Epilogue
A YEAR LATER
Rosaline knew she needed to give up the precious sleeping child in her arms. After fourteen hours of labor, she felt exhaustion’s pull threatening her consciousness.
But how could she miss a single moment, when they were so perfect?
All her fingers. All her toes. The wealth of hair as dark as the man who’d gathered them both in his arms, upsetting the very British midwife, who wanted fathers to have exactly nothing to do with the birth.
“What should we name her?” she queried around a yawn.
“Honeysuckle?” he offered.
“Be serious.”
“I was being serious,” he muttered, portending effrontery.
“What about Charity?” she offered. “It would fit in with so many of the Goode names.”
“Nu-uh,” he declined vehemently. “No virtues, and no names ending in ‘line’ or starting with ‘Emm.’ I already have a hell of a time with Caroline, Rosaline, Emmaline, Emmett. No. Just no.”
“And why not a virtue?” she asked.
“Have you met your sisters?” He counted them off on his fingers. “Prudence is impetuous. Mercy is ruthless. Felicity is serious. And Honoria well…she’s all right, I guess.”
Rosaline couldn’t help but let laughter shake the child, and was so grateful when she didn’t wake.
“Name our kid Charity and she’ll be a miser and a cheat,” he continued. “Name her Chastity, and…well, I don’t have to spell that one out for you.”
Rosaline let her giggles die with a contented sigh, her head lolling against his chest. “This is more difficult than I thought.”
“What about Courtney?” he offered.
She wrinkled her nose. “I dislike it immediately.”
“It’s my middle name.”
“Oh, well…I suppose we could consider—"
This time, it was his chest that shook with laughter. “I love you, woman.”
“What if we name her for one of our favorite places from our honeymoon? Maybe Florence or Vienna?”
“I dislike that immediately.” He threw her words back at her.
“Are we about to have our first row?”
“She’s just so perfect. She’s the most perfect child to have ever been born, don’t you think?”
“I know exactly what to call her.”
“What’s that?”
“Andromeda.”
“You two are everything in my sky.”
Though she still loved to map the stars, her eyes did not search them as often as they used to.
And when her fingers itched to take, which was less and less these days, he was there to hold her hand.
To quiet the vibrations. And, sometimes, to find a solution that could ease both her suffering, and still keep her from being a thief.
Yes, she looked at the stars less, because what mattered was right here.
Whatever strange substance had crafted the universe and all its mysteries, her husband held it in his eyes as he looked at her.
“Andromeda,” she murmured. “Our little constellation of joy. She’s going to slay her own demons, I think.”
He passed his hand over the downy head. “If so, she’ll have learned it from her mama.”
They pressed their foreheads together for a precious moment, and as Rosaline began to give over to sleep, she felt the tiny weight of their child lifted from her chest.
“Come here, little mite,” he crooned. “Let’s let Mama sleep. You’ve both had a rough couple of hours, huh? Why don’t you sit here and tell me all about it?”
Rosaline didn’t want to miss this precious moment, but she released her grip on consciousness, knowing that life would be here when she awoke, and so would the family she loved.