Three Years Later

The warm breeze carried the scent of blooming lilacs and freshly tilled earth as Arthur and Amelia’s carriage rolled down the winding country road. The late summer air was golden with the promise of ripened harvests, the wheat fields swaying gently in the distance. The sun was bright, but not oppressive, and fluffy white clouds drifted lazily across the vast expanse of sky.

Amelia, seated beside Arthur in the plush interior of the carriage, let her gaze drift over the landscape as they approached John and Lucy’s countryside home. The estate was smaller than the Bancroft estate, but it was perfectly suited for a growing family. It was nestled in a green valley, flanked by wildflower meadows and a small lake that glistened in the sunlight.

Lucy and John had moved here a year previously. They had decided to raise their children a little way out of the city switching tall buildings and townhouses for green fields and pretty scenery.

Amelia turned to him with a soft expression. “It is beautiful, isn’t it? A perfect place for children to grow up. Plenty of space to run, and to play.” She rested a hand over her growing belly, thoughtful. “Not that our little ones will want for space.” They already had a daughter, Charlotte, and now Amelia was expecting again, which brought them great joy.

Arthur chuckled. “No, but I daresay John and Lucy’s home has a warmth that even the grandest estates lack.”

It was true. Their home was not one of opulence, but of love. The house itself was made of warm honey-colored stone, with ivy creeping up the sides and large, inviting windows that let in the afternoon light. Even from the carriage, they could hear faint sounds of laughter—children playing in the garden, servants bustling to prepare for the birthday celebration.

Amelia sighed contentedly. “Indeed. It is a home built on love. And that is the most important thing of all.”

Arthur took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Then we shall make sure our home is the same.”

Arthur reached into the carriage and pulled out a carefully wrapped parcel—a selection of baked goods from their own kitchen, including a tart and a batch of almond biscuits that Arthur had insisted they bring.

“Do you think Charles will appreciate our contribution?” Arthur mused.

“I think he’ll appreciate anything sweet,” Amelia replied, taking his arm as they approached the door.

The moment they stepped inside, laughter and cheerful voices surrounded them. The drawing room had been transformed into a child’s wonderland—brightly colored ribbons adorned the mantel, and a magnificent birthday cake, decorated with sugared violets and delicate swirls of cream, sat proudly on a central table. The scent of spiced tarts, warm biscuits, and fresh berries filled the air.

Friends and family gathered in the drawing room, where a long table had been arranged with every kind of treat imaginable.

Children dashed between the adults’ legs, their shrieks of excitement punctuating the warm hum of conversation. In the midst of it all, Lucy stood proudly, looking radiant as ever, though there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Lucy rushed toward them the moment they entered, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of the day. “Oh, you made it! And you’ve brought more food! John will be delighted.”

John appeared behind her, grinning. “Unless it’s more sweets. In which case, I may weep.”

Arthur held up the parcel with a smirk. “I’m afraid it’s mostly sweets.”

John sighed dramatically. “So be it. But I warn you, our son has been eating his weight in pastries all morning.”

“It’s his birthday,” Amelia reminded him, slipping her shawl from her shoulders. “Surely that’s allowed?”

John gave her a pained look. “We shall see how generous you are when he begins running laps around the house.”

The group moved into the parlor, where guests admired the Craningtons’ home. The walls had been painted in warm, buttery tones, and John’s book collection took up nearly an entire wall. Elegant but comfortable furniture had been arranged to create an inviting atmosphere.

“This truly is a beautiful home,” Amelia said as she took a seat beside Lucy.

Lucy beamed. “It was quite a task getting it ready, but I wanted it to feel like us.”

“It does,” Arthur said approvingly. “And I notice John hasn’t wasted time filling the shelves.”

John grinned as he gestured to the books behind him. “It’s a work in progress. I plan to have a library one day.”

“You plan to run out of space,” Lucy corrected him.

Arthur chuckled, settling beside Amelia. “Well, if you must expand, I do know of a rather large estate with plenty of shelves.”

Lucy laughed, but before she could reply, there was a commotion near the fireplace—Charles’s presents were being unwrapped.

Charles sat on the floor surrounded by ribbons and paper, his face bright with excitement as he reached for another package. He had already unwrapped a set of wooden soldiers, a tiny rocking horse, and a hand-stitched stuffed dog that he clutched tightly in one hand.

“This one is from Aunt Amelia and Uncle Arthur,” Lucy announced, handing Charles their gift.

Arthur leaned toward Amelia. “If he dislikes it, I shall claim it was your idea.”

Amelia nudged him. “Coward.”

