Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“But who is her father?” Lady Wellington asked again.
“Nicholas,” Miriam replied, so softly it was almost a whisper.
Epilogue
6 Years Later
Lady Ashington sat on the plush summer lawn of Chatwick Hall and inhaled deeply, enjoying the break from London’s busy season. It had been several years since she had spent her summer in London, and if it weren’t for her sister, she would not be doing so this year. However, Whitney’s pure joy over the experience did make it all appear a touch magical.
“I see Emma is still wearing britches,” Nicholas Compton said as he took a seat on the grass beside Lady Ashington.
“That is a battle I am saving for a later date,” she replied, grinning over at her brother-in-law.
“Well thought out,” he agreed.
“Mom-ma! Philip won’t give me any berries,” Lady Abigail, now three years old, called out with tears in her eyes.
“Oh dear,” Lady Ashington muttered.
“Shall I go give young Philip a lecture on not making ladies cry?” Nicholas asked.
Shaking her head, Lady Ashington stood up. “No, that won’t be necessary. When Abigail cries, it is a warning. One that Philip needs to take more seriously.”
“Warning?” Nicholas asked.
“Yes, a warning. Abigail may be tiny in stature but her temper, I fear, is rather large. Philip needs to make haste before she unleashes on him,” Lady Ashington explained then headed off toward her children.
“Is there to be a fight?” Emma called out when she saw Lady Ashington headed in Abigail’s direction.
“Will you fetch some of the berries from Philip?” she then asked Emma.
“Yes, of course, Mother,” she replied then hurried off.
Nicholas Compton watched the entertainment at hand and secretly hoped that young Abigail got a chance to give Philip a lesson. He didn’t get out to Chatwick Hall often and he knew he should do so more. The children all seemed to be growing so quickly. Especially Emma. He watched as she bent down and discussed the berries with her younger brother.
She was as smart and resourceful as she was beautiful. Miriam was the kind of mother who a child such as Emma would bloom under, and she had done just that. Ashington may have taken his bride-to-be from him six years ago, but he, in return, had given his daughter a family. One that Nicholas knew he would never have given her. If he allowed himself to think of where Emma would be now if the old woman had brought Emma to him instead of Ashington, it spurred thoughts he did not want to have. He was a much different man today than he had been back then. A child from a mistress would have been of no interest to him. Watching Emma now, he realized what a tragedy it would have been not to have known such a child. He would forever be grateful to his brother for giving her a home when she had no one.
Miriam came walking back across the lawn toward Nicholas and it appeared as if the problem had been adequately handled. She was as lovely today as she had been the first time Nicholas had laid eyes on her. Loving Miriam had been so very easy for him. He had loved her at first sight or so he had believed. She was the kind of woman that men fell in love with before they had a moment to realize it themselves.
The difference between the way Nicholas had loved Miriam and the way Lord Ashington loved her was where the importance laid. For Nicholas had loved the thought of her, the idea of her presence. She brightened up a room and that was what he had been drawn to.
Lord Ashington simply loved her. He was only complete with her by his side. He didn’t see her as a way to lift his spirits, but he saw her as his companion. They moved in unison and even in a crowded ballroom, they would find each other, their eyes would meet, and they would smile as if they had just shared the most intimate of secrets.
“Whitney!” Emma’s voice rang out and Nicholas turned his attention toward the object of Emma’s adoration. Her aunt Whitney.
At eighteen, Whitney was breathtaking in ways that made grown men forget words and how to use them properly. Whitney held open her arms to Emma who hugged Whitney tightly as she reached her.
“She’s enchanting,” Miriam said and Nicholas tore his gaze from Whitney to look at his sister-in-law again. Slightly embarrassed to have been caught looking at her sister. Miriam was grinning at him with a knowing look. “You know, the Duke of Thorne has called upon her twice,” she said to him.
“He’s too old for her,” Nicholas replied, not at all pleased with the information.
“He is nine and twenty. She is eighteen, Nicholas.”
Nicholas scowled out over the yard as if it had suddenly become offensive. Lady Ashington hid her amused grin and lifted her gaze to find her husband making his way toward them. His long muscular legs clad in riding britches were always such a pleasing sight. Miriam loved him more today than she had the day they wed. She often wondered if she would continue to love him more every year and if so, how much she would love him when they were old. Could one body hold such an emotion?