Page 88 of Mail-Order Lady

Had she…? The words pressed through him, and he grappled to make sure he wasn’t hearing things.

She loved him.

Clara—his wife, the woman he loved with every part of him—loved him too?

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” More tears spilled down her cheeks. “I should have told you days ago. But I was afraid—” Her voice broke. “And then tonight, I thought I’d lost you without ever having the chance to say it.”

The words wrapped around him, settling into the places that had ached for weeks. Months even.

She loved him.

He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed it there. The warmth of her skin against his mouth anchored him more firmly than anything else could have.

His shoulder still throbbed with each heartbeat, his head pounded, and every muscle in his body screamed protest at the simple act of sitting upright. But none of that mattered.

Clara loved him.

“I’ve loved you since...” When had it started exactly? He tried to pull the threads together through the fog pressing against his thoughts. “I’m pretty sure I loved you from the first day when you and Kate showed up in the wagon with Thomas and James and Rose.”

Her watery smile bloomed.

“And then I really lost myself when I stayed with you while you had scarlet fever.” The memory pressed through him—sitting beside her bed for hours, watching her fight for every breath, afraid she wouldn’t survive. “I knew I had no right to you, that you’d probably never see me as more than a brother. But I couldn’t stop myself.”

She gave a half-laugh, half-sob and leaned closer until her forehead rested against his. Her warm breath brushed his face, and he closed his eyes against the sting of his own tears.

Clara. His Clara. Loved him.

She shifted closer, her hand sliding from his to press against his chest. The contact seared through his shirt, heating every part of him. Clearing away any hint of pain.

He opened his eyes to meet her beautiful gaze again. “I love you.” The words came easier this time. Like something unlocked inside him. “I love you so much it terrifies me.”

The corners of her mouth curved upward, then she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. A single caress.

Before he could pull her close for more—and every part of him ached for more—she murmured against his mouth. “I love you too, husband.”

EPILOGUE

Three weeks later

The final words of Clara’s story flowed onto the page like water weaving its path downhill.

She set down her pen and flexed her fingers, working out the stiffness that had settled over the past hours. This was the first time she’d been able to write in weeks, but Kate had insisted she take the morning to herself.

The scratch of the nib against paper had become a familiar rhythm today—a counterpoint to the hammering outside where the east wall rose log by log.

The five brothers had been working together over the last three weeks, though Robert hadn’t been able to do much heavy lifting with his arm still recovering.

But Nathan had worked alongside them, and it seemed the men had found a sort of truce through the shared labor. Even Enoch. Not quite friendship yet, but maybe the beginning of it.

Her mother would be somewhere on a steamboat by now, returning to Columbia and her life there. Before she went, she and Clara had a conversation—not a full reconciliation, but an honest getting to know each other.

Mother apologized for the ways she’d tried to control Clara’s life. For pushing her toward matches that would have destroyed her. She’d even admitted—in a voice that shook—that she’d been deceived by Mr. Sutton, who told her he was a solicitor helping the Balfours with legal matters.

She still wasn’t sure if she believed that last part. But Mother’s tears when she’d embraced Clara goodbye had seemed real enough.

She pushed the memory aside and studied her finished pages. The story had worked itself out through these days of recovery and rebuilding, writing itself in her head while she changed bandages and helped Rose and Bea with meals.

She read through the final paragraph again, testing the weight of each sentence. The story felt complete now. The princess had found her home in the mountains. Had learned that family wasn’t something you were born into perfectly—it was something you built, log by careful log, with patience and grace and hard work.