Standing, Arabella crossed the room before leaning against the mantel above the hearth. She studied the flames in the grate as their golden-orange shapes blurred, her vision distorted from the tears she refused to shed the night before.
So engrossed was she that Bella failed to hear Logan approach until he placed his hand on the small of her back, rubbing it in lazy circles.
“Why am I crying?” Arabella clutched her robe tight over her chest, to ward off the surprising chill of grief that suddenly consumed her. “After all she did, who Sybil was … why am I wracked with sorrow?”
Logan nestled his chin against the crook of her neck. “Because you care even though Sybil gave you every reason not to. Those are just a couple of the multitude of reasons why I love you. You are allowed to grieve for your twin.”
Turning, she buried herself in her husband’s strong embrace, accepting his comfort as she wept for a sister she would never understand.
As sobs wracked her body, Arabella recited a silent prayer.
May God forgive Sybil for her sins.
However, since she had shown no remorse or humility for her sins, Bella feared that Sybil would more than likely be answering to another entity.
The possibility sent a shudder straight through to her soul, as if the devil himself had acknowledged that Sybil was indeed in hell.
The days following Sybil’s fall from grace garnered many revelations and shocking secrets about the nobles she blackmailed and stole from.
Arabella wadded the latest Tattler between her palms, tossing it into the deep hole in the ground. “Arthur is keeping busy, I see.”
Yes, Arthur had returned to London where he ensured that those present during Sybil’s death were unmasked for their own sins. As for Faustino Beniamino, authorities linked him to several of Sybil’s crimes. Though the composer had already fled the continent, it was clear he would never return for fear of facing charges.
“I hope you have found peace,” Bella sighed, staring at the nondescript wooden box below, watching as the gravediggers shoveled soil atop Sybil’s casket.
Instead of burying her sister with her parents, which Sybil would have despised, Arabella buried her in a small cemetery on the outskirts of London. She had ensured a spot with no trees, given Sybil’s aversion to them.
Sybil had craved fame in life, and reached notoriety in death. Which is why she would remain under a nameless tombstone. She had wronged too many people, hurt too many, that Bella decided this was for the best.
Buried without a name, her tombstone would be engraved with two words – Beloved daughter – because she was, to their parents. At least on Mama’s part. At the time of their mother’s passing, Mama believed Sybil’s acts of rebellion and fits of jealousy were simply those of a child longing to spread her wings and test her boundaries.
Mama never lived to see how wrong she was.
Perhaps, if their mother had survived, Sybil would not have lost her humanity, would have traveled down a different, less sinister path.
No, it was best to stop this now for Arabella dared not travel the trail of “What if?” for fear of the guilt it would arouse in her own burdened soul.
Instead, Bella chose to forgive her sister. Holding a grudge was fruitless, besides, Bella refused to allow Sybil to wield any power over her in death, as she had in life.
Life … precious and treasured, Arabella refused to waste one more moment on her sister’s actions.
It was a choice, one Bella made with a succinct clarity.
She had regained control of her life and refused to relinquish it to a ghost.
“Goodbye, Sybil,” Bella said before she and Logan returned to their carriage.
Once they were settled and the carriage lurched forward, she lost herself in her husband’s embrace.
“Are you all right?” Logan whispered.
Bella nodded. “I will be. Us spending time with Fiona, Eve, Colin, Victoria, and Tristan will be the best way to cheer me.”
“Then it is quite fortuitous that we will be staying with Colin, Eve, and Fiona in their London townhome,” Logan’s tone was laced with mirth, meant to draw her from the gloom that had consumed her.
Bella grinned, “Quite.”
The distraction would be a welcome one.
As much as she may mourn her sister, the person she once was and the person she had become, life proceeded forward. Inevitably, seconds ticked by, followed by minutes, hours, and days in rapid succession.
“Let us not waste a moment of our lives together,” Bella leaned against Logan’s arm. “Promise me that.”
Logan kissed her head, that habit Arabella would never tire of. “I promise.”
As sure as the changing of the seasons, his word was his bond. Her husband never broke his promises to her. So, Arabella clung to his words as hope sprouted within her heart.
Reminded of all she held dear – Logan, their unborn child, their family and friends – Bella sensed a change in herself.
She would cling to hope and happiness.
For they were all that mattered now.
Colin and Eve’s London townhome was impressive, indeed. A three-story structure with gleaming marble, Aubusson carpets, gilded furnishings, and breathtaking sculptures, it put the home of Bella’s former London employer to shame.
Between the bustle of the house, the chatter of the Dowager Viscountess who Bella had been instructed to call Fiona henceforth, and the joyous laughter of Colin and Eve’s daughter, Abigail, the house was rarely silent, which filled Bella’s heart with joy.
“Are you certain you would like to return to Winterthorne tomorrow?” Logan asked as he escorted his wife down the grand staircase. “You are so happy here.”
“True, but I am ecstatic to return home and spend time with you. We have much to prepare,” they reached the bottom step and proceeded into the conservatory.
“Congratulations!”
Bella jumped, as did Logan.
It was clear that he was just as startled as his wife.
