The late spring cut through the hothouse at Alenwood Manor. The air was heavy with soil and plants and all manner of greenery. Spring figs burst forth, nearly ripe from the fig tree.

Charlotte missed the pomegranates. For two years, she had indulged when they ripened and had eaten as many as she could until they were gone. She had made Christopher promise that he would get more pomegranate trees, just so she could eat them and drink their juice as much as possible until she was sick of them entirely.

But for now, she plucked a ripe fig and put it in her mouth, taking a large bite and enjoying the burst of sweet flavor and the little crunch and pop of the seeds inside. It was remarkable that she could enjoy this fruit from their very own hothouse.

Charlotte sat on a wooden bench, the same bench she had these last two years whenever she would come out to sketch. Now, as usual, a sketchbook sat open on her lap. She looked down and saw that, in her distraction while eating the fig, she had messed up one of her lines. It would not be easy to undo, so she would simply have to try and cover it. That meant getting creative.

She yawned, reminding her that her creativity had been limited of late. After all, the lack of sleep was sure to temporarily hinder the fullness of her abilities. But when she looked at the cradle beside her, she didn’t mind so much. Reginald, her newborn little boy, was so much more important than a sketch or an idea. He was her greatest creation, her greatest achievement.  

Nothing else could take his place in her heart.

He lay there, asleep under a blanket, and she wished that she could sketch him half so well as she could these plants. Maybe one day, she would manage to capture his likeness. Until then, however, she would do her best with lovely flowers and looped or shaggy ferns.

Charlotte drew the edge of the fern over the line she had mistakenly drawn. With a few strokes, she had covered up her error and managed to make it look the way she had intended from the beginning.

Her hand held the pencil steady, breathing slowly and smoothly. It had taken time, but she was mostly recovered now. In the cold, she still felt an ache where the ribs had broken. And if she pushed herself too hard, the wound in her chest would be uncomfortable. But mostly, she was well and she was grateful for that.

Christopher knelt nearby in the dirt. Charlotte finished her sketch and then sat, watching him as he worked.

He had an intriguing, large pot and was putting his healthiest soil in it. Soon, he was ready to plant the orchid. It was a new one, having just come on a ship from one of his friends. His focus was intent and Charlotte was still amazed at how much effort he put into his planting. Each flower or fern or other botanical interest was every bit as precious to him as the last.

“You seem quite enthralled,” she said to him, quietly, so she wouldn’t wake Reginald from his nap.

“You know how I get,” he chuckled to himself. “Every time there is a new plant to nurture, I cannot help but give it my all.”

“So I have seen,” she replied.

“I must especially indulge in the growing of plants these days as you have placed your full attention on growing a little boy,” Christopher jested.

Charlotte grinned, proud of her life and role as a mother. She looked over at Reginald once more. He really was her joy. But although it was difficult to describe a mother’s love and what it meant to a woman to have a little one, she couldn’t deny that Christopher was her first love and he was the most important person in her world, even now.

“I do hope, my dear, that you are not jealous of our little boy. I should hate to have to become jealous of your plants,” she said.

“You never could, my love. You would only sketch them until you realised there is nothing to be jealous of. They cannot capture your beauty, nor his, no matter how stunning they may be,” he said.

Charlotte still found Christopher charming. She knew that, when they had first met, charming was the last word most women had used to describe him. But she had seen beyond all of that. She had seen underneath his dark exterior into the man he could be, the man he was now.

A maid came around and brought them tea, the cups warm as steam rose in the humid air of the hothouse. Charlotte took her cup form the bench and sipped it lightly, ready to take a break before she began sketching again.

“Do you think it will be a warm summer?” She asked Christopher.

“I expect so,” he replied. “It has already been a warm spring.”

Charlotte wondered what the temperatures were like in the colonies, but she wouldn’t ask Christopher. Although they had long since moved on from the drama of their first month together, they still didn’t like to discuss Frederick or anything to do with him.

There had not been any real news of him other than the fact that he had been made to work in the colonies and would not be allowed back to England after his actions. Charlotte often wondered what actually became of him, if he had descended into madness or if he was just cruel.

