Epilogue
Clara awoke to find herself alone in bed, starfished across the mattress, her hair wild and unruly as it always was.
A hand to Pearce’s pillow indicated his side had been slept in but had since been abandoned and grown cold.
Barely any pale light crept around the edge of the drapes, so it was still very early in the morning—well before even her industrious husband would rise for the day.
Still, she knew exactly where to find him.
Slipping from the bed, Clara winced at the lingering soreness in her body before donning her dressing gown and crossing the room to the passage opening to the next chamber.
The door was ajar, and she peered inside the cozy, darkened room.
There, Pearce sat between a carved and draped bassinet and a cot, resting his head against the back of the comfortable, overstuffed chair Clara had purchased and moved into the chamber when it became clear that his near-nightly vigils would continue.
Her husband lifted his head as she entered, the corner of his mouth lifting softly in greeting.
“They are sleeping; all is well,” Clara whispered as she tilted her head.
“I know,” he said gently, shifting to peer into each bed one more time. Their son, Knox Dorian Brinley, was a robust boy of nearly eighteen months and their daughter, Vivian, was a petite thing with lusty lungs at only two weeks of age.
Pearce hadn’t been able to sleep after Knox was born.
He would startle awake from his rest and fly, half dressed, up to the nursery to check on him, scaring the poor nursemaid nearly to death each time.
Clara’s solution had been to have the former lady’s chamber at their country estate converted into the new nursery so he could keep an eye on the child himself.
Though the labor had gone relatively well and both she and the babe had been fine, it took many months for Pearce’s anxiety to abate.
Clara learned rather quickly that he required a great deal of reassurance and reminders that both she and their child were thriving.
Some might wonder why a man as strong and confident as Pearce required coddling, but Clara understood and she never judged him for it.
With all the care and adoration he showed to her and their offspring, she would gladly do it a hundred times over.
Unfortunately, Pearce’s worries had just begun to taper off when she discovered she was pregnant with their daughter.
Given their history, it was understandable that Clara had been slightly nervous to tell him she was expecting, but she knew she had to have faith in the healing they’d done as a family.
Pearce had been nothing but an attentive father and a loving husband since their reconciliation.
Besides, he had been sleeping better ever since they’d moved the nursery into the adjoining room, and Clara told herself that he could handle a second pregnancy so close on the heels of the first.
To be fair, Pearce had seemed excited when he learned the news, and he was remarkably doting toward her as the pregnancy progressed. Though his anxiety was a presence in their household, Clara knew it was born of nothing but the purest love.
He’d refused to leave her side when her contractions came, and labor began.
Amelia and Dorian had traveled with their boys from Coylton Castle to be present for her lying in and the birth.
Once more, Amelia had assisted Clara through her pains and, thanks to Pearce’s persistent presence from start to finish, her sister-in-law was prompted to jest that Dorian could learn a thing or two from him if they ever had another child.
Dori had taken the comment in good humor and demanded he have a turn holding his niece.
Over the following weeks, Clara gently chastised her husband for hovering over their children—even sometimes sleeping in the chair in their chamber—but she loved every moment of his dedication.
He’d come such a long way from the irreverent, goading, sarcastic man who used his biting tongue and sharp wit to mask a very deep-seated pain.
He’d opened up and shone, and she basked in it.
Never had she felt so secure as when she had the unquestioning love of a man who cherished her and did everything in his power to give her whatever she desired.
Shirtless and wearing only a pair of loosely tied breeches, Pearce stood and strode over to Clara.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head.
Following one more contented pause to soak in the soft sounds of two sleeping babes, they closed the door and returned to bed.
Unable to resist, Clara wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him lightly as he settled in beside her.
*
“So beautiful,” Pearce murmured, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Clara’s ear.
He gazed into her eyes, so thankful for everything she’d given him: love, a home, a family, and a future.
He hadn’t realized how long he’d been foundering in the riptide of the past. She still drove him mad, she still frustrated him to no end, but she was the only partner for him—the only one who could tolerate his quirks and love him despite them.
She was the hope to his darkness; she was the remedy for his pain.
As if sensing the track of his thoughts, Clara smiled at him. It was that glowing, unabashed grin that drove him wild. “What are you thinking?” Already her eyelids were growing heavy.
“How strange a thing fate really is.”
She made a small sound of assent and drifted off. Pearce kissed her forehead, and he nestled her firmly against him. He sighed, for once unafraid of the dreams that awaited him.
Holding his wife close, he slept.