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Ophelia woke slowly, taking in the room through heavy-lidded eyes.

There was a comfortable ache in her shoulders and an even more comfortable one between her legs.

She rolled over in the bed, stretching out an arm across the pillows.

Silas’s mussed hair was fanned out, his mouth slightly slack, breathing sleepy.

Ophelia ran a finger over the dark arch of his brow and his long lashes fluttered against his cheek, giving her a glimpse of his green eyes.

Sun pooled at the foot of their bed, shining through the window overlooking the garden, and Ophelia scooted over, nuzzling up to Silas and kissing the tip of his nose.

“Wake up, sleepy,” she said. “Time to start the day.”

He groaned softly and snaked an arm around her waist to draw her tight against him. “I hardly slept a wink last night,” he growled, running a hand up her thigh and squeezing her bare bottom.

It was true, they had stayed up far too late making love, and in between, talking about their plans for the estate.

There was so much to do this year; repairs on outbuildings, new gardens to be dug, courses to be developed and taught, and all of it to be accomplished on a relatively modest budget.

The thought of it cooled Ophelia’s ardour a little, though not so much that she didn’t relish taking advantage of the few spare minutes they still had.

She slid beneath the linen sheet, running her hands down Silas’s chest, stopping to scrape over a nipple, then over the drum of his belly and the smooth bones of his hips, to take his thick stand in her hand.

He groaned and gave himself over to her, letting her have her way before grasping her hips and sliding under her.

She rose over him, smiling, and let herself sink down to the hilt.

The house woke slowly around them as they rocked into each other, finding their rhythm, calling out their pleasure, kissing each other awake.

“I feel I might never get used to this,” Silas said, gently wiping Ophelia’s sticky stomach and thighs, then his own. “To fall asleep with you in my arms, to wake with you here still feels unreal.”

The silver band on Silas’s little finger caught her eye as he tended to her and she was struck again, as she was so many times a day, with love for this man.

She marvelled at how entirely improbable their second chance was, what a gift it was to be loved by Silas and to love him, to imagine an old age with him.

“I love you,” she said, stilling his hand and running her fingertip over the band on his finger. “You are everything in the world to me, Silas.”

“And you are to me, Fee, have always been everything, from the very first.” He brushed a stray hair away from her face and leaned in to kiss her, his weight on the mattress tipping her toward him.

He gathered her to him, washcloth forgotten, and deepened the kiss.

“My moon”—a kiss to her chin—“my stars”—a kiss to her collarbone—“my whole universe,” he finished with a long swipe of tongue around her exposed nipple.

She moaned as they tumbled back into the sheets and Silas rose up above her, eyes dark and promising.

Later, they lay perfectly sated, curled around each other in the shambles of their bed, listening to the sounds of the morning outside the house.

Not wanting to ever leave Silas’s arms, but knowing they were already late, Ophelia slid from the bed and went to the window, the bedsheet wound around her.

Looking out she could see Wood Grange a little ways down the lane, its honey stone beginning to glow in the early morning light.

Figures moved across her vision and she knew everyone would be getting ready for the day, could already see groups of students making their way down the lane past the farmhouse.

After tackling negotiations with the estate lawyers and Mr. Bone, she and Silas had agreed to rent the lands around the estate to fund the cost of turning Wood Grange into an agricultural college for women who wanted to make their livelihood as farmers or gardeners.

The end of the war and the return of men to their jobs meant that many women who had enjoyed the freedom of employment now found themselves being pushed back into a domestic sphere they were happy to have left.

So many wanted the chance to be educated and supported in a field of their choosing that enrolment had been so successful in the first year that they had had to recruit more instructors and convert some more of the outbuildings into classrooms and accommodations.

Ophelia still wanted to pinch herself when she walked among the test gardens, through a classroom where students were learning about stock breeding or animal husbandry, or when she heard women’s voices raised in eager discussion.

She had created a place for women to come together, to learn, to expand their horizons, to test their mettle in an industry built for men.

Knowing that she and Silas had built it together, through discussion and partnership was a joy she hardly knew how to express.