“What is this?” he asked, surveying the conservatory with wide eyes.
The large, marble room with potted plants, gilded music stands, an impressive pianoforte and furnishings made of the finest materials had transformed into a stuffed animal zoo.
“This is a celebration,” Eve announced, hugging Arabella first, then Logan. “We refuse to allow you to depart without first welcoming your babe in high fashion.”
“Fiona fashion,” Colin corrected, standing beside a stuffed, four-foot tall wolf adorned with feather boas representing a rainbow of hues.
“You will discover that there is a theme, my darlings,” Fiona fluffed the boas with a flick of her hand before crossing the room. “Animals of every shape and size. Not to mention the many vivid colors that one has grown to expect from me. Blue, green, and every color in between, including my personal favorite, fuchsia.”
She kissed Bella’s cheek. “You look radiant.”
“How about me?” Logan teased the elder woman whose silver curls bobbed about her face as she turned towards him.
“You scoundrel,” she planted her palms on his cheeks. “How I have adored you staying with us and oh, how I will miss you.”
Logan kissed the kind woman’s hand. “You must visit often.”
“As must you,” Fiona countered.
Logan grinned. “Touché.”
“Congratulations,” Victoria handed Bella a piece of curled paper tied with a yellow ribbon as she hugged her friend. “That is just one of many gifts we have in store for you this evening. I fear you may need an extra carriage or two to travel with your new trinkets and treasures.”
Bella’s smile widened until her cheeks hurt. “This is so kind of you and unexpected. Thank you all.”
“You are family, dears,” Fiona announced, as Tristan sat on the bench in front of the pianoforte, clinking several keys at her proclamation.
All eyes turned to him.
“I thought I would ad
d some festive music to the occasion,” Tristan smiled.
Colin sat beside his brother. “No, that was anything but festive. It sounded like the wails of a wounded animal.”
“We do have quite a few toy animals in this room however, if you think you can do better, why don’t you show me?” Tristan issued the challenge with mock severity.
His brother pressed his fingers against several keys hitting more sour notes than Tristan.
“It isn’t as easy as it looks, is it?” Tristan arched his brown brow.
Huddled together, they joked and played the pianoforte while Arabella and Logan opened baby gifts and laughter filled the room, like a joyous refrain reaching a crescendo.
When Bella untied the yellow bow on the paper Victoria had given her earlier, she uncurled the page to find a beautiful portrait of she and Logan, smiling under a glowing sun, surrounded by daisies.
“This is lovely, Tori,” Bella’s words caught in her throat.
Victoria winked at her friend. “Well, we needed something to replace the charcoal drawing of the bowels of Winterthorne in your dining room—”
“What?” Bella gasped, remembering the beautiful murals Victoria had painted in her estate and at the boarding school where Bella first met her.
Logan reached for the paper. “It is beautiful, Victoria.”
“And highly unconventional for a dining hall,” Fiona added, her tone laced with admiration. “In other words, it is perfection.”
“You may always paint over it if you like,” Victoria raised her palms in the air. “I will not be offended, I promise.”
Logan shook his head, “Not a chance. Besides, we do have two dining halls.”
“Considering Winterthorne has an abundance of character, it was high time we placed your own marks on the estate.” Victoria arched her auburn brow. “Don’t you agree?”
Bella nodded, “Absolutely.”
“Quite right,” Eve laughed, sitting beside Tori and placing her arm on her sister-in-law’s shoulder. “If not for the Wolf, that would be the most amazing gift.”
“Right!” Victoria’s shoulders shook with mirth. “That wolf is going to need his own carriage.”
“Pish-posh. Wolfie will fit in with the stuffed bears and other toys. He likes to share,” Fiona fluffed the indigo feathers at her neck.
Logan and Arabella exchanged glances with Victoria and Eve. Even Colin and Tristan ceased their pianoforte practice.
“Wolfie?” All said in unison.
Silence engulfed the room as everyone paused to hear Fiona’s explanation regarding the stuffed animal’s name.
“I called him Wolfie, and he dared not protest. Therefore, that is his name,” Fiona’s eyes surveyed the room as if she was wondering what the fuss was about.
Victoria tilted her head to the side. “Quite logical.”
“I am in complete agreement,” Eve chuckled.
Arabella burst into laughter first, followed by the rest. Every time she thought the fit would subside, it bubbled back to the surface. By the time the room quieted down, Eve had laughed so hard she was tearing and so was Bella.
Good tears.
Happy tears.
The kind of tears she wanted to hold on to, to experience for the rest of her life. She studied the room, Colin and Tristan smiling at the pianoforte, joking in their brotherly banter. Then her eyes roved to Victoria and Eve, huddled together talking animatedly about their children. And lastly, she turned to Logan who was chatting with the Dowager Viscountess, his lips upturned in a warm grin.
These were the memories that would fill her from this day forward.
Arabella began her life at Winterthorne keeping a mental list of what she knew about herself, now Arabella kept a mental list of the memories she never wanted to forget.
This moment, these beloved people, would be at the top of that list. She patted her abdomen, grateful for all of the memories to come, grateful for their child.
Logan placed his hand over hers.
