“—To be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward,” he said, speaking over her, his thumb still across the polished gold on her third finger, “for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.” His smile deepened. “You see. I have not forgotten.”
“I hope you will do your fair share of having,” she said, teasing even as her heart swelled. “And holding.”
“Mm, and loving, I think.”
“From this day forward,” she murmured. “Until the end of time.”
He laughed and kissed her again. “A little ambitious, my darling, but I’ll do my best.”
Epilogue
Four years later
Percy crossed his legs as he watched Cecily take her place in front of the pianoforte, her stomach rounded with child, and three-year-old Lavinia Somerville climbing up onto the seat beside her.
“Here,” Cecily said, showing their daughter where to put her fingers on the keys. “Now press gently. Gently, now. There you go, darling.”
Lavinia, reddish gold curls tumbling down her back, grinned at her mother. Cecily smiled back, smoothing Lavinia’s riotous hair from her face. “Sing with Papa,” Lavinia commanded.
Percy stretched his legs out before him. “Do you not want to sing, Lavinia? You and Mama could sing together.”
Lavinia pouted. “I like it when you sing.”
Cecily raised her brows at Percy. “The general has commanded it.”
“I had no clue our lives would be so dictated by such a small being,” he grumbled, but he ruffled Lavinia’s hair as hecame to stand behind them, undoing Cecily’s tidying. For all his complaining, he lived for these quiet moments, the ones after dinner and before Nurse came in to take Lavinia to bed. When it could be just the three of them—soon to be four—and they sang or read together. Already, Lavinia showed an inclination towards music, and once she began learning properly, she would be very talented. He suspected at least some of that came from all the times Cecily had cradled her and sang endless lullabies.
“What should we sing?” Cecily asked Lavinia.
“Something pretty.”
Percy rifled through the pieces until he foundRobin Adair, placing the piece before Cecily. She cast him a quick, appreciative glance that told him she had also not forgotten the first time they had ever sung together. Once, she had told him that it had marked the first time she began thinking of him in a different light, although those particular feelings had not come to fruition until several years afterwards.
For him, he could pinpoint the moment he understood the depths of his feelings to the first time he heard her sing. When her eyes had gone distant, and her voice had rung out, rich and sweet and flowing like a bubbling spring. She’d lost herself to the music, longing and passion a tangible thing inside her, and he had known then that she meant more to him than he had ever initially intended.
Of course, then he had not known that he would marry her; he’d assumed that his infatuation would pass. He should have known better.
Now, every time he heard her sing, it reminded him of how wrong he had been—and how much more he adored her now.
Lavinia put her chubby fingers against the keys and played a few notes, presumably in encouragement. Cecily laughed, and began to play. Just like that first time, he joined her, matching her voice with his. An elegant dance of sorts, his harmonywrapping around her melody, and she smiled the way she had that very first time.
Beside them both, Lavinia joined in, her sweet little voice following her mother’s. Percy put his arms around them both. His family. How fortunate he was to have finally found the happiness he had always been searching for.
One day, when Lavinia was old enough to be married herself, perhaps she might sing to her future husband and attract his attention that way.
“There now,” Nurse said from the doorway when they finished the song. “I believe it’s time for your bed, Miss Lavinia. As for you, my lady. If I may say so, it’s time for you to retire as well before you tire yourself out.”
Cecily leant back against Percy, and he rested his hands against her shoulders. “I’ll go up presently.”
“Very good, my lady.” Nurse turned her attention to Lavinia, who had already hopped down and seemed intent on fleeing to avoid her bedtime. “Now don’t you try that with me, Miss Lavinia. You know my old bones can’t take hunting for you under whatever chair you’ve hidden under this time.”
“Lavinia,” Percy said warningly. “Do as Nurse says, please.”
His daughter huffed, jutting her bottom lip out in a parody of dismay. But she must have been more tired that she wanted to admit, because she didn’t object to Nurse scooping her up, and instead rested her head against Nurse’s shoulder.
“Can you tell me a bedtime story?” she asked as they left the room.
The door closed, but not before Percy could make out the answering, “Of course, Miss Lavinia.”
