“Emmanuel came shortly after. Next thing I know, I’m designing a wedding gown for Princess Louisa. I thought we’d arrive, Eily. Believed I’d achieved my dream. One lucky break with a princess orchestrated by a man we’d never seen, nor would see again, and we were destined for Milan, Paris, New York. I thought I’d be designing haute couture for movie stars and aristocrats the rest of my life.”
“I know you don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Taff, but has our life in Dalholm been so terrible? So unfulfilling?”
“No, love, no.” He wrapped his arm about her and kissed the top of her head. “You are the light of my life. It’s just… Eighty-two and what’ve I done of any importance? What legacy do I leave behind? Besides one princess wedding gown?”
“One that remains a standard, even today. Brides still want a gown like theLouisa.”
He peered down at her. Even with age, she was as beautiful as the day they’d met. The laugh lines stretching from the corners of her hazel eyes were evidence he’d been a decent husband, if not a good one, despite all of his disappointments and failures.
“I’ll try to be cheery today. After all, a man only turns eighty-two once.”
“I see what you’re thinking, old man, and I’m telling you now, your life has value. Look at how you’ve loved and cared for me. It may not be something tangible one can leave behind like money or a house, or furniture, a painting, or—”
“A gown that sings when the wearer moves.”
“I’m not sure it sang, darling, but yes, it was spectacular. I just believe our love and life are as good as a royal wedding dress. After we’re long gone, our goodwill toward mankind will remain.”
“You are right, my love, as always. Except that gown did sing. Like the song in the hills.”
That’s what they said when Princess Louisa appeared in the nave of Clouver Abbey. “Her gown seems to sing as she moves.”
“I stand corrected. I remember what theNews-Leaderreporter wrote.‘She was like a living and breathing melody. I’ve never before seen music, or a woman, more beautiful.’”Eileen leaned against him.
“You are my forever champion, Eileen.” Taffron kissed her head. “I adore you for it. You still capture my heart with a single glance.”
She laughed and patted his breeze-tousled hair. “You’re under a Dalholm spring spell. I’m sure I’ve not captured anyone’s heart with a single glance in decades—if ever.”
“Not true, darling, not true.” Taffron lowered his lips to hers and kissed her with a young man’s vigor. “I’m still under the spell of Mrs. Eileen Björk, neé Hinkley.”
“Have I been enough?” she whispered, grazing the razor nick with her fingertips and brushing away the remaining cotton fibers. “Did I hold you back from your dream? From Milan and Paris?”
“Never. You saw what happened. I tried to take us to Milan, then Paris. Even New York. Every door closed.”
“What about children? Aren’t they the best legacy? And here we are, more than well down the path, childless.”
“Now look at what I’ve done.” He held her hands to his thick chest. “I’ve made you brood as well. Pay no mind to this doddering old fool who’s feeling sorry for himself. I’ve lived a blessed life, and you have been more than enough. We have our health. We have each other. Our old shop above the quay. Why, we couldn’t afford to buy this today. Did I tell you an estate agent rang and offered me more than I ever imagined?”
Eileen’s eyes widened. “You turned him down, I hope.”
“Of course, love. This is our home, where we and our memories live.”
“Where you madethedress. Taffron, most men dream of things they never, ever achieve. Not even a little. But look at you. Chosen from all the designers in the world by Princess Louisa to make her wedding gown. The poor lass never looked so beautiful. She was incredibly grateful, remember? Saying how you made her feel special, like a real princess. Imagine. A princess wanting tofeellike a princess. But you have a way, Taff. A way of making everyone feel special. It’s a gift, I say, a gift.”
“She was lovely. I so enjoyed working with her. But that was a long time ago. Let’s not think of it any longer. I’m ruining my day. What’s past is past.”
“Taffron, look at me.” Eileen’s tone was as firm as her grip on his hands. “What if you were put on this earth to create one extraordinary gown for an ordinary, insecure princess? You can count on one hand how many designers dressed a royal on her wedding day. Even less if they made someone like Louisa shine at her most critical hour. That is who you are, love. You make gowns for women who need to know who they are, who need to feel beautiful, accepted. She needed to feel she was a princess. Not just know she was one because her father was the king.”
“You are wise, my wife.” Taffron turned his attention once again to the cliff that held the Hand of God.
Shipwrecked sailors named the cliff-top, carved-out nook over three hundred years ago when their vessel shattered on the channel rocks during a storm. Miraculously, they somehow survived the sea, scaled the rough, sheer rock face, and found shelter.
When asked how they survived, they said, “The Hand of God.”
“Do you think some are born for one solitary purpose and no other?”
“The good Lord only had one purpose. Do you suppose you are better than He?”
Taffron laughed. “I can’t quarrel with you now. You’ve trumped me with the Almighty.”
