She gave an innocent shrug. “In a year or two, at least.” He kissed her and when she had breath to continue, she added, “Possibly more.”
She showed him the rest of the house, but when theycame to the attic stairs, he paused. “I remember this place.” He glanced at her. “I was never very happy here.
“I’ve changed it quite a bit.” She took his hand and led him up the stairs.
He took two steps in and stopped. The gray walls were now a soft yellow. The low line of cupboards was painted blue, and the molded edging painted bright red. The bookshelves were new. The floor had been varnished and waxed, so the room smelled of beeswax instead of dust, and several large, colorful fluffy rugs were scattered over it. In the corner was a French enamel stove.
He examined it curiously.
“Miss Chance, my dressmaker, has this kind of stove in her shop. They keep her rooms lovely and warm, and are clean and safe to use.”
“This room was always so cold. And so bare and dull—and grim. Now”—he glanced around with a smile—“I could almost envy the children who will play here—our children, God willing.” He walked to the angled window in the roof and pushed it open. He pulled a stool forward. “Stand on this. I want to show you my childhood kingdom.”
With one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, he pointed out the silhouettes and rooftop lands he’d imagined, explaining what they’d been to a solitary small boy, and where his imaginary friends and enemies—and several monsters—had lived. She leaned against him, aching for the lonely little boy he’d been.
He glanced at her and caught her blinking back tears. He pulled her against him. “Don’t weep for the past, my love. Like the shabby, outworn furnishings of this place, it’s gone to dust. What you’ve done to this room”—he made a sweeping gesture—“this whole house, is truly wonderful, but it’s nothing compared with how you’ve transformed my life.”
He linked both arms around her waist and looked down at her. “You’ve given me back my home—and I’m not talking about any building, but home in every sense of the word. You restored me to my place and my people, opened up my heart again and showed me the road to a future Ididn’t dream was possible.” His deep voice was ragged with emotion. His grip on her tightened.
“For the past decade and more, I’ve lived a kind of half-life. It was an existence, not a life, with no meaning and no purpose except not to feel, not to hope, and not to love.” His expression was solemn, but his eyes blazed with a light that took her breath away. “You are my hope and my home. You’re my future and my endless, eternal love. With all my heart, I thank you.”
“Oh, Edward.” Lily gave a happy sigh, wound her arms around his neck and lifted her face to receive his kiss.
Epilogue
“I am the happiest creature in the world.”
—JANE AUSTEN,PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
It was the first ball in a generation to be held at Shields, and all the county was there, along with half the ton of London. Guests had been arriving all week, and from early afternoon carriages had been bowling down the tree-lined driveway.
Against all predictions, the day had dawned clear and sunny and had mellowed into a perfect spring evening, the air warm with the promise of summer and fragrant with the scent of a thousand blooms. And that of a roasting oxen, three sheep, dozens of loaves of bread and a bonfire.
It wasn’t only the ton who’d come for the party. Old Lord Galbraith was determined to welcome his grandson and heir back to Shields after a ten-year absence—and the people of the estate were celebrating with him.
Much loved was the young master who’d grown up here along with their own lads. His sweet little bride was no less beloved, despite being a newcomer. They knew who was responsible for bringing their lad home.
The old house glowed with life and laughter, pretty dresses and sparkling jewels catching the light of hundreds of candles. Outside, blazing torches lined the driveway and entrance to the house, while the garden and the trees surrounding it glittered with hundreds of tiny lanterns, like fireflies or fairy lights in the velvety dark night.
A night for magic, everyone agreed.
In the flower-bedecked ballroom an orchestra played cotillions, country dances, Scotch reels and the Sir Roger de Coverley for the older generation, quadrilles and dashing waltzes for the younger ones.
Out the back behind the barn an enormous bonfire blazed, and a quartet of fiddlers played lively tunes while the estate workers, dressed in their best, danced and twirled and romped to their hearts’ content.
Inside, champagne and other fine wines were served; outside beer and cider flowed, compliments of old Lord Galbraith, along with other less clearly defined brews brought by the villagers and passed around in flasks.
As the night went on, the distinction between workers and the gentry began to blur. Ned Galbraith and his pretty wife divided their time between the two groups, greeting villagers and gentry with equal pleasure, and soon others of the ton were venturing outside to dance by firelight—and some to slip into the shadows to taste more forbidden delights.
Ned watched the dancing, his arm around Lily’s waist. They’d danced the last four dances and Lily was puffed. “It’s a grand night,” he said softly. “Grandfather is ready to burst with pleasure.”
“Not just Grandfather, everyone’s so happy that you’ve come home.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Mind what?”
“That we’re going to make our principal home here.”