Charles tore into the paper with great enthusiasm, revealing a small leather-bound book.

John crouched down, peering at it with interest. “A picture book?”

“More than that,” Amelia explained. “Arthur painted the images himself. It’s a collection of stories—simple ones for now, but we thought he might enjoy looking at the pictures.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “You made this?”

Arthur cleared his throat. “I may have dabbled.”

John opened the book, flipping through pages of vivid illustrations—a fox darting through a woodland, a knight standing proudly beside his horse, a ship sailing toward adventure.

Charles clapped his hands. “Mine?”

“Yes, love, it’s yours,” Lucy said, smiling.

Arthur felt a surprising warmth at the sight of his godson admiring his work. He hadn’t expected it to mean quite so much.

“Thank you,” Charles said solemnly, and Amelia laughed as Arthur ruffled the boy’s curls.

“You’re very welcome,” Arthur said.

As the afternoon wore on, the children played hide-and-seek chasing one another around the house and through the garden while the adults enjoyed cake and conversation. Amelia felt truly content, watching as Arthur lifted Charlotte into the air, her delighted squeals ringing through the garden.

John leaned in beside her. “You’re happy,” he observed.

Amelia smiled, watching her husband. “I am.”

John nodded. “Good.”

“Is that yet another piece of cake in Charles’s mouth?” Amelia queried, noting how the three-year-old had cake crumbs, chocolate, and sugared icing all around his mouth. “I can’t get over his appetite.”

“Oh dear,” Lucy sighed dramatically. “I fear we shall be paying the price for his indulgence before the day is through.”

Arthur smirked. “A Cranington tradition, I see.”

John, who was carrying a glass of wine, chuckled knowingly. “It appears so. But let’s not bring up past incidents.”

Amelia stifled a laugh as she caught Arthur’s mock-affronted look. “Oh, let’s do,” she jested. “Do you remember that morning after an ill-advised night at the gaming tables?”

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. “One youthful mistake, and I am never allowed to forget it.”

Amelia smirked. “It’s tradition now, I think.”

Just as the conversation turned to reminiscing about old times, a familiar, high-pitched groan of distress rang through the room.

Lucy gasped. “Oh no—”

Too late.

They turned just in time to see young Charles cradling yet another fruit tart in his sticky little hands, now looking distinctly unwell, and clutching his belly before promptly being sick all over John’s pristine waistcoat.

John let out a strangled noise of horror. Then—despite her best efforts—Lucy burst out laughing. 

“The look on your face, darling.” She snorted. We need to get him cleaned up,” she gasped between giggles.

Arthur clapped John on the back, grinning. “And thus, my friend, the cycle is complete.”

John groaned, staring down at the ruined fabric of his clothes. “I should have known this day would come. I told Lucy we should stop him overindulging.”

Lucy scoffed. “A likely story! You said, ‘let him have fun.’”

Arthur chuckled. “A father after my own heart.”

Later in the afternoon, as the party buzzed around them, Amelia found Aunt Helena sitting at the edge of the garden, sipping her tea under the shade of a tree, a satisfied expression on her face. She was watching the children play, a rare, soft smile touching her lips.

Amelia smiled and made her way over, settling into the chair beside her. “I was wondering when I would find you.”

Helena chuckled, her sharp eyes twinkling. “I may be getting older, my dear, but I am still wise enough to know when to retreat for a moment of peace.” She gestured toward the chaotic swirl of children dashing across the grass, their laughter ringing through the air.

Amelia exhaled a soft laugh, resting a hand over her stomach. “It does seem that every time we gather, there are more little feet underfoot.”

Helena’s gaze flickered to Amelia’s gentle touch and a knowing glimmer crossed her features. “And it’s quite wonderful. Soon, there will be one more.”

Amelia smiled, her heart swelling at the thought of the tiny life growing within her. “Indeed. Soon.”

Helena set down her tea and turned fully toward her, taking in Amelia’s radiant happiness. “It suits you, you know,” she said, voice softer than usual.

Amelia tilted her head. “What does?”

“This life. Family. Love. Pregnancy. Children.”

A warmth spread through her chest. “I never imagined it would.”

Helena sighed, folding her hands in her lap. “Neither did I, at first. When you first came to live with me, I thought—well, I feared—you were shutting yourself away from the world. But now…” She gestured toward the party, the family gathered together, Arthur laughing in the distance, their daughter squealing with joy as he lifted her high into the air. “Now, I see you as you were always meant to be.”

Amelia swallowed past the sudden tightness in her throat. “I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

Helena huffed. “Nonsense. I only ever nudged you in the right direction.” She took Amelia’s hand and squeezed it gently. “You were always meant to do great things. You simply had to believe it.”

