“Yes.” She smiled. “Survivors.”
Something in his expression made her breath catch—love, tenderness, and beneath it a peace she had not seen before, as though a long-held burden had finally been set down.
“I am glad you came to Greystone Hall,” he said softly. “Glad you stayed when others fled. Glad you challenged me and refused to allow me my solitude. I am glad for all of it—even the difficult moments.”
“Especially the difficult ones,” Serena said. “They brought us here.”
“Yes.” He kissed her brow, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. “They did.”
The sun dipped low, casting the garden in gold and rose. Flowers glowed as though lit from within.
Or perhaps, Serena thought, the world simply seemed more beautiful now that she did not face it alone.
“We should go in,” she said reluctantly. “The children will wonder—”
“One moment more.”
“Nathaniel—”
“One moment.” He drew her close. “Let me hold you in this light a little longer. Let me remember this—you, here, with our future before us.”
She did not argue. She rested her cheek against his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart.
This was real. This was her life now.
No more wandering. No more quiet goodbyes. No more empty rooms and borrowed homes.
She would marry him. She would belong to this family. She would have a home—lasting, steadfast, her own.
The thought was frightening.
It was also wondrous.
“I love you,” she said simply.
“I love you too,” he answered. “Always.”
“Always.”
And in the last light of the sinking sun, they held fast to one another—and allowed themselves, at last, to believe in happy endings.
Chapter Twenty-Three
They went inside eventually, of course. The world would not be ignored forever, and there were duties and responsibilities waiting to be addressed.
But something had shifted between them. Something fundamental.
They walked through the corridors of Greystone Hall with their hands entwined, no longer hiding, no longer pretending. Servants smiled as they passed; those few who had witnessed the morning’s dramatic announcement offered quiet congratulations.
When they reached the drawing room, where Mrs McConnor had gathered the children for an early supper, Serena felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the fire crackling in the grate.
This was her family now. These people, this house, this life.
She was home.
“Miss Collard! Uncle Nate!” Rosie bounded across the room and launched herself at them, her small face alight with joy. “Mrs McConnor said you were walking in the garden and that we were not to disturb you, but you have been gone for ages and ages, and I wanted to show you the picture I drew!”
“Did you indeed?” Nathaniel scooped her up with easy affection. “And what have you drawn?”
