Epilogue

“I like being married,” Miriam said, arching her spine slightly as Daniel trailed kisses across her stomach.

“Be more specific,” he muttered, his hand stroking over her hip bone and down her thigh before he carried on with his kisses.

She smiled. “I like being married to you. No, actually, that’s not true.”

Daniel lifted his head and looked at her, his wide eyes enquiring.

“I love being married to you,” she corrected.

A week had passed since they had shared their vows in the little Scottish village of Gretna. They had spent their wedding night in a local inn, where Daniel had introduced Miriam to the delights of the marriage bed.

“That’s better,” Daniel replied, and continued with his kissing, working his way up and into the valley between her breasts, where he lifted his head again. “Left or right?”

Mirim giggled. “Right.”

Daniel smiled and lowered his mouth to the nipple, causing Miriam to arch her spine again, pushing against him.

“Especially this part, Daniel,” she said, on a sigh. “I especially love this part of being married.”

Daniel moved up a little further, his arousal pressing against her hip. “I love that you love it,” he whispered, his hand moving to the warm place between her legs, fingers probing and caressing as he claimed her mouth.

Miriam squirmed beneath his touch, wanting more, needing every hard inch of him.

His eyes locked with hers as he moved to cover her, taking her fully.

Groaning, she lifted her hips, matching each thrust and parry, seeking her pleasure and eager to provide his.

The shared climax was a shuddering wave of ecstasy, one that left Miriam replete and content beyond words.

“I love you, Mrs. Barton,” Daniel murmured, rolling over and pulling her into his arms. “So damn much.”

“Same,” she replied, snuggling against him. “I’ve never been as happy as I am now, Daniel. Never.”

*

The following day, Miriam, with Daniel beside her, found herself facing a familiar black door on Stonefeather Street. As she had once before, she gave the door four quick raps with the brass knocker. The door was opened not a minute later by Miss Grey, whose face lit up at the sight of Miriam.

“Miss Sinclair,” she said, and then glanced at Daniel. “And a gentleman friend! How lovely. Come in, please, both of you.”

“Thank you,” Miriam said, stepping into the hallway. “We won’t stay long. I just wanted to settle my debt and to give you the news, as you requested. It’s not Miss Sinclair anymore, but Mrs. Barton. This is my husband, Daniel.”

Miss Grey laughed and clapped her hands. “Oh, but this is even better than I hoped. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barton.” Her expression softened. “You’re Alice’s son, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Daniel replied. “And the pleasure is mine, Miss Grey.”

“Evadne and Alice,” she said, chuckling as she shook her head. “What a pair they are! I have never known the like.”

“And I owe you five shillings, Miss Grey.” Miriam handed over the money. “But more than that, I owe you my thanks and my gratitude. Your scéance changed my life. It gave me a life I never thought I’d have. I’m not sure what would have become of me if I’d stayed with my stepbrother.”

Miss Grey’s smile faded. “Oh dear. You haven’t heard, have you?”

Miriam frowned. “Heard?”

“About the Reverend Miller.”

Miriam exchanged a glance with Daniel. “No, I haven’t… that is, we’ve been away. Why? Has something happened to him?”

“I’m afraid so. An apoplexy, they think. He’s been moved to an Anglican sanitorium in Dorset.”

“When was this?” Daniel asked.

“Several days ago, apparently. One of his parishioners saw him leaving Highgate cemetery early in the morning. She said he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. He hasn’t spoken a word since, from what I’ve heard.”

“Perhaps he did see a ghost,” Miriam said, resisting an urge to look at Daniel. “It’s Highgate cemetery, after all. Sad, though, to be so afflicted. He wasn’t very kind to me, but I never wished him ill.”

“He’s being well taken care of, I’m sure,” Miss Grey said. “Now, will you stay and have some tea?”

“Perhaps another time,” Daniel said. “In fact, when is your next scéance?”

“A week Friday,” she replied. “And I have two spots left.”

The End

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