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Just as they walked back into the atrium, Abram’s breath was stolen completely. Orris was coming down the stairs, and he had never seen anyone so beautiful. She could be compared to the moon and the stars. Surely, the gods had given her more than her share of grace and glory.

Her hair was swept up into an array of curls, tendrils running the length of her elegant neck. The pale-green dress had a low-cut bodice, with ecru lines running down the sleeves and skirts. The glorious garnet stone of her necklace shimmered in the gaslit lanterns. She was a vision.

“Abram, I did not know you had arrived,” she said, lifting her skirts as she ran across the room to greet him.

He wanted to sweep her up in his arms and never let her go. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her on her cheek. “My beloved. You are a vision.”

“As are you. I like this suit. You should have one made just like it for our wedding.” She ran a hand over the velvet of his waistcoat.

“As you wish. I am using Samuel’s tailor. But where are your sisters? I have something to show you all.”

“I shall go retrieve them. Violetta doesn’t want to come down for the ball. It is so unlike her. She had not been well since… since everything happened,” she said, and Abram knew she had amended the original statement.

“I see. Well, I hope she does. I want to share a gift with you all,” he said.

“I will check in on Myrtle,” Samuel said. “She was a bit feverish earlier. I hope she can join us too. We are anxious to see this gift of yours.”

As each set out in different directions, Abram watched them leave. He had never felt so included and loved as he had since discovering the Grays.

Dorchester entered from the ballroom, likely after having received an earful from Mama Seraphine.

“Dorchester, if it is not too much of a bother, can you have Boris bring up the items I had sent over earlier?” he asked.

“No trouble at all, my lord,” he said, offering the customary bow.

Dorchester never missed an opportunity to be of service. It was refreshing.

By the time everyone, even Violetta, who had not quite regained her jovial demeanor, was assembled in the atrium, Dorchester and Boris had returned with the covered parcel.

Abram went over to stand nearest to it. Everyone looked on, curiosity written in their expressions.

“A few months ago, I was adrift. There was not a port that felt like home. In fact, I had nearly given up on my folly and decided to return home, to rest the burning desire to find something, or someone, who saw me for how I am. In that quest, I realized I was not searching for someone to understand me. I was actually looking for a group of individuals who made each day brighter. When I stepped through those doors,” he said, a knot forming in his throat, “I believe I truly came home.”

Abram withdrew the cover from his greatest masterpiece. The painting caused gasps and squeals of joy. Everyone, each member of the family, was represented. He had used the original sitting to guide him as he’d drawn them in a garden, playful and smiling. Violetta was on a swing, her head thrown back in delight. Samuel and Myrtle held mallets as they prepared for a game. In their expressions, you could see the love and light in their eyes as they looked at one another. Gladys and Mama Seraphine were dancing, a scene he had witnessed as Cousin Gladys had prepared for her first ball in London. Finally, Orris, the love of his life, was sidesaddle on a great, white steed, her hair spilling over her shoulders and the sun shining down on her lovely face.

“This is splendid, Abram. I did not commission this piece, but I could not have imagined such a glorious concept. Look at my family. Oh, we are incredible,” Mama Seraphine said. She walked over to the painting and covered her mouth with a hand.

The rest of the family approached as well, and Abram moved around to find his Orris. Grabbing her hand, he turned to face her. “Do you like it?” he asked.

“Abram, I love it. I cannot thank you enough for this gift. And you know, I saw Gladys’s miniature in the paper. Mama has been contacted by six members of the ton, all interested in arranging tea with Gladys in attendance,” Orris said. “You may be a good painter, after all.”

“A glowing endorsement, my love. I appreciate your kindness.”

“You are very welcome. Now, can you do something about my smile? It looks a little crooked. And why aren’t you in the picture?”

Abram stepped forward, at first shocked by the rebuke. He looked at the painting and turned back to her. “There is no—” He stopped when he saw the mischievous look on her face, her mouth twisted as she tried to hold in her laughter.

“Orris Gray,” he started. “Once we are wed, I shall repay this debt. And I am not there because this is my celebration of my beautiful intended.”

“Lord Abram McQueen, I cannot wait.”

Oh, yes, Abram would definitely enjoy the rest of his life by her side.

Epilogue

Abram waited in his father’s study for his arrival. From the moment he’d departed the ship, he had been concerned about their conversation. What could he say to him when his firstborn was arriving home in a pine box? He stared out the window over the hills, covered in the vibrant grasses as intrinsic to Irish culture as any other thing. As a small child, he’d never imagined he would need to have such a conversation with his father.

The large oak door of the room swung open, his father’s heavy footfalls echoing off the stone walls, laden with the history of Abram’s ancestors.