“Miss Blackwood, how did a woman of such tender years as yourself become so wise?”
She gave a long sigh. “Mr. O’Connor, I attribute it to many hours of reading Gothic novels.”
Epilogue
“Eleanor!” came Grayson’svoice, loudly and urgently. “Where are you?”
Lightning split the sky in the distance and sizzled the air. She laughed. This was the best place to be in the whole world as she watched the storm clouds roll in.
The hatch to the captain’s walk suddenly snapped open, making Eleanor gasp. Then Grayson’s head appeared, followed by the rest of him.
“I’m here!” she said belatedly, jumping up from where she’d been seated on the roof of their home while peering through the telescope.
“Didn’t you see me arrive?” he asked, taking her in his arms.
“I confess, I was not looking for you but at the sky. The stars were out only minutes ago, and then—” She gestured to the horizon and the massive thunderheads. “All that blew in. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“I looked for you in the drawing room and our bedroom. But naturally, since a vicious storm is about to strike, my delightful wife is on the rooftop.”
She giggled, grabbed his face between her hands, and kissed him. When she released him, she asked, “Did you solve the problem?”
Grayson had been called to the main house when the upstairs plumbing was gurgling in the bathtub, just as Maggie’s nanny was trying to bathe Rosie.
Maggie, ready to deliver any day, could not possibly bend down to bathe her daughter which she loved to do, making her already a little cranky. Everyone wanted to keep her happy and calm, even if that meant plumbing work at nighttime.
“I did. Rosie had stuffed her cloth bunny in the drain. Everything is fine now, and when I left, Margaret had her feet in the air to lessen the swelling in her ankles, declaring the baby inside her wanted strawberries and sponge cake. I stayed with Cam for a little while and had a glass of brandy while poor Cook started baking. It’s mayhem, frankly.”
“It will all return to normal after the baby is born,” Eleanor mused as thunder boomed in the distance.
Loud and insistent barking drew her attention to their own small charges.
“I guess the dogs know the storm is nearly upon us.” They’d taken all four of Lord Angsley’s hunting spaniels a month earlier since he rarely hunted anymore, too busy as the queen’s ambassador to Spain, and the dogs were neglected and restless. Eleanor enjoyed walking with them twice a day in any weather and turning them into well-trained pets.
“Let’s go downstairs before they start chewing up the chair legs again,” Grayson suggested.
She laughed. Apparently, he had noticed their dogs weren’t quite so well-trained yet.
Her husband descended the compact circular staircase ahead of her to the landing at the end of their upstairs hallway. Then he turned to make sure she came down safely.
Silly, sweet, dear man!she thought. It was simply a staircase, albeit narrow and winding, but his chivalrous manner of caring for her touched her heart as much as ever.
It had been five months since their country wedding at St. Paul’s Church in Bedford. Five months of evenings spent learning about each other, laughing, stumping each other with ever more difficult riddles, and reading together in the drawing room.
Five months of love and lovemaking, of learning what it meant to be a husband and wife, and enjoying every minute of it.
Mrs. O’Connor had even come to their home for the first time, though she vowed never to set foot in Turvey House. She and Mr. Stanley would be setting up their own home in the upcoming summer, when the butler retired.
Holding hands, Grayson and Eleanor went downstairs. Barking seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, so they spent a few minutes herding the spaniels into the drawing room and settling them on the rug with a bone each.
Grayson poured himself a brandy and Eleanor, a glass of sherry, which she preferred. They ran a small household, with a part-time cook for evening meals, and only two maids to help out. She adored everything about her life, especially their evenings.
Their drawing room was more like a library. Naturally, after marriage, she brought her books to nestle on the shelves with those Grayson already had. Moreover, her family had given them volumes as wedding presents, including a Shakespeare collection from her Scottish cousin Maisie and some pirate stories from Beryl and Philip. More books seemed to arrive weekly.
Nearly every night, they read together, often aloud, sharing stories or silently seated side by side, each with their own interest. Tonight, Eleanor had a surprise for her husband, a secret she’d been keeping for a month.
“May I read you something tonight?” she asked him when he sat down on the sofa next to her.
“I am nearly at the end ofThe Last of the Mohicans. It’s rather gripping,” he said, and she thought he might turn her down. “But I would rather listen to you read Cook’s shopping list simply for the pleasure of hearing your voice.”
