Chapter 26
The phaeton trundled over a dry road on a sunny April day, carrying a couple in elegant dress and a pleasant-faced driver.
Adorned in strings of flowers with a few bells dangling off the back, it created a merry sight among the cottages speckled
along the back way toward Ravenscross.
More than wildflowers framed the road on this day.
In front of each cottage waited its occupants, each holding a welcome bouquet or simple gift from their home to celebrate
the wedding of their lord and bride.
Lord and Lady Ravenscross.
Emme could scarcely believe it. Within six months, she had gone from a rejected woman, retreating in order to free her suitor
from a match they could not have, to a bride on the arm of the man who had always held her heart.
With a laugh, she waved toward Mrs. Anna Campbell as the carriage stopped to receive their simple gift of produce from their
first spring as Ravenscross’s tenants. Mrs. Campbell’s beaming smile and her burgeoning middle promised that much more than
the fruit of the land would greet their home very soon.
“She looks happy,” Emme said as she turned to her—dare she say it?—husband as the carriage drove on.
Simon, who had scarcely let go of her since they left her father’s home, tightened his hold on her waist. “You are welcome to visit her and confirm it,” he answered, voice warm. “As lady of the manor, you have full authority to dispense visits as you see fit.”
“Lady Ravenscross,” she repeated, as though trying the title on for size. “It feels rather grand.”
“Not grand.” Simon leaned close. His breath teased her ear, sending delightful shivers down her spine. “Perfect.”
Their departure had come after hours of festivity, followed by a lively family dinner at her father’s insistence. The younger
Reeves siblings had departed with Aunt Agatha, leaving Emme and Simon alone in the fading light of the day for their first
journey to Ravenscross as husband and wife. As if in sweet benediction to the day, the sky began to bow to the burnished hues
of sunset. The estate—theirs now—lay just beyond the horizon, the distant towers of the house like a promise in a storybook
of everything yet to come.
The drive had afforded a wonderful and lengthy time of privacy, just the two of them, as Emme attempted to take in her new
life, her new future. And he’d peppered the moments with sweet endearments and tender kisses, almost as a prologue of a scene
yet to come.
“Well, as the new mistress of Ravenscross, I should like to get to know all our tenants.” She smiled up at him.
“Our tenants,” he echoed, and without further hesitation, he leaned close, his nose sliding over hers in a playful gesture, before
his warm lips claimed her cool ones.
This kiss, firm and earnest, was more than a thrilling flirtation or a gentle admiration. It was a lover’s kiss, a promise.
And the warmth of it emanated through her to her very soul. She belonged here, with him.
She raised a palm to his cheek, answering his unvoiced request with her own. She’d made a promise too. Before God and those
she loved.
She was Simon’s and he was hers.
As they capped the hill nearest the house, Emme’s gaze traveled beyond the pond where she’d taken an unintentional swim and settled on a distant roofline beyond the treed boundary of Ravenscross. An edifice of stone and modern pillar caught fading daylight, and her smile faltered.
The former Hemston estate.
Emme hadn’t particularly liked the Hemstons, but she’d not wished their fate on anyone. Only two months after she and Simon
had announced their engagement, a great scandal eclipsed the future marriage of a struggling viscount and a tainted authoress.
Mr. Hemston, on the advice of his partner, Mr. Chambers, had sunk his entire fortune into a doomed business venture. Chambers
had vanished soon after, leaving Hemston to face creditors and ruin alone. The estate was sold, the family scattered, and
Selena Hemston, in what could only be called a desperate act, had run off with Chambers himself.
According to rumors, she and her notoriously profligate lover disappeared in the direction of the West Indies, lured by the
promise of lucrative trade and sugar plantations. But such ventures were not for the fainthearted—or the foolish. Within months,
word filtered back of their utter ruin. Chambers had squandered what little wealth he’d stolen in ill-fated schemes, leaving
Selena stranded in an unfamiliar land. She was last seen attempting to charm her way onto a merchant ship bound for anywhere
but there.
However, who could trust rumors?
Cool evening air fluttered toward them as the phaeton turned up the drive toward Ravenscross, its jagged stonework creating
a formidable silhouette against the backdrop of dwindling, fiery daylight.
“I had some of the men bring your belongings ahead,” Simon said, shifting so that his fingers entwined with hers.
“Thank you.” She bathed in his smile, his look, feeling very much all the things she read that brides should feel . . . and
more, she thought. More than words could describe. “I’m certain Clara will have everything in good order by the time we arrive.”
His attention skimmed her face before dropping to their braided hands. “If I could have afforded a honeymoon trip right now,
Emme, I would have—”
She silenced him with her lips, and when he was sufficiently distracted—which she inferred by the way he’d pressed her back
against the seat of the phaeton and nearly kissed her senseless—she drew back, holding his gaze as she did. “Will you be with
me?”
“Always” came his quick vow.
“Then that is honeymoon enough for me.”
His gaze searched hers, his emotions raw, his smile faltering, only to grow brighter. “Welcome home, Lady Ravenscross,” he
rasped.
She smiled as the carriage came to a stop at the steps of the grand house. Simon pressed a kiss to her cheek, lingering as
if savoring the very essence of her.
She leaned into his affection, his love.
Ravenscross had never felt so large or so beautiful as it did bathed in molten sunset and ushering her forward as its new
mistress. She would embrace the estate and the storied weight of generations who’d lived, worked, and died there.
They hit the steps together, her hand tucked in his elbow, but before she could cross the threshold, Simon swept her into
his arms. With a swirl of white lace and laughter, he charged forward into the house as merry as a child.
The dour-faced butler gave an indifferent nod as he held the door, but Mrs. Patterson beamed, her smile following them all
the way up the grand staircase until Simon deposited Emme at the entrance of a large wooden door.
“Our room,” he whispered, taking her lips again as he opened the door.
Wrapping his hand around hers, he led her inside, never straying far enough from her to release his hold.
She felt his gaze on her as she took in the room—his smile so bright, she couldn’t help but respond in kind.
Every comfort adorned the space, from new rugs to elegant curtains, and a bed large enough to rival a royal chamber.
And then she saw it. Tucked away in one of the turrets connected to their room stood a small desk flanked by windows, and
on the opposite wall waited two massive bookshelves.
“I thought you might like a place to write,” Simon said, gesturing toward the cozy nook. “Morning sunlight, a fireplace for
the evenings—it seemed perfect for you.”
She turned into him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her cheek against his. Warmth crept beneath her eyelids as she
clung to him, words insufficient to express his thoughtfulness. His arms came up to encapsulate her, his lips pressed to her
hair.
“I love you, Simon.” She touched her lips to the skin just above his collar. “Thank you—for all of this.”
Simon drew back, his hands cradling her face, his expression tender and unguarded, drawing her near. “This is only the beginning
of our very own story, Emme.” His whisper brought his lips close again. “A story worthy of a thousand novels.”
Her breath caught in anticipation of the next scene and the next chapter. She had a feeling that once their kisses began in
this intimate space, they would continue for a very long time. She smoothed a hand around the lapel of his jacket, ready to
experience a brand-new part of their story. “Then let us write it together, my dear Simon.”
And without another hesitation, he breached the space between them, his lips doing much more than stealing her breath and
quickening her pulse. They sent her a promise. Not that everything in their story would always be easy or beautiful. Heartache
and fear may yet wait within the pages.
But above it all, she knew.
They’d begun a story with the certainty of a happily ever after.