“Thomas,” she said softly, her hands caressing his face, “I am helplessly in love with you.”
He sank into her body, a ragged groan tearing from him. “Evie, sweetheart...”
Unhurried, he moved within her, marveling at his wife's unfettered desire. Her body stirred beneath him, giving and receiving, sharing the euphoria of impending release. She shattered, crying his name as she tightened around him. He abandoned himself, pouring his love inside her, claiming her mouth in communion with his completion. Raining kisses upon her, he begged her never love him any other way but as she had, freely and completely. Thomas remained inside her, savoring the connection of his wife's body and the peace of her love.
* * *
Thomas railed against himself.
My selfishness has endangered her...just as it did my brother...
Had the damp ground been too much? Why had he taken her in the field yesterday instead of bringing her home? Any responsible man would know better.
Evangeline again wretched pitifully into the basin.
He pulled her hair back, rubbing her shoulder with his other hand. “I'm sorry, Evie. This is my fault.” His voice cracked with emotion. “Mrs. O'Leary will be up right away, sweetheart.”
“Don't leave, Thomas,” his wife pleaded.
“Hush,” he soothed. “I'll not leave you.”
A moment later, Mrs. O'Leary knocked, peeking her head inside the door. She hurried in with a tea tray. “Once you've settled, Mrs. Masterson, sip the drink I've brought you.”
Thomas moved aside to allow the woman access to his wife.
“There, there, ma'am. It'll pass.”
Evangeline rested back against the pillows. “I think it is subsiding. I cannot imagine what is wrong with me.”
“This is all my fault, Evangeline,” Thomas uttered with the full conviction of his statement's truth.
“It most certainly is your fault, Mr. Masterson,” Betsy O'Leary chuckled, removing the basin after stroking Evangeline's head with motherly affection.
Thomas was taken aback by the bold accusation. He made to make his rebuke, but the censure died upon hearing the woman's next pronouncement.
“We shall have a babe before Christmas!” she announced with pride.
“A baby?” Evangeline repeated, looking up at Thomas. “Well, I have not had...that is to say...and we have...”
She blushed, or perhaps, Thomas allowed, she glowed, the knowing of how her happiness had come about a thing she would wish to hold private. He sat back, chest expanding with both satisfied pride and worry. Pride won him over. “A baby,” he stated matter-of-factly, his lip curving in a smug smile.
“It should come as no surprise,” Mrs. O'Leary clucked, gathering the items to return to the kitchen. “Heaven's mercy! The pair of you hadn't figured it out?” Her brusque manner softened considerably. “I'll leave you to enjoy your happy news.”
Right after Mrs. O'Leary closed the door she opened it again, springing back into the room, capped red hair and all, her smile beaming. “I hope you come to terms with your news quickly, Mr. and Mrs. Masterson. I shall near bite my tongue off trying to hold the secret much longer.”
“Mrs. O'Leary,” Thomas inquired dryly. “Will it be in your power to hold up until noon?”
Betsy beamed anew. “Oh, yes, Mr. Masterson. I'm sure to last until noon.”
“Very well.”
The moment the door closed, Thomas sat next to Evangeline on the bed's edge and wrapped his arms around her. “I have my doubts, sweetheart, if she'll make it to the bottom of the staircase without spilling our news.”
Evangeline looked up at him. “I do not mind, Thomas, as long as you are happy.”
“Happy? Sweetheart, I am a man held captive to a most conceited and sincere admiration of my own virility,” he crowed.
“Do not congratulate yourself overmuch, Mr. Masterson. I dare say you only accomplished the task with my help.”
Thomas found his wife smiling behind her hand.
“Is that so?” he replied, eyes alight with humor.
“Please attempt to contain your smug amusement,” she teased sternly. “I've not the energy to ensure your wit is kept in check.”
Thomas pulled her closer, his hand shaping her abdomen. “Rest, Evie. I shall save my wit for later.” He waited, gauging her reaction to being held so securely, but she remained relaxed. “And yes, sweetheart, I am happy.”
