by Rose Meddon
‘No?’
‘No. But you know what? Now that you’re back, not one single jot of it matters in the least.’
‘No?’
Against his shoulder, she shook her head. ‘No. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, mind. The girl you wed was airy-headed and restless—’
He squeezed her closer. ‘You won’t hear me take issue with that.’
‘—but in the same way that this war has changed all of you men, it’s changed us women, too.’
‘For certain it has.’
‘We’ve grown up,’ she said. ‘Learned to stand on our own two feet. Looked out for each other. We’ve a taste for what it means to be independent—’
‘And I’m proud of you, truly—’
‘But you’re back now. And to me, this feels like the chance we never had in the first place. A chance to be together, husband and wife at last. Proper wed.’
And it was true. A lot might have happened to her in Luke’s absence, but now was the time to draw a line under all of it and start over. Nothing that had happened before this afternoon mattered. It was all water under the bridge. She would look forward, not back. Her soldier had returned. And tomorrow, together, they would start afresh. She would start afresh. Her long and wearying search for her place in the world was over. And yes, she might be back exactly where she had started, but she knew now that it was precisely where she was supposed to be. And, for that, she couldn’t be more grateful.
Epilogue
October 1918
The good weather that year continued, unabated, throughout August and well into September, with morning mists quickly evaporating to bring warm days that faded softly into dewy evenings. Sadly, the war also continued. But, as the month drew to a close, it became clear to those who understood these things that following recent counter-attacks from France and Britain, Germany was losing the initiative and that, within her ranks, disillusionment was spreading. Indeed, at Woodicombe House, Lawrence, Ned and Luke all agreed that negotiations for Germany’s surrender were now unavoidable.
For everyone at Woodicombe, but for Kate in particular, the coming of victory would bring to an end an eventful period in their lives. Gone was the guilt she had felt about what she had come to think of as her haste with Rowley: she had believed herself widowed and, in her grief, had sought only to secure for herself a future. Looking back, her actions had been both understandable and forgivable. One day, some years from now, when she and Luke were looking back and reminiscing, she would probably even tell him about it. She had no reason not to.
Seated alongside her on the terrace, on this particular afternoon was Naomi, and when she shifted her weight in a bid to get more comfortable, Kate stole a glance at her face. ‘All right?’ she enquired.
‘Never better,’ Naomi assured her.
Despite the pleasant sunshine, about their shoulders they each wore a shawl against the breeze, because, as Mabel repeatedly insisted, neither of them could risk catching a chill – not with both of them having babies on the way.
It was Naomi who had first become aware of her condition, and whose baby, according to Dr. Hatherleigh, was due as early as Easter. Mindful of Naomi’s previous misfortune, and her family’s medical history, Lawrence had decreed that before the month was out, they would be returning to London to be close to the doctor in Harley Street. In any event, Kate knew it was where Naomi needed to be: it was where she belonged; where she would be happiest; neither Naomi nor Mr Lawrence having a country bone in their body.
Not like herself and Luke, she thought, glancing indoors to where her husband was sitting with Ned and Mr Lawrence, the former gesturing with his hands as he appeared to explain something about either aeroplanes or flying. Yes, Naomi might not be a country girl, but she, Kate, would never be anything else. She had tried London – and hadn’t altogether disliked it – but the truth was that this was where she belonged, here, in this sleepy part of Devon. And that was why the offer that Naomi had made to her and Luke was so utterly perfect. Woodicombe House, she had said, needed returning to habitable standards. And her father – their father – agreed with her. And so, to that end, Kate and Luke were going to stay on, alongside Mabel and Edith, to oversee what Naomi had taken to calling the “necessary updating works” that would turn the place into somewhere comfortable for them to bring their children during the holidays. At Ned’s own request, plans for the modernisation included the creation of a self-contained suite of rooms on the ground floor, specially equipped, such that he might remain at Woodicombe – in the short term at least – to undergo some newly-emerging therapies and continue his convalescence not only in the clean air of North Devon, but among family.
Sitting there, contentedly, the irony of this state of affairs wasn’t wasted on Kate; all those years ago, Luke had been right. Woodicombe really was going to be the perfect place to raise a family.
Acknowledgements
With grateful thanks to everyone who played a part in turning the nub of an idea into a fully-fledged saga.
The Woodicombe House Sagas
The Housekeeper’s Daughter
A Wife’s War
The Soldier's Return
Find out more
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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United Kingdom
Copyright © Rosie Meddon, 2019
The moral right of Rosie Meddon to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788630818
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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