Joy reached out both hands and took hold of his lapels. “Do you think I would have convinced my father to have you call on me this Sunday if I were not sure of my heart? Would I have kissed you merely because you happened to be the man standing before me? I would say you think very little of me, but I know you would take such a comment to heart. Instead, Barnaby, I should say you think very little of yourself. But I see you. I see your worth. And I would have no other.”
A soft tug on his lapels was all it took for Barnaby to lean forward and welcome the kiss Joy offered him. The caress of this touch was slower than before. This kiss was not borne of passion. No, Joy was claiming him, her mouth to his lips, her hips to his. She was his in word and deed. And he was hers. Their two worlds blended in that simple action, a moment so small yet infinite in meaning.
“What’s the hold-up, Ash?” Lord Brathwaite called from the carriage.
Joy turned toward the sound, her cheek brushing across Barnaby’s lips. “You never did say why the earl was here,” she murmured.
“I must speak to your father, Joy,” came the husky response. Make this…” Barnaby slid his arm about her waist. “Official.” He indicated with his head toward the carriage. “But first I need you for a special task. Only you can help me awaken Fenwick’s Blessing of Forevers.”
“Fenwick’s what?”
“Blessing of Forevers. That’s what Lyra called it in the lost pages. Only a descendant can awaken its power. But they must know true love. And that is who you are to me, Joy. We must return to the place where the blessing was uttered and drink of the waters.”
“And then what happens?”
Barnaby placed his hands upon her shoulders. “Love, my darling. Love like ours. Love such as Alwin and Lyra knew. An endless bounty of happy-ever-afters.”
“Really? Anyone can find their true love?
“Yes!”
“And our love is the key that awakens this miracle?”
“That, and one of us being a descendant of Alwin and Lyra.”
“How certain are you that you are of their lineage?”
“I have the signs. And so does Moira.”
“Moira?”
“Come on, I’ll explain as we walk.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the grounds of the inn. I have a map of sorts. There should be some kind of spring.”
“There is no spring near the inn,” replied Joy. “But Mr. Brewster has a well. It was very likely established where the spring once was.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go,” said Barnaby, taking hold of Joy’s hand and leading her towards the carriage where the servant girl and the earl, manuscript in hand, now descended to join them.
It was a strange cluster of folk that stepped across the uneven cobbles behind the Queen’s Barque. Barnaby—with Joy on his arm—led the way. Lord Brathwaite followed rather dubiously. Moira lagged behind, no doubt hoping to keep as much distance between herself and the madness that she believed they were about to bring forth into the world.
A slightly better-maintained path led through what was possibly a garden, though it resembled more undergrowth than cultivation. A small clearing revealed the well in question. Beyond it, the meadow spread far and wide, clumps of heather scattered across its display.
“So, what happens now?” asked Lord Brathwaite as they gathered around the circular, bricked wall of the well.
“If you will allow me,” said Barnaby, indicating the book the earl was holding.
Lord Brathwaite handed it to Barnaby who placed the manuscript, its loose pages tucked in at the back, reverently upon the edge of the low wall. Stepping back, he waited, not sure at all what followed next.
Joy nudged him. “Say something.”
Barnaby searched his thoughts for what might suit the situation. “Um, hullo,” he said to the well and the meadow beyond, feeling rather silly as he did so. “We’re here. Can my ancestors, Lyra and Alwin, hear me? We’re ready to awaken your blessing.”
“He’s calling up the spirits!” gibbered Moira, hanging as far back as she could without evoking her master’s ire.
The light upon the paving stones began to shimmer. The meadow melted into a distant mirage. Moira squeaked with fright, but Barnaby and Joy were transfixed.
