“Did you lose your spectacles?” she asked since he wasn’t wearing them.
“What? No, of course not. I haveneverlost them, in fact.”
“I have something to share, too,” she said. “I thought to do so over dinner. But you’ll need your eyeglasses.”
“Very well. I will save my surprise for then, too.” He retrieved a package off the foyer floor.
An hour later, after changing for dinner, they were in their garden, sipping wine on the mild May evening. Before them was a wide glass cloche, and under it, a plate of brie and toast points along with slender rhubarb stalks drizzled in honey.
Normally served last, this savory and sweet selection took the edge off Brilliance’s appetite before she partook of their cook’s rich dinner. She’d found the practice saved her from eating too much and also kept her head clear while drinking burgundy before their meal. Elsewise, the rich wine muddied her thoughts, not to mention making her silly. Neither of which she wanted as a married lady.
A married lady. Vincent’s viscountess!The notion still infused her with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude.
“I knew your surprise had something to do with decorating,” Vincent said upon seeing the overall charming effect of the lanterns hanging in the apple tree and around their garden wall. “I love what you have done.”
“That is not the surprise,” Brilliance protested. “Will you show me yours now?” He had brought the same mysterious package outside.
“No. You know my personal philosophy on such matters — ladies come first.” Vincent sent her a look that had her cheeks warming. “In bed or at the dining table. Preferablyonthe table,” he added, leaning over to nuzzle her neck.
“Vincent!” she admonished before allowing him better access. Eventually, she said, “I will be forced to move to the other side if you do not behave.”
“Then show me your surprise, my muse. And I will show you mine.”
She liked when he called her that. Lately, he had been composing most evenings with her nearby. As good as his word, he had made a place for her in his conservatory. She had a well-lit area with a wingback chair, a footstool, and even a separate writing desk.
It was the last she had mostly used these past months while her husband played and scribbled notes down on blank sheet music. She was so pleased he was writing it all down for posterity and the public.
Leaning over, she reached under the table. Hidden on another chair was a small book, leatherbound with gold lettering on the spine. This, she withdrew and placed in front of Vincent.
He stared at it, picked it up, and read aloud the words on the spine.
“Hewitt.The City Beneath the Earth.” He glanced at her, appearing confounded, but then understanding dawned. “Brilliance Hewitt, not Vincent!” He opened it. “Yes!” he exclaimed, turning past the title page to the next one that had the book titleandher name.
“Dedicated to my husband with love,” he read, scrawled as neatly as she could under her printed name.
“I wasn’t sure whether to use my new family name or my new titled name, but then I thought —”
He leaned over and kissed her. “This is fabulous. I am so proud of you.”
“You haven’t read it yet. It may be awful.” But she was pleased nonetheless by her accomplishment. She might not be able to paint or fish, but she was a published author. And that was something.
“Even if it is monstrously dreadful, I shall love it,” Vincent promised, deflating her slightly, until he added, “Regardless, I am proud of you for bringing your story out into the open.” He shook his head. “And all this time, I thought you were writing letters.”
“I wanted to keep it from you until I was certain I could finish an entire novel. When I took it to a publisher, they liked it. Orperhaps they liked my lineage. In any case, at the moment, this is the only copy.”
“I shall order one for everyone I know,” he vowed.
While she sipped her wine, he perused the pages, slowly skimming and turning, occasionally making a noise of approval. Then she could wait no longer.
“What have you to share?”
He closed her slender tome. “Nothing nearly so exciting, I assure you.”
Pulling the brown paper bundle from the center of the table, he handed it to her.
“You may do the honors of —”
Before he could finish, she began to rip the folded edge. When she tore the wrapping quickly, he chuckled. “I thought you only opened packages in such a wild fashion at Christmas time. I see now it is a habit.”