His sisters had both secured matches and were married, which was a small mercy. It would have been difficult to find a husband when their brother had such a terrible reputation, but Faye went to America as a wife for a man who sought to farm the land and Susan had married for love, a man of no real means, but hardworking and good.

It made Charlotte happy to know that even the two of them had managed to find husbands despite the circumstances surrounding their family and all the gossip that had been shared after he was taken away. Charlotte knew how hard it was to shake a damaged reputation and seeing that they had escaped it gave her confidence that anyone might be able to overcome what was said about them.

Christopher had certainly healed from his pain and despair over the loss of Eleanor. Once he came to realize how little he had to do with the situation, he was finally able to come to terms with it. He was finally able to let go of his sadness.

Charlotte hoped that she could help him with any sadness left, and it had appeared to work. As their life together grew and she healed, Christopher became lighter, friendlier, happier. And now that Reginald had entered their life, he was a man incapable of sorrow. He had been thriving in fatherhood, much to Charlotte’s delight.

He had also been doing well in business and the manor was well looked after. The Dowager had been enjoying her usual cares, going to tea and paying calls. She was loving the new fashions and went to town with friends quite often, now that Louisa and Charlotte were less inclined to leave their little ones at home.

Christopher had secretly hoped that he might find a match for his mother with a kind widower he had met, but the Dowager would have none of it and told the man that she could never love again after the loss of Christopher’s father. Although Christopher had hoped for a different outcome, he chose to respect his mother’s wishes.

Voices drifted through the open door of the hothouse. Charlotte smiled, listening to the chattering babble of little ones and hearing her own mother and father indulging. The little ones shouted and there were footsteps on the gravel outside.

Charlotte looked at Christopher and he smiled back, knowing that they would have to leave the hothouse for a little while in order to go and see them.

“We can come back after a little while to finish,” Charlotte said.

“Yes, I suppose,” Christopher agreed.

She finished her tea quickly and set down the cup next to her sketchpad. Christopher dipped his hands in the water and rubbed them dry with a towel. Then, Charlotte picked up her son, who remained utterly asleep in her arms.

They walked out of the hothouse and saw Miles and Louisa with their daughter, jumping around, then falling flat on her backside. Louisa had gotten pregnant only a month after the wedding and it was a joy to see little Katherine grow. She grabbed at Miles’s hand and looked at it closely, touching the ring on his finger and looking up at him with delight.

Miles laughed, his voice louder and more boisterous since becoming a father. He had brightened, much more like his wife. He still knew how to be serious and he was doing very well as a professor with a rather high standing at the university.

Charlotte watched her mother and father laugh at their granddaughter. They loved little Katherine and were delighted by Reginald’s appearance just a month ago. He was another bright light for them amidst all that had happened.

Christopher had paid their debts, as they had been hoping all along. Charlotte was embarrassed, but Christopher insisted that it was the right thing to do and that he was glad to be able to help. It had been uncomfortable for Charlotte for a day or two, but she was extremely grateful and had finally been able to accept that her husband was doing what he thought was best.

Thankfully, Charlotte’s father had not let the help go to waste. As soon as his debts were paid, he used his connections in society to work hard and get himself back into a position of independence. He had not regained all of his confidence yet, but he was a little more like the man Charlotte remembered from her childhood. She was proud to see him working hard and restoring what he could on his own.

Percival and Belinda rested on a bench as Charlotte and Christopher came out. Percival was quiet, observing as he preferred to do. Belinda was fussing over Katherine, handing her a new little wooden hoop that she could play with or chew on, whatever she preferred from one moment to the next.

The Dowager was coming down from the manor, joining them all outside.

“More tea, Liza!” she called to the maid who was outside with them. The maid fetched the tea and refilled everyone’s cup.

Charlotte and Christopher approached with Reginald.

“I left my cup in the hothouse,” Charlotte told the maid. “But I do not need any more just now, thank you.”

Christopher echoed the sentiment and they crossed the rest of the path to the others.

“A fine day, is it not?” Lady Belinda asked, taking Katherine in her arms.

