“Words,” Jeremy murmured, the notion settling within him. “I shall try, but it is bloody hard not to pummel those who deserve it.”
The corners of Graham’s lips twitched, threatening a smile. “You are only fifteen. Practice thinking before giving your anger full rein and by the time you are a grown man, you will have conquered the art of control.”
“I promise I will try,” Jeremy said. “I will at least take a moment to consider whether talking might be better than doling out a black eye.”
“Good,” Phoebe whispered, a hint of her mischievous spirit returning to her eyes as the corners crinkled with a gentle smile. “For words, my dear Jeremy, wielded with precision, can be just as mighty as any sword.”
And in that moment, Jeremy felt the armor of his rage melt away, replaced by the warm cloak of his parents’ unwavering support and the knowledge that he was part of something much greater than himself—a legacy of honor, tempered with grace.
The door to the parlor swung open with an impetuous creak. Cecilie and Eugenia, wide-eyed harbingers of innocence, burst into the room. Their slight forms were animated by concern, their features etched with the raw urgency only children possess.
“Jeremy!” they chorused, their voices intertwining like the delicate ivy that climbed the stone walls of the estate.
“Cece! Genie!” Jeremy exclaimed, springing from his seat as if released from invisible shackles. He knelt to embrace them, their small arms encircling his neck with surprising strength.
“Are you hurt? Did they harm you?” Cecilie’s question was pointed, her intelligence casting a shadow beyond her years.
“Will you be alright, Jeremy?” Eugenia added, her hazel eyes scanning his face with an acuity that belied her age.
“What makes the two of you think something might be wrong with Jeremy?” Graham studied his young daughter’s as he awaited their reply.
“We were listening at the door, daddy,” Eugenia said with all the innocence of a three-year-old.
Cecilie looked to Eugenia and shook her head. “Hush.”
“Of course you were,” Graham said, not at all surprised by his daughter’s antics.
Both girls turned their attention back to Jeremy.
“Are you hurt?” Cecilie asked?
Eugenia clung to his arm. “Are you?”
“There is no need to fret,” Jeremy said, his heart swelling with a rush of protective affection for his sisters. “I am unscathed.”
“Promise us, Jeremy, promise you will stay safe,” Cecilie pleaded, gripping his hand with a fervor that matched her spirited nature.
“Promise,” Eugenia echoed, her grip equally firm, though her understanding of the situation was surely less complete.
“I promise,” Jeremy assured them, the weight of his words sealing an internal pact. As they clung to him, he felt the last vestiges of his anger dissolve under the purity of their love. In their embrace, he found the resolve to rise above his basest instincts—to be the brother, the son, worthy of the family name.
“Let us go outside,” Jeremy suggested, smiling down at his sisters. “The garden awaits, and the sun is shining.”
“Can we play knights and princesses?” Eugenia asked, her voice lilting with hope.
“Indeed, we can,” Jeremy chuckled, rising to his feet with a sister on each arm.
Phoebe’s hazel eyes reflected the amber hues of the setting sun as she watched her children. She felt a warmth blossoming in her chest, a mother’s pride mingling with an affection so profound it seemed to transcend the very fibers of her being. Her gaze met Graham’s, and she knew without words that he shared in this silent reverie. “We are blessed to have them. Each and everyone of them,” she said.
“Blessed indeed,” Graham agreed, his voice tempered with the wisdom of one who has weathered many storms. His broad shoulders relaxed visibly as he observed the unity before him. How could he not marvel at the sight? To think he had doubted Phoebe’s ability to accept Jeremy in the early days. Doubt their ability to forge a family, and yet here they were—a testament to resilience and love.
Phoebe leaned against Graham, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. “They are truly remarkable, are they not?”
“Indeed they are,” Graham whispered, his hand finding hers, fingers intertwining naturally. “They possess the best of us—your vivacity and my resolve.”
“Your charm and my wit,” she added playfully, laughter dancing in her eyes.
“Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten your incomparable wit?” he chuckled, the sound resonating deep in his chest.
