One side of Nick’s lip lifted in surprise. His father had just given Felicity the highest praise that could be afforded any woman, for his adoration for Nick’s mother knew no bounds.
“The countess asked me to press this in a book and offer it as a gift to your mother, from you,” his father continued. “But she wouldn’t explain why. Although she provided the book and circled a passage within.”
Nick’s half-smile widened to a full grin. “Mark Twain?”
“Forgiveness and forget-me-nots.”
Nick met his father’s steady gaze. “Mouse’s ears, actually.”
The viscount held the pale petals to his nose. “Strangest thing about this genus of flower. They can bloom spontaneously out of a marble floor. You mother stumbled upon a harvest once in our manor. She swears by it.” His own lips spread to a smile that mirrored Nick’s.
A breath locked in Nick’s chest. “She told you?”
“Oh, yes. Julian saw you place them; told your mother they were yours, meant for her. She waited for you to tell her yourself, but even when you didn’t, she still had hope. That discovery affected her deeply. For she knew that if something so lovely could burst from stone, surely goodness could bloom out of a heart, however hardened it might one day become.” Sporting a beguiled slant on his whiskered chin, his father tucked the flower away. “Your bride mentioned your bravery in the bog last night.” His focus fell on Lia. “This is the child you saved?”
“It is.” Nick swallowed against a sudden bittersweet burn. “So … am I now man enough to match up to Julian in your eyes, Father?”
The viscount gave him a saddened smile. “You were never in competition with your brother—least not in my or your mother’s eyes. And I never thought you less of a man for your choices. Only thought you less than the man you could be. I wanted you to do something right for the right reasons.” He paused to glance once more at Lia’s prone form. “I can’t imagine anything more right than this.” He gathered his things and limped to the door, his cane leading the way on a swishing scrape. “As to your inheritance, that’s something we should discuss over the next two days. Seeing as you now have your own family to support.”
Battling a tingle behind his eyelids, Nick stood. “I never thanked you for stopping me that night … for weaning me off the opium … for caring for me despite all I’d done.”
Back still facing him, his father straightened his silk puff tie. “No need for thanks. That’s what a man does. He cares for his own—whether they’re his by blood or by marriage. No one can deny how well you’ve learned that. I’m proud to call you my son. I hope now you can believe it, and be proud of the man you’ve become.” With a thoughtful tilt of the head, he stepped into the hall.
Nick was still standing speechless beside his chair, watching after him, when Felicity appeared in the doorway.
He cleared the lump from his throat. “Good afternoon, my lady.” He moved his carving articles once more, took a seat, and motioned for her to join him.
“I don’t wish to hurt you,” she half-scolded.
“The leg is fine.” He caught her wrist and tugged her into his lap—a warm and welcome bundle of swishing lace and velvet.
She settled in cautiously, favoring his left side to avoid the punctured thigh they’d treated earlier with Jasper’s healing fungus and bandages. “Did you speak to your father?”
“He spoke to me.” Nick followed his bride’s gaze to little Lia, slumbering so sweetly in the bed. “He helped me remember.”
Felicity’s attention returned to him, interest dawning in her delicate features. “Remember what?”
“That it wasn’t his stick I was being measured by all those years ago. It was my own. And today, I’ve met the mark. At last, I am a man of substance.” Nick clasped his hands over her abdomen.
“At last, you finally know what I’ve known all along.” She nestled against him.
Nick grinned. “Father showed me the forget-me-not you offered in my name,” he baited, his nose burrowing into her orange-blossom hair.
“Ah, well … I thought perchance, were your mother to read the quote with the word struck out, to see the flower from you, she might recall a time she stumbled over a similar bouquet some years ago.”
“It seems she recalled without the reminder.”
“Did she now?”
“But you already suspected that, didn’t you? You’re quite clever. I rather like that about you.”
“Merely like?” she asked, pulling back to meet his gaze.
“Love.”
“Better,” she answered.
They exchanged teasing smiles.
