Their future together—the three of them.
“Merry Christmas, my love.” She buried her face in his neck, more grateful for life than she’d ever thought possible.
“You’ve given me the greatest gift a man could ever want.”
“A baby?”
“You,” he said. “And a baby.”
He gently nipped at the corner of her mouth, filling her heart with all the hope and joy of the holidays. “On Christmas, and always. I couldn’t imagine anything better.”
“Well…” She closed her eyes and arched toward him. “There is one thing that could make this night better…”
“Anything.”
“Waking up beside you on Christmas morning.”
“Done.” In one swooping motion, he was on his feet, cradling her in his arms. “You’ll make music with me tonight, my love?”
She nodded, feeling almost giddy. “And if you’re really lucky.” Miranda clutched her arms around his neck. “I might even sing for you,” she teased.
“That’s all I ever wanted.” He met her gaze, his eyes burning with both desire and love. “That’s all I’ll ever need.”
Epilogue
Seven Years Later
Miranda held her gloved hands just below her chin. Standing in the darkness and watching from the wings, surely, her heart was going to burst.
For walking onto the stage, dressed to the nines and looking far more handsome than any man should ever look, was her husband.
Her magnificently talented, incredibly loving, and devoted husband.
And holding his hand was their flaming haired, blue-eyed, six and one-half year-old daughter Josie—Josephine Amber Spencer. Named in honor of his mother, at Miranda’s insistence.
Because when she had married Peter, she’d not only gained a husband but an entire family. And although they occasionally meddled more than Miranda would have liked, they more than made up for it in with their friendship, support, and…
Their unconditional love.
Every last one of them enriched their lives to no end.
“Mama? Josie gonna play with Papa?” A tiny version of her husband tugged at her skirts. “I wanna play too.”
Miranda turned and lifted Samuel into her arms. Not quite three, her blue-eyed, dark-haired son enjoyed asserting his independence whenever possible. Too much, sometimes.
“Hush, Sammy,” she quieted him.
Glancing back to the stage, she watched as Peter assisted Josie into her seat, where she cradled her small cello between her heavy skirts. Then he took his own seat, where he positioned Maria and lifted his bow.
The enthusiastic crowd fell silent.
Maria had only recently replaced Rosa, who Peter had left behind as a practice instrument at Millcot Lodge, and Miranda couldn’t help but smile ruefully at the idea that she’d once felt jealous of his instrument.
What a foolish woman she’d been.
Nerves jumping, she watched as Peter glanced over to their daughter and dipped his chin in encouragement. And then with a distinct nod, the two of them filled the auditorium with the haunting first note of the Bach’s suite. Music that never failed to touch her heart.
Tears filled her eyes, and she touched her cheek to the top of Samuel’s head, comforting herself with the soft tufts of her baby’s hair.