“I miss you though.” Amelia said.

“And I miss you too, my dear.” Helena replied. “But I didn’t want you to have to miss out on all of this.”

Amelia let out a slow breath, taking in the rich green of the garden, the golden light of the late afternoon, and the sound of her family just a few feet away.

“The school is thriving,” she murmured after a pause. “We’re working toward opening branches in Liverpool and Edinburgh.”

Helena arched a brow. “Ah, yes. Fantastic news. A bold move.”

Amelia chuckled. “Arthur thinks I should aim even higher.”

“He is not wrong,” Helena mused, her expression unreadable. “And you should listen to him. But tell me, my dear, are you truly happy?”

Amelia’s gaze drifted once more toward Arthur, who had now crouched down to help Charlotte pick a handful of daisies. Their daughter babbled something excitedly, and Arthur listened with the seriousness of a man receiving a royal decree.

Amelia smiled. “Yes. I truly am.”

Helena sighed, patting Amelia’s hand fondly. “Good. Then all is well.”

For a long moment, they sat in companionable silence, watching as the afternoon sun began to drift lower in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the garden, over their family, over the life Amelia had built.

And for the first time, she knew—without a doubt—that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

***

After the laughter and chaos of the party, Arthur and Amelia decided to return home that evening. As much as they loved Lucy and John’s cozy, book-filled house, the thought of climbing into their own bed—in the home that they now shared as a married couple—was too tempting.

The carriage ride through the countryside back to the quiet London streets was peaceful. The sky had deepened into a midnight blue, stars faintly scattered above as the lamps flickered along the roads. Amelia leaned her head against Arthur’s shoulder, feeling pleasantly tired from the day’s festivities.

Arthur laced his fingers through hers, his thumb idly tracing circles over her skin. “Well, if today was any indication of the future, we’re in for absolute chaos in a few years’ time.”

Amelia sighed dramatically. “I fear we are.”

Arthur smirked. “Do you think Charlotte will be the kind of child to overindulge in sweets and make herself ill?”

Amelia considered this. “She already has your appetite, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Arthur groaned. “We are doomed.”

They shared a quiet laugh as the carriage rolled smoothly over the cobblestones.

After a moment of silence, Arthur exhaled, watching the city drift past the window. “It’s strange how everything has changed in a few short years, isn’t it?”

Amelia glanced up at him. “How do you mean?”

Arthur’s gaze remained fixed outside, as though watching the ghosts of their former selves pass by. “Just a few years ago, John and Lucy weren’t even married. You and I were barely speaking. I was still gallivanting about as if I had all the time in the world. And now…”

He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable for a beat before softening into something intensely fond. “Now, we have a daughter. A home. A life I never imagined wanting—but now, I can’t imagine living without.”

Amelia swallowed, squeezing his hand. “Nor can I.”

Arthur let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Even Anthony has gone and gotten himself settled. Who would have thought?”

Amelia laughed. “I know. It’s unsettling, isn’t it?”

Arthur smirked. “A little. I expected him to be the last of us to calm down, but I wouldn’t be remotely surprised if he wasn’t thinking of getting wed himself now.”

“Really? Anthony in a grown-up relationship?” Amelia queried.

“The man seems positively devoted.” Arthur said shaking his head. “He swore up and down that he would never let a woman tie him down, and now he’s buying fine china and learning the names of poets to impress her.”

“John must be beside himself with joy,” Amelia mused.

Arthur chuckled. “Oh, he’s insufferable about it. He claims it’s proof that poetry is the way to a woman’s heart. I didn’t have the heart to remind him that most women don’t require quite so many sonnets in order to have a successful relationship.”

Amelia laughed, her free hand resting instinctively over her stomach. It was a small gesture, a silent acknowledgment of the future they were building together.

The carriage slowed in front of their home, and Arthur turned to her fully, reaching up as he so often did to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. His fingers lingered, a soft, familiar touch. “I love you, Amelia.”

She smiled, her heart warm and full. “I love you, too.”

They stepped down from the carriage into the cool night air, the faint glow of candlelight warming the windows of their home. A maid came, taking Charlotte in her hands, as she was sleeping soundly and rushed inside.

Arthur squeezed Amelia’s hand as they ascended the steps. “Are you ready for whatever comes next?”

Amelia glanced up at him, her eyes shining with certainty. “With you? Always.”

And as they stepped inside, the door closed softly behind them, leaving behind the past they had overcome and opening the way to all the possibilities still to come.