Epilogue
W ith Michael being so adamant on a quick wedding, it surprised Maggie when he eventually relented and gifted Aunt Alice a full eight weeks to plan the event. She’d been grateful, to say the least.
He’d told Maggie that he wanted his bruises to heal before he met her at the end of the altar, and Maggie had taken him at his vainglorious word.
She shouldn’t have.
When her parents hurried into Aunt Alice’s townhome the day before the wedding and crushed her in their arms, Maggie realized that Michael had postponed the event for her benefit. Somewhere, somehow, he’d understood how important it was for her parents to be a part of the wedding.
In the drawing room, sandwiched between her lively little brothers, Maggie spent the last day of her singledom listening to her parents’ stories, soaking up their far-off tales of intrigue and gossip. She reveled in their excitement and their limitless zest for life and adventure. And she felt complete.
Not home. But complete. Able to move forward in her life.
Home, Maggie now concluded, was wherever Michael was. The lovely man had believed that he was giving Maggie her family for her wedding day, but it was more than that. In the long, joyous hours she spent with her parents, she was reminded of who they were—who they would always be. And Maggie would never be able to change them. The marquis and his wife loved their children in their own way. And Maggie had to accept that. It wasn’t the way that she would experience a family with Michael, but it had been their way. And, perhaps, if they hadn’t been that way, Maggie might not have become the woman she had. The woman that loved Michael. The woman that he loved.
So, she sat there with her siblings and lost herself in the familial moment, not wondering about what could have or might have been. Maggie only felt love for the family that she had, and was determined to keep that feeling with her forever.
The following day, when Lady Maggie married Lord Michael, they were surrounded by family, and the friends who were just as important as family.
And they only had eyes for one another.
Their house was a place of love. Their doors were always open to any and all who wanted to be a part of it.
Michael’s relationship with his father took time, but that too reached an acceptance that neither man had dared hope for.
And new life was the balm that smoothed over the old scars, hiding them away until no one could even tell where they’d once smarted.
The labor had been long. Michael was routinely informed that first babies usually went like this, but that didn’t stop the tortured man from ruining his carpet with all his pacing back and forth. For two days, he waited in anguish, listening to Maggie’s wails and heavy, laborious breathing from behind thin walls and (when the midwife banned him from the corridor) down winding staircases.
Tommy, knowing a thing or two about settling a fighter’s nerves, was the one to take the matter in hand and thrust a full bottle of gin in Michael’s. If the trainer couldn’t stop Michael from fixating on every scream, then he would get him so soused that he wouldn’t be able to hear anything over the ringing in his ears.
And that worked, to the thanks of everyone in the home—especially Maggie, who was too busy at the moment to worry about her husband’s nerves.
When Michael first laid eyes on his beautiful, tiny, healthy daughter, he didn’t trust himself to hold her; however, when Maggie offered Lady Jeanne with a proud, tired smile, he couldn’t resist. The lethal hands that fought for a living, that pummeled men to the ground, that had saved him from a childhood of fear and sadness, shook like crisp leaves when he accepted his daughter in her tight, swaddled bundle. And he had never been more grateful for such an unearthly gift, nor had he ever realized how unworthy he was of it.
He turned to Maggie, leaning over to kiss her forehead, but she had already fallen asleep with that same proud smile on her pale face.
“The real fighter in the family needs her rest,” Michael whispered to the newborn. He backed away from the bed, taking his daughter to the nearest window, where dawn was finally breaking over the terrifying, otherworldly night. His body swayed in a natural rhythm as his daughter fit perfectly in the crux of his elbow, as if God had known and designed Michael just this way for the comfort of his firstborn child.
He kissed her fuzzy head, grinning at the way her entire body squirmed before settling back into its deep sleep. Being born must be an exhausting endeavor, Michael thought. And his daughter had done it like a champion. There was so much more to come.
And right there, in the beginning of a new day, with the nascent sun’s rays shining upon his daughter’s closed eyes, Michael was filled with peace. Because he knew this little girl would be able to handle anything that life threw at her. She was her mother’s daughter, after all.
*
That wasn’t to say that Michael wouldn’t do his damnedest protecting the independent women in his life. As he would always say, someone had to save them from themselves.
Which was why no one was allowed to visit his daughter for the first two months. Maggie laughed at her husband, calling him overly protective—and he was—but the truth was that he merely wanted them to himself. Perfect moments in time were fleeting. Michael would string out these short days with his wife and child for as long as he could, knowing full well that doors would have to be opened sooner or later. The outside would always yearn to come in—especially when a viscountess gave birth to the most beautiful and intelligent baby in the history of babies. Maggie did agree with Michael on that part.
Maggie’s parents were the first to arrive. Blessedly, they were in between travels, and had halted further plans until the birth. Although Michael could not fully understand the couple and their meandering ways, he’d come to enjoy their company and appreciate the joy they gave his wife when they were in town. They fawned over their granddaughter, which, to Michael’s eyes, also showed good and sound judgment.
