It was not blood that made family. It was need, desire, love. The kind of love and loyalty John showed Richard and that Richard would show Beatrice every day of their lives.
Richard slapped his brother on the back, and Daniel swung around, wrapping him in a tight hug.
“Find your peace, brother,” Richard said in Daniel’s ear. “But no more wives.”
Daniel pushed away, laughing through some stronger emotion before shoving Richard toward the front of the church.
Richard quietly rejoined Beatrice, grasped her hand, and squeezed.
“Is all well?” she asked.
He kissed her knuckles. “As well as it can be, sweetheart.”
As John and Evie signed their names in the registry, Beatrice sighed, his hellcat melting into a lovely puddle in the face of a little bit of love.
“Sigh no more, Beatrice,” he whispered in her ear, “I will love you forever.”
Epilogue
April 1823
Beatrice rose and stretched, shaking out the stiffness of a body long curved over satisfying work. Outside the study window, chaos reigned, and she needed to join it. Abandoning her work, she found her way into the garden and leaned against Bell House, her heart full.
Richard chased Lucy, who chased the twins, who were running off with a cat. Two cats. One for each boy. The cats yowled. The twins yowled. Lucy cried, “Unfair!” and Richard’s laughter rose to the heavens for a glorious moment before he swallowed it whole.
“Shh!” he commanded. “The little bird is sleeping.”
Indeed, she was. Beatrice knelt at the wicker basket near the study door and pushed the blanket away from Rosalie’s cheek. Six months old and sweet as a purring kitten when sleeping. As irate as cat in a bag when awake. Richardwouldwant to keep her sleeping.
But even now, she wiggled, little fists fighting the light blanket spread over her in the soft spring wind, her face scrunching as a wail built inside. Beatrice picked her up, sighed when the little bird buried her face in her neck.
Richard jogged back down the path toward her, a train of children and kittens following at a distance. He was so achingly beautiful with that roguish grin and those soft, brown eyes. More than their color, their emotion made her breathless. Oceans of adoration.
The only ocean she wished to set sail upon.
He kissed her cheek, then Rosalie’s head. “Done for the day?”
“Mm.” Beatrice stole a kiss from Richard’s lips until she felt the heat of three pairs of eyes boring into her.
Lucy and the twins watched them, eyes unblinking, faces blank.
“Uncle John and Aunt Evie do that, too,” Lucy said. Her nose wrinkled. “But I don’t think another person would taste very good.”
Richard cleared his throat. “Yes, well.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Why don’t you lot go down to the swing. I believe Aunt Lena and Uncle Martin are there.”
The children ran off, cats bounding after them, and Richard groaned. Then grinned at his daughter. “Are you going to say things I’d rather not respond to one day, little bird?”
Rosalie babbled, sitting up in Beatrice’s arms and reaching for her papa. He took her and bounced her, and she laughed.
“Did I leave you for a moment, little bird?” he cooed. “I’m back now. I’ll never be gone long.”
She grabbed his nose, and with a yelp, he pried her hand away, let her wrap her small fist around a finger instead. She would never have to worry about Richard forgetting her, leaving her, not wanting her.
And neither would Beatrice.
He hefted Rosalie onto one hip and wrapped his free arm around Beatrice, steering her toward the woods, the swing, and the sounds of glee echoing from that direction. “How is the translation coming today?”
“Quite well. I finished another poem.” Five more to go before she finished her first collection of translated works. “Gálvez is kind to me today.” She’d begun working on her English translation of the Spanish poet’s work shortly after they’d married when she’d finally realized she could no longer chase after her father’s affection. He’d barely noticed. And neither had she.