“So …” Nick ran a finger from her jaw to her neck, absently tracing the lace at her clavicle, wishing they were alone so he could undress her, feast upon her breasts, and trail his finger along her scar. “How did our investors respond to the tour of the greenhouse? Were they duly impressed with the Heliconius?”
“Once I assured them the populous would triple within the next few months, they were putty in my hands. Oh, and they asked how often it rains here. I said almost daily. Then they relayed their surprise about the butterflies’ proliferation … how something so beautiful could thrive in the midst of such dreary gloom.”
Nick narrowed his eyes, the storm outside imprinting streaky silhouettes along the chamber walls. “Interesting. It would seem they have little experience with the layers of the human heart.”
With a soft, satisfied giggle, his bride wound their fingers together. “Poor sods have no idea what they’re missing.” She lifted his hand to kiss the ring on his pinky and their gazes met once more. It struck him then, how brightly her brown eyes sparkled today. Not a tragic shadow to be found. She blushed beneath his ardent study, and a deep and contented warmth filled him at the vision.
“I think today has been a grand success thus far,” she offered, squeezing his hands in hers. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Well, let me take stock.” He nibbled her earlobe, his hunger deepening when she leaned closer in a bid for more. “I awoke this morning with the most perfect woman in my arms and nothing broken around me but the bed. I’d say it’s a damn fine start.” He tilted her face up to kiss her.
“And I daresay tonight will be even finer,” she whispered against his lips, bringing her arms around his neck.
“Mmmm,” he responded. “Perhaps, if we’re naughty enough, Bini might put us to bed early.”
He captured his bride’s resultant laugh by pressing his lips to hers again. They kissed until they were both breathless, until Felicity tucked her head beneath his chin and laid her palm across the thumping rhythm in his chest. As Nick snuggled with his bride in the quiet calm of Lia’s snores, he watched the rain drizzle against the glass. The droplets smeared the view of forest and sky to watercolor grays and greens.
Indeed, it was the loveliest shade of gloom he’d ever seen.
Epilogue
Felicity had collected her share of miracles since meeting and marrying Nicolas Thornton. But now she was to have one she’d never dreamed possible: bringing new life into the world.
Upon realizing Nutmeg was pregnant after the bog incident nearly six weeks earlier, they had hypothesized Johnny Boy was the sire, considering the pit bull and the setter had become chummy during his short stay.
Today they would see if their suspicions held true.
Fighting a bout of nausea, Felicity cast a glance to the empty dining table behind her, regretting that she had failed to eat. Nick’s carving caught her eye, and she smiled upon seeing the new knife his brother had sent a week earlier lying beside it. Already, Nick had put the blade to use, finishing the miniature carousel for Lia. It was bare wood, as Nick hoped to convince his sister to make a trip to Ireland under the pretense she might paint it for Lia.
He hadn’t mentioned Jasper to Emilia yet, nor had he or Felicity mentioned the possibility of her visit to Jasper … but they both felt the two should meet. An intellectual bond ha
d sparked between them during the writing of the novel. Should that spark rekindle, it might help pull Jasper from the malaise he’d been falling into. His physical rehabilitation was proving more daunting than they’d anticipated, and he was becoming withdrawn once more.
Suppressing a surge of concern for her brother, Felicity turned back to the whelping box they’d arranged next to the fireplace. Morning streamed through the windows, gracing everything in warm, white light. A rare sunny day. The perfect setting for a miracle.
Felicity knelt and smoothed the Irish Setter’s soft fur. “You’re doing fine, sweetheart. Just fine…” Upon hearing a swish of skirts, she glanced up at the new maid.
Abigail—a prune faced spinster—was sweet natured yet pragmatic, wonderful with the children, respectful of Nick, patient with Jasper’s enigmatic and varied temperaments, and got along well with Cook and Clooney. But no one had ever imagined they’d be using her expertise as a midwife one day. Felicity was so grateful the woman was here.
“How long?” Felicity asked, trying to breathe through her mouth. The smells were ill-affecting her at the moment.
