Page 93 of The Forgotten Daughter
Epilogue
Fanny, round withchild and wrapped in a shawl, sat at her desk eighteen months later, lifted her pen, and watched a rare snowstorm cover the land around the Steward’s Rest. They had named their house so because it was their own destination at journey’s end. It was theirs to name. Though the earl could not make the cottage and twenty-odd acres around it truly his gift, because it was entailed, he’d had documents drawn up to make it theirs for the lifetime of Fanny and their children. The Clarion tenants called it Benson’s Harbor and joked about his missing boat.
She smiled at the lone figure riding up to the house, hat pulled down over his head, scarf wrapped tightly around his face to fend off the wind. Eli came early today, an unusual event, one she planned to enjoy.
She rose and walked to the kitchen. “Tea, Mrs. D. And some bread and butter. Mr. Benson is early today.”
“We have Chelsea buns from the Willow,” Mrs. D., or Mrs. Dalton, replied. She was both housekeeper and cook and happily went by the shortened name.
“I thought I did them in! Yes, please. Chelsea buns,” Fanny said.
“Your office, ma’am?” Mrs. D. asked.
“The upstairs sitting room, please,” Fanny replied, drawing a knowing smile from her housekeeper.
He would be a while seeing to the horse, she thought, climbing the stairs.
“Eli’s home, Fanny,” Amy chirped, coming from her room. “Have you ordered tea?”
“I have, indeed.” Fanny put an arm around Amy’s shoulders and brought her with her into the sitting room.
Soon enough boots sounded on the stairs and Clarion Hall’s indispensable steward swept a cold wind and the smell of snow into the little room. Fanny’s heart filled, her world complete.
“I come with tea,” he said, laying the tray on the table in front of Fanny. “And news.”
“Big news?” Amy asked, reaching for a bun, catching herself, and sitting back to wait for Fanny to pour.
“We’ll see how big. I haven’t opened the mail yet.” Eli pulled two letters from his pocket.
He handed the first to Amy, for it was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Eli Benson and Amy in Wil’s distinctive hand. He had been boarding at the Latin school in Risley since Michaelmas, having declined the earl’s offer to seek a scholarship to Eton for him. Eli had been torn, but Wil’s decision had satisfied Fanny. He would be more comfortable there, do well, and find his own way.
Amy read aloud the usual brief note to let them know he was fine, describe an adventure rambling in the countryside with the other fellows to prove it, and remind Fanny to take good care now that “you know.” That last made Amy’s cheeks pink.
“What is the other?” Amy demanded.
Fanny put down her tea. Eli’s sober expression gave her pause. The letter he handed her was from A. K. Newman and Company, Publisher. She opened it quickly, and her hand flew to her throat. “Oh, Eli. They want it. They’re going to publishThe Steward’s Revenge.” His joy multiplied hers. “And he wants to know how soon I can send him another.”
“What are you calling the new one, Fanny?” Amy asked.
“The Gambler’s Downfall,” she said.
Amy brushed crumbs from her hands. “I will leave you two to celebrate in peace. I’m still working through the mathematics propositions Eli gave me on Sunday.” Ever since Eli had discovered the girl’s gift for numbers, there’d been no stopping her.
She closed the door with a snick, and Fanny met the gleam in Eli’s eyes.
He took her hand to help her rise, searched her face, and smiled at what he saw there. He ran one tender hand down her rounded belly. “How is the little fellow?”
“He is fit and fine. So is his mother.”
The heat in Eli’s eyes flamed higher. He locked the door and led her to the adjoining bedroom. “It’s a good thing this house acquired a comfortable bed,” he said, his lips against her neck. It was an old joke between them.
“It’s a good thing Mr. Benson saw to it,” she murmured, returning his kiss. “He sees to everything.”
And he did.
