Gabriel drew her close, their foreheads touching—a mirror of that day he had first confessed his love, when their hearts had whispered truths their lips had not yet dared to speak. Eden closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his breath and the strength of his arms surround her. In that stillness, she imagined a future not only filled with love, but with purpose. A partnership built on trust, laughter, and mutual dreams. She saw herself walking beside him through the gardens with a babe in her arms, offering wisdom when he faltered, and leaning into his strength when she grew weary. In her heart, she vowed to be his equal in every way. Not merely his wife, but his confidante, his fiercest defender, and the keeper of his joy.
“I dream of a life with you,” he said. “Of laughter in these halls again. Of children running through these gardens. Of quiet nights by the fire, your hand in mine.”
Eden closed her eyes, committing the vision to memory—this moment, like the hush before the storm when she had first dared to hope, now bloomed into the calm she had longed for. The timber of Gabriel’s voice, the flicker of firelight across his features, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. She clung to the hope that this love, so hard-won and tender, would carry them through whatever trials might come.
“I want that, too,” she whispered. “All of it.”
They drifted into sleep wrapped around each other as the fire dimmed to glowing coals and a single log cracked softly in the hearth. Moonlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, painting silvered stripes across the quilt. The room exhaled around them, settling into stillness like a breath released. Their burdens eased in the quiet hush of shared understanding. Outside, an owl called into the night, its voice distant and soft, as if blessing the peace they had found.
In the sanctuary of Blackstone Manor, Gabriel and Eden had found not just passion, but a place where light, both literal and emotional, dispelled the darkness of the past and illuminated a shared future.
Sixteen
Morning sunlight glinted off Thornton Hall, casting delicate patterns across the facade, gilding the house like the first blush of hope. Eden stood in the gardens, the dew-damp grass cool beneath her slippers, inhaling the crisp scent of roses and new beginnings, no longer the girl waiting in shadows, but a woman stepping boldly into her own dawn.
Three weeks had passed. The banns had been read, and her wedding day was nearly upon her. This was more than the start of a marriage. It was the beginning of a new self. One grounded in resilience, guided by compassion, and no longer shaped by others’ expectations. It was the shaping of a new identity. She was no longer merely the daughter of an earl or the sister of a protective brother. Eden felt herself stepping into a role of influence and compassion.
She pictured a life with Gabriel at Blackstone Manor. Sunlit breakfasts in the morning room, the laughter of future children echoing through its halls, and quiet evenings spent wrapped in the warmth of their love. She imagined herself hosting gatherings at Blackstone, coordinating charitable efforts in the village, and listening with intent to the concerns of tenants. This life with Gabriel offered more than love. It offered purpose, a shared legacy she could shape with her own hands.
She walked along the hedge-lined path, trailing her fingers over the soft petals of a blooming rose. She thought of the tenants she had met on Gabriel’s arm during their outings. Of the anxious widow with three children, the aging gardener with arthritic hands. She would not merely reside at Blackstone, she would serve. Her mother had once said that love should elevate a woman, not erase her. Eden remembered scoffing at the sentiment as a girl, convinced that love meant sacrifice and silence. Now, with clarity hard-won, she saw the truth in her mother’s wisdom. Love, real love, celebrated who she was rather than diminishing her. Eden had not understood that until now. She was not just loved. She was seen.
Behind her, gravel crunched. She turned to see Thomas approaching, his stride steady.
Eden’s heart clenched.
Thomas stopped a few feet away, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his morning coat.
“May we speak?” he asked, voice rough.
Eden nodded, smoothing her skirts. “Of course.”
Thomas drew a long breath, scanning the gardens before meeting her gaze. “I owe you an apology,” he said finally, meeting her gaze. “I should have trusted you sooner.”
Eden blinked rapidly, not sure what to say.
“Thomas—”
He held up a hand, forestalling her. “No, let me have my say.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You have always been stubborn, Eden. Fierce. Determined. And I mistook that stubbornness for recklessness when it came to Gabriel.”
Eden smiled faintly. “We are all a little reckless when it comes to matters of the heart.”
Thomas’s lips twitched. “Perhaps.” His gaze dropped briefly to the path at their feet, then lifted again with a glimmer of something softer—acceptance, or maybe even hope.
He sobered. “But it is clear to anyone who sees you together what you share is not mere infatuation. It is love. True, stubborn, infuriating love.”
Eden laughed through gathering tears, throwing her arms around him.
Thomas hugged her tightly, resting his chin atop her head as he had when they were children.
“I bless your choice, Eden,” he whispered. “With all my heart. Gabriel has always been like a brother to me and now he shall truly fill the role.”
Eden squeezed him harder, overwhelmed by gratitude and relief. For so long, she had feared this moment would never come—that the brother who once shielded her from childhood storms might never forgive her and Gabriel for following their hearts.
“Thank you,” she whispered against his chest.
When they finally pulled apart, Thomas swiped at his eyes with a gruff cough. “Now,” he said, clearing his throat, “where is that scoundrel Blackmore?”
Eden laughed again, her heart so full she thought it might burst.
