But why must she be surprised? She’d surrendered. She’d followed her Lord.
“All right, children, come along.” Alice took each child by the hand, leading them from the library. “Let’s see who can run the fastest to the barn.”
“I can.” Michael, without any hesitation.
“No, me.” Catherine, who insisted she keep up with her brother.
Upon the children’s exit, the butler entered the library. “Your newspapers, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Wiley.” Esther reached for her daily reading. From London. New York. Boston. And Charleston, the new name for Charles Town. “What do you think of the finished library?”
The man glanced around. A scar ran across his cheek, a product of the war. “Peaceful,” he said. “Exquisite. Master Wallace spared no expense.”
Esther grinned. “True. So now hemustmake our venture here a success.”
“Of that I have no doubt.”
Their venture was an American farm. On the western side of Manhattan. Along the Hudson. A boyhood dream her husband seemed determined to fulfill.
Settling into her chair by the hearth, Esther embraced contentment. She was home. Happy. Satisfied. Wanting for nothing.
Yet there was on occasion, a lingering... a wondering.
She drew herself from those distant thoughts and turned to her reading. There was no need for such musings. Her days in South Carolina were a lifetime ago.
She glanced up when the children’s laughter drifted through the open window. They were happy, thus she was happy.
Back to her newspapers, a printed flyer slipped from the stack to the floor. Esther bent to retrieve it. An advertisement. For a religious meeting in midtown.
Wallace entered, a large frame in hand, along with one of the farm workers, Bristol. “Good morning, my dear. I see you have the children out exercising. I dare say they’ll run Alice ragged.” He bent to kiss her lips. Still with passion after all these years.
“She’s young, she can keep up. What have you there?”
“The family crest. Father insisted on sending it over. Especially now that the library is finished. He’s terrified the children will become too American and forget their English heritage.” He turned the frame around for her to see, his expression seeking her approval.
“Perfect.” She nodded, the white-and-black crest with the golden star, a warrior’s helmet, and a shield of crosses no longer just Wallace’s family crest, but hers also.
The House of Hobart. Warriors. Lovers. Followers of Christ.
“And how could the children forget their heritage? Your father will not let them. Not as long as he breathes,” she said, laughing, squeezing Wallace’s hand. “Nor I. The Hobarts are a distinguished family one cannot easily dismiss. Our children will know from where we hail.”
“Have I told you today how I adore you?” Wallace kissed her cheek, then turned to the room. “Where shall we hang this? Bristol, do as my wife bids.” He handed the crest to the devoted worker. “I built this place, she runs it. Darling, I wonder if you only married me for my money.”
“As you only married me for my beauty.”
Bristol stifled a laugh.
“Blast, you’ve found me out.” Wallace retreated to his desk, sitting with a flip of his coat tail and gazing about the grand room with no fewer than four thousand books. He looked every bit the king admiring his castle.
“Where shall I hang this, ma’am?”
“Over the fireplace.” Esther pointed to the vacant spot over the mantel.
Wallace’s buoyant laugh burst out. “Michael is trying to be Catherine’s pony.”
Esther joined him at the window. “Now will you concede to my wish? Buy the children a pony, Wallace. Look at all the land.” She pressed her cheek to his arm. She loved him. More than she ever imagined possible.
He encircled her in his arms. “I’ve already sent word to a breeder.”
