Whatever their reasoning, Davey felt sorry for them, so he and the boys cut them a share of the trust funds; he’d always said his father had left him that money as a legacy, something to pass-on and benefit future generations, but he also took it to mean it was for the good of all, not just for him to squander, so the two girls who’d schemed with their mother to get their hands on the funds discovered all they had ever had to do was be part of the family and the family would look after them. When I’d first seen them, I’d been prepared to believe everything Davey and Rosie had told me about them; now, with that look of spoiled malice no longer permanently marring their features, I was surprised to see just how pretty they actually were; perhaps Richard was wrong; perhaps now someone was going to finally take notice of them now that the spoiled brattiness was gone; they were Denham girls, after all.
Bella, however, was a different kettle of fish entirely; Davey and I were inclined to leave her to sweat in whatever hideout she’d carved for herself; revenge was just not something that occurred to us, and we had everything anyway, while she had nothing; us beating-down on her just seemed like the worst kind of bullying, so we were happy to let her be. However, his trustees and the magistrate she’d conned weren’t having any of that, so they all, singly and collectively, filed charges on multiple counts of fraud, attempted fraud, and perjury, and Bella was arrested and charged. She’s currently on remand, awaiting trial, in a women’s prison in the county of Surrey, a comfortably long way away from us. Rosie could care less; as she said at the time, “Bella’s family were jail-sweepings, so she should feel right at home!”
*
Epilogue:
Davey and I leaned back in the swing chair in the shade of the Rose Arbor, rocking gently as we watched our family; Richard and Hugo had rashly volunteered to get the barbecue going and make lunch, but Sara and Josie, eight months pregnant each but refusing to let it hamper them, had finally stepped in when it became obvious the boys may have been financial geniuses but they were missing something essential when it came to getting a good bed of coals started; luckily Sara and Josie had more than enough Midwestern barbecue savvy to get it going, and instruct the boys in the right way to smoke a brisket, stir up a good dipping sauce, and grill sausage links and franks to perfection.
Richard and Hugo had therefore decided that their God-daughter, my little toddler Sophie, was much more fun, so they were happily rolling around on the lawn while she giggled and romped, and clambered around on them.
Davey looked fondly at his two adopted sisters, now his cousin’s wives, and our family for real now, and at Rosie, engrossed in chopping and shredding salad ingredients.
Charlie was off in the distance with Jimmy, dragging him around to show him and his little daughter, Gemma, his secret little dens and hideouts, and where to watch the best frogs when they came up on the lily-pads I’d put in; a pond with frogs and no lily-pads is an offense against nature, so I’d got some, and now my water lilies were the envy of the village.
Davey pointed with his chin at Jimmy off in the distance.
“Jimmy changing his name to ‘Denham’ is a huge compliment to us, all of us; as far as I was concerned, and especially Richard and Hugo, he was already family, but adding that ‘Denham’ tag just so Gemma will grow up a Denham is something we’ll never be able to repay him for; it tells me what and how he feels about us, and where he and Rosie, but especially Gemma, fit into this complicated clan we’ve become. Sophie was thunderstruck when he told her, then of course she broke down in floods of tears, and don’t ever tell her I told you, she enjoys being ‘Dragon Lady’, don’t ruin it for her…”
I snuggled closer to Davey; he always smells so nice, hot water and shaving soap, and his own fresh, clean scent under it all, and let my fingers trail across his lap. Davey cocked an eye at me and grinned.
“Something on your mind, Angel-May?” he murmured, like he didn’t know!
“I was thinking,” I whispered, “remembering a conversation we had back in Bar Harbor, what, four years ago? About how many children we’d have?”
Davey nodded absently, keeping one eye on the kids, although since they were with their uncles, they were perfectly safe.
“What about it, babe?”
I kissed along his jawline and nibbled his ear, then jammed my tongue in his ear, suddenly getting his full attention as he spluttered and bucked. His arm slipped around me and he squeezed my butt, smiling at me while his eyes danced, so I plunged on.
“We agreed that one kid would be lonely, two would fight, three kids meant two would gang-up on one, but if we had four, they’d be evenly matched, remember?”
Davey gave me that ‘what are you not saying?’ look he keeps around for me, and nodded slowly.
“OK, we’ve got two kids; are you saying you want some more? Because I’m game; you know I love making babies with you! Are you really sure…”
I stopped him with the hottest kiss I could manage in the confined space we had, but I could feel his interest ramping-up, and his hand on my butt was definitely having fun squeezing and groping my ass. He broke our kiss to grin at me.
“You wanna…?” but I nixed that; we had guests, for goodness sake; still, it was nice to know he was completely on-board!
“Later, Davey, we have all night for that! One thing, though…”
He looked quizzically at me, that adorable puzzled look he does so well.
“So tell me, Angel-May, what do you want; speak, and it shall happen, oh Moon of my delight…”
I tweaked his obvious erection for making fun of me.
“If we make another baby, there’s something I want you to promise…”
He nodded, so I plowed on.
“If it’s a boy, I want to name him David, and if it’s a girl, her name should be Jane; what do you think?”
Davey’s eyes brightened as he smiled like the sun coming up, and he pulled me closer to kiss me gently.
“I think Mother and my father would be honoured; thank you for including them, baby-girl.”
*
Coda:
Sophie managed to drop a bombshell one day after dinner, but in a good way, to do with family and connections. It started off innocently enough, following on from a remark I’d made over coffee about not having Mom at my wedding, and Sophie grinned happily.
“It’s good that you said that, Darling Girl, because I have something to tell you. It’s about, well, family and such; I hope you’re going to like what I have to tell you.”
I looked at her, obviously puzzled at where this was going. Sophie soon made it clear.
“Darling Girl, it’s always puzzled me why your dear mother and I look so similar; Sybil, Richard, even the boys have all commented on how similar we are, you, me, and your poor mother; from that painting up at Denham Hall, she could easily be you, or me; such a close resemblance must mean something, it couldn’t just be a coincidence, so I’ve been digging through my family papers for some while now, trying to see if there was somehow a connection between us, and now I know there is, and what it is.”
I was agog; from Sophie’s expression, I could tell she knew something special about Mom. I didn’t have long to wait.
“Ok, so try and follow me, Darling Girl, this gets a little complicated. Back in 1917, my grandfather, George Lascelles, was a young officer, an eighteen year-old 2nd Lieutenant with XIV Corps. He was gassed at a place called Passchendaele, in Belgium, and was brought back to England to convalesce. His family placed him in a sanatorium in Bournemouth, on the South Coast, because they thought the sea air would aid his recovery. He was there for many months, because the damage to his lungs was quite extensive. Anyway, while he was there, he fell in love with one of the nurses, a pretty young Cornish girl named Lucy Trevellyan. When his Victorian dragon of a mother found out he wanted to marry a humble nurse she absolutely wouldn’t hear of it and promptly yanked him out of there and back to Oxfordshire, and married him off to my grandmother, an altogether more ‘suitable’ marriage in her eyes. However, by this time, the poor Trevellyan girl was pregnant.”
She paused, her gaze distant and pensive, obviously picking what she was going to say next.
“Anyway, darlings, my great-grandfather was forced to hush it up, my grandfather, that poor girl, everything; it would have been an enormous scandal at the time, but he wouldn’t just abandon Lucy and her child, his grandchild, so he had her moved to Barnstaple, in Devon, where she lived under the name of a distant deceased relative of his, and she was passed-off as a war widow to quell any talk of unmarried mothers and all that tosh, with a trust he settled on her for the child, and an allowance which people were led to believe was a family legacy.”