“Are you reading my mind again?” she teased, turning towards her husband. Studying his smile, his handsome features that still caused her pulse to quicken.
He shrugged. “Not unless you imagined this.” Looking down, Bella followed his line of sight, to a gold box of crushed velvet sitting in the palm of his free hand.
“For me?” Arabella asked, reaching for the box as if it were a delicate treasure.
To her it was.
“I thought now would be the perfect time to give it to you. It has been burning a hole in my pocket for weeks.”
Bella pried open the box, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of beautiful citrine stone surrounded by diamonds, reminding her of daisies.
“Logan, this is the most precious gift—”
“Does it beat the wolf?” he asked.
Nodding, she responded, “And the mural.”
Kissing her hand, he teased in a hushed tone, “Don’t let them hear you say that.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, “I love you, Logan Ambrose. You are the most precious gift to me, and I don’t care who hears it. I will cherish you, our child, and each day that follows because I love you.”
“I love you,” he beamed, his smile wide and unreserved.
Arabella was certain that she was the most fortunate woman in the world, to have received this second chance at happiness.
From the look on her husband’s proud countenance, he felt the same about her.
During the months following their return to Winterthorne, Logan and Arabella busied themselves with much needed renovations to the main house.
True to their vow to fill their home with as much love and happiness as was humanly possible, they employed an army of servants to aid in their tasks.
The identical suite, directly across from theirs, had been redecorated for their son or daughter. They commissioned Victoria to paint murals on the walls, complete with tall pines and lush grounds, the color of spring moss and fluffy gray wolves. Time would tell whether they would wear one or several of the many feather boas gifted by Fiona.
A surprise Logan eagerly awaited.
“You are aware,” Arabella slid her arms around her husband’s waist as they surveyed the breathtaking murals. “Our child may decide wolves are friendly and invite one into our home as a pet.”
Logan tipped his head to the side, “It is the rare wolf that wears a feather boa, my love. Our child will be taught to differentiate the divine from the dangerous.”
“Wolves with feather boas. Are they similar to mystical unicorns?” Bella’s tone, sarcasm laced with unabashed humor, caused her husband to smile.
“Yes, and fairies,” Turning, Logan placed his palm against his wife’s distended belly. “And pixies. Our libraries are full of folklore. This conversation could last for days.”
“Heavens, no,” Shaking her head in mock severity, Bella added, “There is far too much to accomplish before our little prince or princess arrives.”
“Good, for it will give us time for the inevitable discussion of our bedroom suite.”
Bella wrinkled her nose. “What conversation are we conducting on that particular subject and why?”
“Eventually,” Logan smoothed a stray tendril behind Arabella’s ear, “our child will learn just how unconventional his or her parents are. Sharing a suite is considered scandalous, you know.”
“I know,” Arabella grabbed his beige jacket, pulling her husband closer. “And I like unconventional very much indeed.”
As it turned out, so did Logan.
Though they renovated the parlor, Logan and Arabella decided to leave Winterthorne’s character intact. The foyer and libraries, with their ever watchful wolves remained as always. The canines perched in various positions, standing watch.
Ever vigilant.
Ever protective.
That would never change, with one notable exception: Horatio received a mate in the form of a statue, just as striking as he. Carved from
a stone lighter than that of Horatio’s, the impressive canine statue completed the pair in the foyer.
Keeping with Winterthorne’s traditions seemed right.
The wolves must be in pairs, as did their dogs.
Adolphus was thrilled to receive a companion of his own, a hound with his grace and kindness. Some guard dogs, Logan mused as he studied the two sleeping on the floor, Adolphus and Lupa both named after noble wolves.
Though Winterthorne had always felt like home to Logan, something was missing … someone was missing.
Until Arabella.
Now, with her and their child, their family and pets, Winterthorne was whole.
Once the renovations were completed and they awaited the arrival of their firstborn, Logan noted that home meant more to him than he ever expected.
For someone who never expected to feel loved or wanted, Logan’s heart brimmed with such acceptance and adoration that he thought it would burst. This bubble of happiness, his happiness, was so much more than his deepest wish or most desperate yearning.
It kept the restlessness at bay until he held his daughter for the first time, noting how she felt in his arms, as if she was an extension of him.
In that instant, all self-doubts were extinguished. With Arabella and their daughter, Logan found his purpose.
Arabella and Logan studied their beautiful little girl, Logan resting beside his wife in their bed, cradling their daughter in a warm blanket.
The baby had wispy, raven-colored hair, wide eyes, and chubby cheeks while her heart-shaped lips were pursed in an adorable pout.
“Look at her, Logan,” Bella held their daughter’s fingers. “She is perfect.”
Perfection.
Logan’s daughter and wife.
His life was sheer bliss. His conscience content, his heart brimming with adoration, with gratitude and acceptance.
His path, that same winding road he had chosen years ago, the same path that led him to Winterthorne as a bruised and injured soul, led him here … to this moment, with his family.
There was no place he would rather be.
After many years of contemplation and self-reproach, Logan finally understood his destiny. He was supposed to live, to transform, and find happiness within these imposing walls.
The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 Page 26