Her Unsuitable Match by Sally Britton
Epilogue
The young man’s hands trembled as he lowered the rose-bush cuttings into the soft earth of the hospital garden. Myles knelt next to him, holding his own spade and preparing the earth for another cutting from his mother’s garden. He remained quiet, though he watched the soldier with a gentle eye.
The soldier leaned back, eyeing his work critically. He gazed down the row of the plants, all newly settled into the earth, then looked at Myles. “It’s a good sight. Knowing these here bushes will be part of the hospital makes me proud. I didn’t think I’d ever work a garden again.” The young man expertly pushed himself up with the use of a cane. The lower half of his right leg, just below the knee, was gone.
He’d lost it in a battle halfway around the world. He’d come home to find the estate where his father worked as head-gardener had no use for him. And Myles had found the lad in London, sitting in an alley, an empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.
“You can stay here as long as you like, Smythe,” Myles reassured him, voice gentle. Smythe didn’t like loud voices or noises. He’d flinched at loud laughter in the dining hall of the hospital the first night he’d been present, then started taking scraps of food to the gardens rather than eat with the other men.
Patients—or wards, as Myles preferred to call them—of the hospital often arrived distrusting and nervous. Some thought they would be put to work until they were sick and useless. Others worried they’d be treated like madmen. But the Gillensfords had hired only sympathetic staff and doctors, most of whom had seen active duty themselves, or lost loved ones to battle. The atmosphere was one of compassion and hope.
They couldn’t help everyone. Some men left not long after arriving, too lost in their minds or hearts to accept assistance. Others, thankfully, stayed until they were well enough to return to families or seek employment. Thanks to the patronage of the Gillensfords and people like the Earl of Inglewood and Sir Isaac, those men left with excellent references.
“Papa?”
Myles brushed off his hands and turned around, looking to where his youngest son walked along the brick wall that circled the future rose garden. The little scamp had snuck up on them. Smythe didn’t seem to mind. “Yes, Pip?”
Philip, all of five years old, jumped down from the wall. “Mama said to remind you that we have dinner at Ambleside tonight.”
“I haven’t forgotten. Mr. Smythe, this is my son Philip.”
Philip bowed at the waist. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Smythe.”
“And you, Master Philip.” Smythe’s grin widened. “You best take your father in hand. I think he likes gardening near as much as I do.”
Philip didn’t hesitate to take Myles’s hand in his. “Yes, sir. Come along, Papa. Mama is waiting for us.”
Myles chuckled, and he let his son lead him through the growing garden. The walls were new, built of the same brick as the hospital. They passed a fountain with water spilling down its tiers, and two men sitting on its edge quietly talking. One was a doctor, trained at the naval hospital, and the other, their newest patient. A man who had lost his brother, as both served in the same regiment.
Though normally a spirited child, taking after his mother, Philip walked with quiet respect through hedgerows and down the paths of the gardens to the hospital. Near the front doors, a carriage waited. Two children already inside peered out the windows and waved. A beautiful woman stood on the drive, speaking to the housekeeper of the hospital.
Philip released Myles’s hand to run up to his mother. “I found Papa,” he said, then darted up into the carriage to sit with his elder sister and brother.
The hospital housekeeper curtsied to Pippa, then to Myles, before going back inside to her duties. Pippa, meanwhile, fixed her gaze on her husband. She raised both eyebrows elegantly, her deep-blue eyes fixed upon him.
“There you are, my wayward husband.” She waited for him to bend to kiss her cheek, then she took his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “We cannot be late to dinner this evening. Your mother has something special planned.”
“In honor of our wedding anniversary. I know.” Myles handed her up into the carriage. He did not immediately climb inside to join her. Standing there, looking into the carriage, he looked from one side where his three children sat talking excitedly about seeing their cousins to the other, where Pippa fluffed the skirts of her gown. Then she looked up, catching him staring, and a smile crept onto her lovely face. Ten years had passed since their wedding day in London, yet Myles found her more beautiful than ever.
“What are you staring at so intently, sir?” she asked, her lips curving into a smile he found both charming and attractive.
Myles shook his head, then climbed into the carriage to take his seat beside her. He threaded his fingers with hers, holding onto her tightly. Though there were still moments when he could feel the fissures of his heart and soul, scarred as they were, they were not nearly so frequent as the feeling of wholeness he had when he thought of his wife. His children. The hospital he had assisted in building and managing.
Mr. Young’s house and tenant buildings had become theirs, purchased by Pippa. The surrounding lands belonged to the Peter Gillensford Hospital for Wounded Men. Doctor Johnson still lived at the Clock House, working closely with Myles to manage the hospital and the needs of its wards.
“I cannot imagine a happier life,” Myles murmured at last, looking from his three giggling children to his wife. “And it is all due to you, Pippa.”
She shook her head, her gaze softening. “No, darling. It is you we have to thank for this. I thought I would find my happiness in London, at parties and in ballrooms. Not here, in the country.”
They still visited London during the Season. But they stayed with Adam and Elaine, or the Earl of Inglewood, and spent more time visiting those who wanted to know about their work at the hospital than they did going about in Society. Of course, Myles always took Pippa to the plays and museums that most suited her fancy.
“Thank you, Pippa.” Myles kissed her forehead. “For loving me.”
“Always, Myles.” She leaned against his shoulder, her head nestled against him and fitting perfectly.
Their daughter, Beth, watched them with a wide grin. “Mama and Papa are going to kiss again.” The boys groaned, though he caught the mischief in their gazes as they watched their parents, ready to giggle and protest their parents’ displays of affection.
And what could Myles do but oblige them? He kissed his wife, the keeper of his heart. His children, Peter, Beth, and Philip, would grow up as he had. Knowing that their parents loved one another and their children, and would, forever and ever.
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