* * *
Mr. and Mrs. Masterson attended together the grand wedding of Melody Grey and Jonathan Lane, and Thomas learned, through the investigations of his Uncle Winston, that he had apparently imbibed much alcohol in his despair after hearing Mrs. Preston's threat on the night in question. He did, however, retain the ability to climb atop his mount – who with quite more sense than his rider – promptly started for home. After rumor subsided, it was reported that Mrs. Preston traveled the continent with her brother. Some speculated she went in search of a new husband, but none knew for certain.
As couples twirled about the dance floor, Albert Grey and Winston Platte toasted to their successful endeavor into matchmaking – each swearing an oath to abandon the practice forevermore before they downed the amber whiskey with light hearts. Dorcas and Opal joined them, the happy event spurring each to good cheer, even the capricious Opal Grey – indulged to the end of her long life by her loving, if long suffering, husband.
“Mr. Masterson,” Evangeline spoke privately, “the hour is quite late. Shall we pay our final respects and depart for home? I long for the comfort of our own bed.”
“Why, Mrs. Masterson,” Thomas whispered into her ear, “you are ever inventing ways in which to lure me into the bedroom.”
She stiffened slightly beneath his hand at her back, her eyes narrowing at his lurid – if private – remarks.
God! But he adored her when riled...
“You, sir, shall find yourself in the stables tonight,” she returned in a hushed tone, but her quickly hidden smile had not gone unnoticed.
“Is that so?” Thomas quirked his brow. “Am I to understand the lady would prefer my attentions be visited upon her in that location?”
“Mr. Masterson, you shall find yourself wont for any attention at all if you persist.” Evangeline struggled to maintain her staunch expression.
“But, Evie,” he protested in pretended remorse, “I will gladly indulge your every wish.”
She sighed, a happy sound, and allowed him to lead her forward.
His practical wife grounded him, fueled his new found desire to become the best man he could be. Privately, she loved him with an honest passion he'd never known before her.
Evangeline leaned against her husband, thankful to be riding toward Cherry Hill. Alone in their carriage, she relaxed completely. Considering the man beside her, the man she had wed, would spend the remainder of her days alongside, Evangeline Grey Masterson marveled. He'd never given up on gaining her trust, and in the process, had earned her respect and good opinion. She could imagine no other life so satisfactory despite her initial reluctance. Thomas impressed upon her such a sense of calm, of security. And while still new and unnerving, she recognized the rare and precious treasure she'd unwittingly unearthed – his love.
Epilogue
The sun sank low in the western sky, bathing the far-reaching barley fields in a golden burst of color. Children frolicked amid the tall grass, laughing in summer abandon, oblivious to all but their present joy. From the porch, they watched. His hand covered hers, warm, solid, dependable these many years later.
“I remember watching our own children play among the fields,” she recalled aloud, revisiting the images of decades past.
He remained silent a long while before speaking. “I remember lying in the fields with a beautiful girl, too,” he chuckled. “Now we watch our grandchildren. But, Evie, you're still my beautiful girl.”
“We made a good life, Mr. Masterson.”
Her words reminded him of events from long ago
. “It all began with my orchestration of a practical arrangement.”
And it had.
* * *
Grey Masterson Whiskey enjoyed a long and prosperous run of success, but sadly, the family run distillery closed its doors not long after the passing of Thomas Stanton Masterson. Big industry overtook smaller distilleries one by one, the art of family run whiskey making forced underground for many years.
But the knowledge was kept alive, passed from generation to generation.
Five years ago, well over one-hundred fifty years after Grey Masterson Whiskey bottled its last spirits, Adam Grey Masterson resurrected the family business. He is rumored to be a practical man, yet those few who know him well claim he is in firm possession of a keen sense of humor and ribald wit. At present, he remains unmarried.
The End.
Nadja Notariani resides in Northeastern Pennsylvania, ever embracing new adventures with her husband, three sons, and faithful German Shepherd. She also boasts two daughters, who have flown the nest to pursue their own adventures.
Within her titles, readers can find romance and adventure, from contemporary to paranormal to historical, always with a happily-ever-after. Nadja enjoys hearing from readers and can be found at her website, on Facebook, Goodreads, and at Romance Novel Center. Readers are welcome to contact her via email.
[email protected]
Published titles include:
Claiming The Prize
Her Dark Baron
The Third Fate
A Practical Arrangement
A Practical Arrangement Page 17