“Soon. His Lordship should come in now. He does want to be present?”
“Oh, yes! He’s already been by twice to check. He’s the most eager of anyone.” Felicity couldn’t stop happy tears from blurring her view. Her emotions had been all askew lately. “He’s up in the turret with Jasper and Mr. Landrigan. They’re discussing our first two weeks’ intake from the bog. Could you please get him?”
Before the spindly limbed woman could even reach the double doors, Nick was there—gray eyes excited and bright—the color of a stream over glossy rocks.
“Splendid timing.” Felicity smiled and wiped tears from her cheeks.
Nick nodded at Abigail as he strode in. He dropped to his knees beside Felicity, kissing her cheek before he leaned forward to rub the dog’s ear.
“The girls,” Felicity said, relishing the tingles where Nick’s whiskers had grazed her skin. He was growing his beard back at her behest, though he’d been kind and understanding when she’d gently refused to return her hair to its original black depths. With the wrinkles gone, she needed to keep that one layer of separation from her prior identity for her own sanity. “They’ll be so disappointed they missed this.”
Nick chuckled. “Are you joshing? Tis their first day of school. Did you not hear Lia chafing me about how many grand stories she’d be bringing home this eve? Let’s see her top this one.” He took Felicity’s hand and kissed the knuckles gently. “As to that … how are you holding up?”
Chagrinned, Felicity managed a smile. “Not too well, I fear.” She nearly gagged at the stench of blood and wet hair. She’d never expected her stomach to be so fickle about things. Nick was convinced it was a result of nerves from sending Aislinn and Lia to school with Clooney and Tobias … that she regretted not being there to see the girls off on their first day herself. She smiled—a soft knowing smile.
Nick patted her thigh. “I’m here now. You don’t have to—”
“Stay? Yes, I do. I want to share this with you. Besides, it’s good practice.” She laced their fingers and squeezed.
Nick’s gaze narrowed. “Practice?”
“Oh!” Felicity cried out, her attention on Nutmeg again. “I think the first one’s coming!”
“Let a midwife do her work.” Abigail shooed Felicity and Nick aside to take her place next to the whelping box. The hound was panting heavily. “Dogs her size usually have a half dozen or so. Be ready with the cloths to rub down the pups like I showed you earlier.”
Nutmeg delivered the first four … all female replicas of her redhaired breed. Then a fifth came out, wriggling in the inky birthing sac. Nick tended it while Abigail introduced the others to their mother.
“Is it the last one?” Felicity asked when no other seemed to follow. Abagail nodded in answer.
Felicity inched closer on her knees to look across her husband’s broad back. She propped her chin on Nick’s shoulder. There, between his bent legs, was the spitting image of Johnny Boy, though teeny with two perfect ears and a brown patch over its left eye.
The room filled with squeals and whimpers, the pup in Nick’s lap the loudest of all. He glanced over his shoulder at Felicity, sporting the most charming grin. “It’s a boy.”
Felicity playfully cocked her head. “Well, it will surely be your responsibility to teach him manners. I’ll not have him running about and tormenting his sisters. And no scaring Dinah half to death. She may be a cat, but she’s still his grandmother. Most importantly, you’d best assure he doesn’t inherit his father’s affinity for tug of war, or you’ll be getting an earful from Lia.”
“Yours to command, fair princess.” He kissed her nose, then turned and rubbed the pup’s pink belly until its tiny legs paddled as if it were swimming. Its lips curled upward. “Did you see that?” Nick asked, beaming. “He has Johnny’s smile.”
Felicity laughed. “Yes, he does.”
Nick fussed over the wiggly bundle. “Little John. That’s your name. We’re going to be grand friends, you and I, like me and your old man. He lives close enough you’ll get to know him. Why, I visited him just last week. Once you’re weaned, we’ll head out for a day trip to meet him.”
From behind, Felicity curled her arms around her husband’s neck to kiss his cheek. Swaddling Little John in the cloth, Nick gently handed him over to the midwife so the pup could acquaint his mother and siblings.