“Yes, mother, it is,” Charlotte replied. “I am glad you were able to join us.”

“Ah! My little grandson!” The Dowager exclaimed, taking Reginald from Charlotte.

He began to fuss, his eyes still closed, but then he settled in his grandmother’s arms and Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted was for him to get upset while they were all together. While she expected him to cry whenever he needed to and she would scoop him up in her arms, she also wanted his grandparents to have the opportunity to enjoy their time with him.

“I shall send the maid to fetch the cradle. I assume you left it in the hothouse?” she asked.

Christopher nodded. The maid brought the small cradle out, but no one was willing to put Reginald in it. Instead, they all took turns holding the little baby and commenting on how cute his chubby little cheeks were, how he had Christopher’s chin and Charlotte’s coloring.

“I just adore the way his little wrists are so rotund!” Lady Belinda exclaimed, eliciting chuckles from the others.

“Is he sleeping well?” Louisa asked with concern.

“It depends on the night,” Charlotte said with a laugh.

“Oh? Does the nursemaid not take care of such things?” asked Lady Belinda.

“No, mother,” Charlotte replied. “My husband has supported my desire to do as much of the care as I am able. The maid is here to help, but I get up with Reginald at night and I make every effort to care for him whenever I can.”

In truth, Charlotte had wanted to do more. She didn’t like having to have a nursemaid at all, but it was helpful. She still got worn out much of the time, thanks to the injuries. Mr. McGuinness had told her that she would likely recover fully over time, but between the injuries and the pregnancy and new motherhood, she would have to accept a few more years of being exhausted easily. And if she wanted to have many children rather quickly, she could expect not to have much energy for a good deal longer.

To Charlotte, the exhaustion was worth it. Motherhood had become the most important thing in the world to her and she longed for the next child already. Louisa, as well, had been saying how dearly she hoped that they would be able to add to their family soon. Miles was an excellent father and indulged his daughter’s every whim.

A short time later, Timothy arrived with his wife, Marian, and their son, Colin, who was nearly a year old. They had married three months after meeting at the wedding for Miles and Louisa. It had not taken long for them to each know that there was love between them. Her parents thoroughly approved the match and it was a delight to see Timothy so happy.

Colin stumbled his way across the grass, trying to run, but inevitably falling as he had only recently learned to walk.

Timothy played chase with him as best he could, his booming laugh echoing across the open field in front of Alenwood Manor where they would have a nice picnic come lunchtime. It was a good morning with all of Charlotte and Christopher’s friends and family and the little ones.

“You cannot imagine how quickly it goes by. Soon enough, Reginald will be walking and trying to run,” Marian said. “I already cannot believe how much he has learned and grown. And in such a short time! How strange it is to have this tiny creature, fully dependent on you, and not a year later, they are walking on their own and babbling incoherent little stories and feeding themselves as much as they are able.”

“It is so true,” added Louisa. “I can hardly believe that Katherine is nearly a year and a half old. It is too much to watch them grow bigger without slowing down.”

Charlotte smiled at Christopher, knowing that they wanted a large family with many children. They’d had to wait to have Reginald until Charlotte’s recovery was in a better place, but now they were happy to have him and knew that they wanted as many children as they could possibly have. She loved motherhood almost as much as she loved being a wife. There was  nothing greater in her life than her husband and her little boy.

Charlotte leaned against Christopher, watching their friends. Everyone was getting worn out from the play and Katherine rested against Louisa’s arms, while Colin nuzzled against Marian, who was already pregnant with their second child. It was a perfect day. Her mother patted her father’s hand, which was as much affection as Charlotte had ever seen between the two. And the Dowager seemed perfectly content to just be with all the children.

“I want more days here like this,” Charlotte said softly to Christopher.

“Oh? I think we can certainly arrange that,” he told her.

He pressed his lips softly to her forehead.

“Yes, my love, I assure you that we will have many more days here like this,” he said in a low voice.

Reginald made a small, cooing noise, breaking their calm. They turned to him, their hands together. They looked at their friends, their family, their hothouse, and their son.

It was all so full of life. Everything had come together. Everything was beautiful.

And everything was at peace.

The End