His mother came next. The Countess of Waverly’s staid composure was never going to match the Amesburys’ zeal, but she doted on the child in her own austere manner. Michael had been touched when he saw her wipe away a tear from her cheek as she held the baby, thinking that no one was watching.
He hadn’t anticipated that.
Nor had he expected the countess to come every day after, stopping in at the house, saying it was on her way to this event or that. Maggie, always hoping to foster a kinship with his mother, delighted at the time spent together, and Michael wouldn’t complain while they left him out of most of their conversations.
His father was the last to come. Maggie had just finished feeding the baby when the butler announced the arrival of the Earl of Waverly. He swallowed up the doorway minutes later.
And he wasn’t alone.
A gentleman joined him. Michael knew him at once. Over the past year, he had done better, visiting his father at his estate, and Arthur had slowly introduced him to the man he shared his life with. Hardly all at once, it was like a slow drip. Maxwell no longer fled a room once Michael entered it. They three men had shared drinks together, gone on rides. Conversations weren’t long or particularly intimate. But for the time being, it had been enough. It made Arthur happy. And Michael realized that he wanted his father to be happy. Just as he was.
“Oh, my darling girl, I knew you could do it!” the earl cried, charging into the room like a conquering father. He claimed Jeanne at once, holding her to his chest like a man who had done it countless times before. Michael’s heart thumped oddly as he watched his father turn to utter mush around his daughter, cooing nonsensical words, making ridiculous noises in an effort to get Jeanne to smile and laugh.
Which she did. Instantly.
The earl held the tiny baby up in front of him, and the two stared at one another with the same ice-blue eyes, studying this new person who was now such an integral part of their life. “She’s perfect,” the earl announced. “Absolutely perfect.” He tucked the baby into his chest once more and turned to his son. “I knew Maggie could do it; I had no doubt… but you, sir—I didn’t know you had it in you to create such magnificence. But then again, you are half me.”
Michael laughed… because he didn’t know what else to do and because he was determined to never be annoyed or angry or anything other than mild-mannered around his daughter. “Thank you… I suppose.”
“You’re welcome!” the earl chirped, his entire focus still on Jeanne, who yawned widely. “So lovely,” he whispered before looking to Maxwell, who’d stayed near the door. “Max! Get over here at once. Have you ever seen a baby as beautiful and perfect as this? I’ll answer for you, no you haven’t. What are you doing over there? Come here. Hold her! You have to smell her.” The earl tucked his nose under Jeanne’s chin and inhaled with closed eyes. “She smells like new . Did you know that new could have a smell? It does. It’s her. It’s perfectly her.”
Maxwell shook his head, smiling shyly at the floor. “It’s fine, Arthur. I like watching you hold your granddaughter.”
Arthur stared at the man, disappointment evident in his expression. An unspoken conversation seemed to flow between them, and, resigned, Arthur eventually returned his attention to the baby.
“Please?” Maggie said softly from her chair. It took Michael a beat to realize she was speaking to Maxwell. “She’s such a sweet baby. She won’t cry, if that’s what you’re worried about. You can hold her. I’m sure she would love that.”
Arthur’s face lit up again, and he knew he’d won. He walked the baby to Maxwell, who had stepped a few inches inside the room. He extended his arms, mirroring the way Arthur held his.
“There now,” Arthur said, handing the baby over. “Good. Just like that. Mind her head. Yes. Exactly. Look at you!”
Michael was transfixed by the pair. Arthur hugged Maxwell’s side as they regarded the baby together. Were his eyes glassy? Or were Michael’s?
He heard the chair squeak, and Maggie came up beside him. She wrapped her arm around Michael’s waist and held him close. Maggie had known what to do. She always did.
Maxwell laughed softly, pulling Michael’s attention from his wife. “She’s so small.”
“Babies usually are,” Arthur quipped. The earl looked up from the child and caught his son’s eye. So much was said in that one, short moment. “Thank you.”
Michael nodded.
Arthur dashed a tear from his eye, not bothering to hide the emotion. “All right now, you can’t be the only one to hold the baby. Give me back my grandchild,” he ordered Maxwell jovially, accepting Jeanne back in his arms. Maxwell appeared a little relieved—and wistful—after the exchange was made.
“What is it?” Maggie asked him.
Maxwell blanched, caught off guard by the attention. “Ah, it’s nothing,” he replied, swiping a hand through the thin brown strands left on top of his head. “I just didn’t think it was possible to love something so quickly. It’s overwhelming.” He blinked and jerked back as if realizing that he’d just said the words out loud. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he told Michael. “I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have said—”
Michael waved a hand in the air. “No harm. I know exactly what you mean. And you’re right.” He wrapped his arm around his wife’s middle, gazing down at her bright, smiling face. “Overwhelming is the perfect word for this.”
For all of this. For this new baby. This new world. This new family. It would take time. But they would forge forward.
Together.