Nutmeg nosed and licked her babies as they each blindly found a teat and began to nurse. It amazed Felicity, how natural maternal instincts were in each species. Another slow smile crept over her face.
Grinning, Nick stood and offered his palm to help her do the same. “I suppose tomorrow I should send a wire to London. Let my old man know that he and Mother are grandparents again.”
Felicity lifted her eyebrows and took his hand. “You might want to wait on that.” She stood too quickly and nearly fainted. Woozy darkness faded her vision for an instant.
“Whoa.” Nick caught her, his scruffy chin tightening on a concerned frown. He guided her to a chair by the table. “You shouldn’t have stayed.”
Abigail walked by, dirty cloths in hand. “Nonsense. Your wife simply needs to eat. A woman in her condition should not be neglecting meals so carelessly. I’ll bring some tea and toast until Cook can manage something more substantial.” With that, she scooted out the door, leaving them in solitude.
Nick stared at Felicity, transfixed. The most beautiful expression of awe swept over him. She couldn’t resist picturing that face on a rough and rowdy little boy. Or in the least, his gloriously blonde hair on a fine-boned, pink-skinned girl.
Her husband fell to his knees in front of her, touching her abdomen. She could feel the love radiating through those fingertips, and knew their baby could, too.
“My lord, Felicity.” Tear-filled eyes met hers. “How?”
Stroking Nick’s hair, Felicity relayed Clooney’s perspective as a physician. He said it was possible that though her babe had died, her womb hadn’t been as damaged as they assumed. It wasn’t as if Felicity had been with another man since the tragedy to test her barrenness. Clooney could have misdiagnosed the extent of the internal damage. Jasper, as the scientist, had other suspicions: that Nick’s body had somehow retained the properties of the fungus which had healed his leg, and by her trying to fade her scar those three weeks before they married, she’d also been exposed. Their physical union amplified the medicinal quality of the spores so it could heal her womb.
As for Felicity, she kept her own explanation to herself, for it was as intricate and fragile as a spiderweb’s winding tendrils, and mightn’t survive the winds of deliberation. She had come to believe that the Creator she’d once thought had forgotten His creation, had in fact been watching all along.
God, fate, magic … or all three combined. Who was to say? When it came to miracles, explanations mattered naught. A wise person took t
hem at face value, and thanked heaven for the gift.
Felicity basked in the sweetness of the moment as Nick rose and brought her to stand before him carefully, as if she were a rare porcelain treasure.
“A baby—made of us. A product of our love.” His hand drifted down to her abdomen once more, seeking a roundness that was only beginning to bloom. Something akin to trepidation and sorrow flickered across his face.
Felicity covered his hand with hers. “I am strong, and we have a midwife, a professor, and a physician on hand,” she answered his unspoken fear. “You won’t lose either of us. I have faith in this.”
The worry slowly melted from his features. “So, why did you suggest I wait to wire my parents?”
“I simply meant there’s no rush.” Pressing her hands over his, Felicity smiled. “The birth won’t be for another seven-and-a-half-months. If I conceived the night Jasper came back to us. I can’t be sure.”
Hard to know, because her menses had been few and far between after the stabbing—sometimes skipping entire years—only to reappear the morning after the bog incident for one day before leaving again. Hard to know because she and Nick rarely fell asleep without making love each night, and often awoke to another dose of passion in the morning.
His strong arms hugged her close. “It doesn’t matter when.” There was a smile in his voice. “I’m not waiting. I’m wiring them today. They’ll want to come for a visit. All of them! We’ll have a fortress filled with Thorntons, just like in my childhood.” Casting aside all doubt, he waltzed her across the floor, laughing.
Felicity’s chest swelled so full it could’ve housed a thousand butterflies. She joined in his laughter and opened her heart to free the wings—sending with them the ghosts of her and her husband’s pasts, up-up into the sunny Irish skies, out of sight … never to darken their castle’s doorstep again.
END
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