Page 70 of Married By Twelfth Night
At Belside manor, a maiden fair,
Frowned at a lad with light-brown hair.
He puffed his chest, strutted with pride,
And teased the girl, who cast him aside.
When death’s sorrow stripped him bare,
The pretty maiden, in kindness rare,
Softened his heart, and dispelled his gloom,
Staying by his side, until joy did bloom.
As in stories of old with a twist,
She became the friend he liked to kiss.
Love emerged, and his heart’s embrace,
Became his wife, his darling Grace.
Her eyes glistened with tears. “That isn’t a riddle. It’s poetry. The best poetry I have ever heard.”
“I am an amateur, and you well know it.”
“I am always honest with you, Richard, and it was perfection itself.”
“It’s clear you’re the inspiration behind every word. You hold my happiness. I thought I had lost it after Father’s death, but you brought it back to me with your witty insults, charming smiles, and loving heart. Have I told you how much I love you, Gracie?”
“Not today,” Grace replied, her hand finding the hair at the back of his neck and running her fingers through it. “But I have been negligent too. You also hold my happiness. I tried to thwart the feeling for many years, but my soul knew its match even before I did. No one has ever cared for me like you do. I love you with my whole heart, Richie Graham.”
Such a statement deserved rewarding. He pressed her into the wall and kissed her soundly.
Epilogue
Four Years Later
Grace’s half boots crunchedagainst the thin layer of snow lining the drive. Tilting back her head, she admired the cream-colored stucco smoothing the brick surface of her new home. The tall windows gleamed, beckoning for her to look inside each and every one. Her eyes traced the iron balcony above the columned entrance to the familiar black door she had dreamed of entering again since that eventful holiday four years ago when they had been forced to leave.
“Mama, I’m cold. Can we go inside?”
Grace squeezed the small hand she held and smiled at Oliver. “Father gets to go first.” She pulled his cap more snugly over his dark hair, admiring how much her growing three-year-old took after her husband. He was already a precocious, handsome little man. How he would love growing up here, swimming in the pond in the summers, running through the leaves in the autumn, and walking the same corridors as generations of Grahams before him.
Richard’s heavier footfalls brought him up beside her. “Baby May didn’t want her nursemaid. She prefers me, just like her namesake.”
Grace laughed. “Is that why you insisted on giving her part of my childhood nickname?”
“Of course. That, and she has your eyes. Which also explains why she loves looking at me above anyone else.”
Grace rolled her eyes and lifted her free hand to stroke May’s round little cheek. May giggled in response. Why, she didn’t appear upset in the slightest. Grace glanced back at the carriage and caught the nursemaid playfully shaking her head. The poor woman never had a chance to do her job with Richard swooping in and ruining scheduled walks and naptimes, always eager to see his children.
There was no use complaining about it. Grace loved seeing Richard grow and thrive in his role as father. Turning back to Richard, she expected to see him hiding a laugh, but he did not meet her gaze. His childhood home stole his attention completely. She watched his eyes trail over every snow-dusted shrub to every corner of the grand manor house. He was home. He was finally home.
A cold breeze curled under her bonnet and sent a shiver down her neck. Wiping at the moisture filling her eyes, she tucked her arm through Richard’s. She hated to rush him, but Oliver was right. It was freezing. “I think baby May and Oliver are eager to see their new nursery.”
Oliver gave a strong tug at her arm in response.
