure why he still bothered to bring it through with him. He was usually either too exhausted to even contemplate opening its pages or wonderfully distracted by her that the story contained within it didn't stand a chance.
He casually lay his gown on the ottoman positioned at the foot of the large, four poster bed and, with his slippers abandoned somewhere nearby, he pushed back the sheets and climbed in.
"Today was an absolute triumph, my dear. I wasn't sure Mrs Potter was ever going to stop gushing about it all and finally leave." He shifted the pillows to where he wanted them and settled back into them. "And I think after today we deserve to live a little, take tomorrow off and drive somewhere interesting for lunch."
Edith replaced the top of the jar of hand cream in front of her and finished rubbing in the last of it. She smiled to herself, it had been a success and she knew it. She made her way to the bed and hitching up her nightdress slightly she joined her husband.
"You're very sweet, Bertie," she replied, leaning over to kiss him on his cheek. "But yes, I am pleased with how it all went. You know I was sitting there wondering how many lunches have I been to, sat through and endured. It must be hundreds. I've listened to Grand-mama, Mama, Mary even work their magic, win everyone round. And this afternoon I realised that it's all stored in here," she tapped her finger to her head lightly. "I'd just forgotten, that's all."
"So, now do you believe me?" he asked, his voice full of hope, followed by a deep sigh of relief when he perceived the slightest nod of agreement from her. He brought her closer and placed a kiss on her temple, lingering long enough for a little shiver of anticipation to go through her. "Thank God for that. My darling, you were born for this."
And he was right, she could admit that now. She'd known it on the train even, when he'd suggested the pub and she'd known instinctively it would be the wrong move. She'd gone to say as much but they'd been interrupted, the window again closing on her moment. But none of that mattered now she told herself, and she sighed happily at the full realisation that it really didn't.
She briefly rolled away from him, reaching to the bedside table to fumble for the switch. Finding it she turned off the lamp, sending her side of the room into shadow. As she turned back she felt for him under the covers, the hairs on his legs soft as she moved to slide hers alongside, her body following.
"No, my sweet Bertie," she murmured, reaching her arms up around his neck, "I was born for you," and drew him in for a kiss which, like it had been in Paris, they never wanted to end.
Author's note: And there we leave them, happy and content. At least until the next time. Should there be a next time? I'm not too sure, although I can't help feeling there is so much to explore with these two. Let me know if you have thoughts either way, otherwise I do hope you think I did them justice with this one, at least.
