“No, Mrs. Willis. I am contemplating what to do with the portraits.”
“Whatever you decide, Your Grace, we are behind you.”
Colin faced her. “You always guided me well, Mrs. Willis. Thank you.”
The housekeeper smiled and looked away, her face coloring with emotions and eyes misting. “Do not thank me, Your Grace. I am only keeping the promise I made to your mother to look after you.”
“I am grateful, nevertheless.” He turned back to the portraits and took a step toward them. Pointing at the first his eyes found satisfactory, he said, “Have this taken to the gallery to be displayed.”
He was only displaying his father’s picture because the gallery held their history. Every Maxwood ancestor—from the time pictures could be made—was there, and he felt it was his duty to preserve them. Joseph may have attempted to soil their name with his wretchedness but Colin was still proud of his bloodline, and if he ever had a child, he would teach them that love was the most important thing in a family, and they should never cease to believe in it. Perhaps more importantly though, he would teach them never to grow up to be like such a man.
Mrs. Willis speaking drew him out of his reverie. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said I will fetch a footman to carry it downstairs now,” she repeated and left him alone again.
He felt another presence replace the housekeeper’s and his heart expanded with warmth. Colin held his hand out to Anna before turning to see her, and when she placed her hand in his, he drew her close to his side. His heart was her home, and he never wanted her to feel alone.
“I have something to confess,” she said softly, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her head against his chest.
“Is it you’re sneaking into this room every night and making away with my mother’s diary?”
She gasped and looked up at him. “How did you know?”
He laughed at her adorably surprised face. She was more beautiful than anything he had ever laid eyes on or ever will. “I adjusted that lock so that it would not easily be picked but when you attempted to lock it again, you did not do it properly and the door remained open.” Colin kissed the tip of her nose. “I knew it was you because I caught you with your hairpin.”
“I was curious,” she whispered.
“I know, my love.”
“I returned your mother’s diary. Many of the pages had been torn out.”
“I tore them and burned the pieces.” He thought she would ask more but she did not and only rested her head on his chest again. “I am deciding what to do with my father’s pictures. I have asked for one to be hung in the gallery, but the rest have to go.”
“Where?”
“I am uncertain. I think I will have them burned.” His voice thickened. “I have no desire to keep them, not after everything he did to my mother.”
“What about the things he did to you?”
Colin shook his head. “They do not matter as much as hers.” When Anna frowned in puzzlement, he decided to tell her the final piece of the story now instead of later. There was not a better time. “His cruelty was too much for her to bear and she took her life.” There was no emotion in his voice as he spoke but the wound in his heart was still raw.
Anna’s eyes reflected her shattering emotions, and he almost wished he had not told her, but it was necessary. Her arms tightened around him. “Colin, I am so sorry.”
He wiped her tears with his thumbs. “She would have loved you.” He found himself smiling as he imagined what his mother would do if she learned that Anna played the violin. “I think she is looking down at us from where she is.”
“And she is proud of you. Despite everything, you carried on and became a man that most men could only dream of becoming. I am proud of you, too, Colin.”
“I love you, Anna.” He had to make certain she knew that. Her lips parted, and she searched his face as though she was trying to believe him. “I love you,” he repeated, slower. Then he kissed her lips, whispering the words over and over against her mouth. “You are more important to me than anything in this world, and I will treasure you always.”
Anna held him tightly and concealed her face in his chest. He wished he knew what she was thinking at that instant but she would not let him see her.
“Anna?” he whispered.
“Why do you have to be so perfect?” Her voice sounded incredibly small and brittle. He wanted to shield her from everything that could bring her even the tiniest measure of sadness. He vowed to.
“Youare perfect for me. You are my heart.”
She pulled away and gazed up at him now, her awe apparent in her dark eyes. When she smiled, he felt as though he was being lifted into the air.
