Epilogue
Live happily ever after
One year later
When one possessed an army of staff and deep pockets, it was impressive what could be accomplished in a day.
Owen and Mary Martin had long since adopted dazed expressions and simply stepped out of Connie’s path. The look was familiar. Her husband wore it on a regular basis.
Two of the men they’d hired for the day carried a wooden crate marked with a swipe of orange paint and paused in front of where Connie stood, unpacking dishes into a cupboard.
Color coding the boxes had been Caro’s contribution to the move. After a quick consultation with her master list, Constance directed, “World history and geography. Second bookcase on your left, in this next room.”
Two more sweaty-faced men approached bearing a crate with a green paint stripe as Connie closed the cupboard and moved on to a stack of table lines. “Primary bedchamber.” When they hesitated, she realized they werenewly arrived and didn’t know the lay of the land yet. “East side of the house. With the view of the orchard, not the smaller room looking out on the road. That one is the guest bedroom.”
Through the wide doorway to the main living area, Constance checked to ensure the men with the crate of history texts had found their destination. Hattie greeted their arrival by wielding a crowbar for the boxes and grumbling something about “too many bloody books.”
“Don’t let Owen hear you say that. It’s sacrilege in this family,” Oliver commented on his way through the room, carrying a dining chair in each hand. He stopped beside Connie and pressed a quick kiss to the side of her head. “You’re a marvel, teacup,” he murmured, using his favorite pet name for her, then continued on his way.
The affectionate words hugged Connie as they always did. His tempest in a teacup. A tiny storm, perfectly sized to warm his hands.
“Constance!” Betsy yelled.
Connie stepped toward her. “What is it?”
“Blue curtains. Parents’, or the guest room?” Her sister stood in the main living area, holding a bundle of cloth. Oliver stepped out of the dining room, now empty-handed.
One of the men Constance had just sent on their way stumbled and nearly dropped his box. He gawked at the sisters.
Oliver grinned. “I initially had the same reaction, lads. This is Mrs. Tilford.” He motioned toward Betsy, then pointed at Connie. “The one giving orders is mine, Lady Southwyn.”
“Blimey,” the man said.
Dorian’s voice carried from the front door. “Beds are here! Connie, are there any changes to where they go?”
“No, continue as planned,” she called back.
Betsy grinned at the men holding the crate. “We’re easy enough to tell apart once you know us. Constance is the one capable of juggling five tasks at once.” Returning her focus to her sister, she held up the fabric in silent question.
The last year had brought several honest discussions between Connie and her sister, and their relationship continued to improve.
“Blue goes in the nursery. The guest room is yellow, and our parents’ room is green, like the paint stripe on their boxes.”
This property was larger than her parents had anticipated, but their plans for the future hadn’t taken into consideration a duke and an earl. Maintaining such a house wasn’t too much, as it came with the help of a general man of work and a housekeeper. The couple lived in a caretaker’s cottage behind the small orchard and garden plot.
In fact, this was the house Betsy had encouraged Dorian to look into, which led to Connie and Oliver’s night in the cottage. Unbeknownst to Constance, her husband and the duke had purchased the property together, hired the caretaker and housekeeper, then kept the whole thing a secret until Owen and Mary began actively planning their retirement. When pressed, Dorian admitted he’d paid the lion’s share of the purchase price and justified it as gratitude for the Martins giving Caro a safe home when she needed one.
Constance got misty-eyed whenever she recalled the way her parents reacted to their gift from the men who loved their girls. Regardless of actual place on the family tree, Owen and Mary considered Hattie and Caro to be their girls as fully as the twins.
As promised, Betsy lived a short walk away through thevillage, with a convenient, although small, bookshop along the route.
Echoing voices and footsteps gradually grew muffled throughout the day as the house filled with furniture, rugs, drapes, and books. So many books.
Georgia’s screeching giggles and Nate’s young laugh pierced the air occasionally from where they played in the nursery.
By the time the sun dipped its hat in farewell and sank below the horizon, the house felt like a home, and Connie relished the weary satisfaction of a job well done.
She and Oliver were staying in the guest room, which her mum was having a grand laugh over referring to as the yellow room.