They had taken the sorrow of the estate and Merritt’s malice and alchemized it into something rich and filled with community.

Besides she and Silas’s still undefined partnership, it was Ophelia’s proudest accomplishment.

She was drawn from her thoughts by Silas at her shoulder.

“Some tea, love,” he said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder and a cup and saucer into her hand.

“Thank you,” she said. “How lucky I am to have you.”

“Luck has bloody little to do with it, my sweet,” he said, eyeing her backside like a vaudeville villain. “Both brilliant and beautiful ... you’ll never be rid of me.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully. She swatted at him, laughing, and went to dress.

Wood Grange was already bustling with activity when Ophelia made her way through the door. Mrs. Greene strode through from the kitchen with the week’s menu and shopping list under one arm, and a tea tray balanced in the opposite hand.

“Oh, Ophelia, thank goodness you’re ’ere. I’ve a mountain of things to discuss with you. There’s a letter here from Mrs. Darling, too.”

“Right away, Mrs. Greene,” she said, looking forward to reading Mrs. Darling’s news.

After the signing of the armistice and the disbanding of the WLA workforce, Mrs. Darling had continued on without her billets but wrote Ophelia weekly and visited when she could.

Ophelia took the papers from the housekeeper and made her way to the dining room, now set to accommodate the many students, instructors, and employees of the Wood Grange Agricultural College for Women.

“Will Mr. Larke be joining us for breakfast?” Mrs. Greene asked.

“Mhmm,” said Ophelia, already opening Mrs. Darling’s letter. “Silas is just behind me. He was just making some notes in the library.”

Silas’s own experience of returning injured had been positive and productive, but many fellow soldiers were not so lucky, finding themselves alone, even shunned for wounds that were not so easily healed with a victory parade and a medal of honour.

It was newly being called shell shock, but there was a great deal of misinformation and not much help for men trying to navigate life after the front.

Having found a home with Ophelia and purpose in their work, he had been speaking with her about compiling ideas on how to offer other men the same chance.

Ophelia couldn’t quite believe that it was her lot to be surrounded by friends who believed in her so deeply, who gave her the freedom and support to live so exquisitely full a life.

Hannah had taken up the lease on a small cottage near the estate and was Ophelia’s constant companion on long rambling walks through the woods.

She introduced the women of the college to subjects as wide ranging as fixing farm machinery and basic soil analysis, to birth control and self-defence.

Ophelia was grateful for her wry wit and her dedication to the students.

It had been Hannah who had buoyed Ophelia through times of worry and indecision, insisting that educating any woman who desired it, showing them that they were capable of more than they were told, was the best way to ensure that fewer women would fall prey to family tyrants like Ophelia’s father or unscrupulous employers looking to take advantage of their staff.

Bess had taken rooms in Banbury and continued running Mr. Bone’s dairy, in which they had become partners, renaming it Wiley & Bone Dairy.

She wrote often of new techniques she was trying and ideas for maintaining consistent production.

In her last letter, she had mentioned someone with whom she had been walking out.

Ophelia looked forward to the next time Bess could make the trip to the estate.

Sitting down at the long table in what had always been the formal dining room, Ophelia reached for her teacup and looked down the table.

They all gathered each morning to share a meal and go over the day’s tasks, a habit they had acquired at Mrs. Darling’s and never really shaken.

Hannah and Mrs. Greene talked quietly while they ate.

Silas appeared and folded his long legs into the chair next to Ophelia’s, sliding his hand under the table to run a finger down her leg from thigh to knee.

She sucked in a breath, trying not to draw attention to herself.

Silas smiled at her, love and lust mingling in his eyes, making Ophelia truly lightheaded.

It was all she could do not to demand he take her home and back to bed immediately.

“Something the matter, love?”

“Nothing a quick lunch meeting won’t solve,” she said, running her own hand down his arm to his lap. He grunted softly and captured her hand in his own.

“I am entirely at your disposal, my lady,” he said lowly, brushing his lips across her knuckles.

Ophelia laughed aloud, at the improbable, wonderful life she and Silas were building, at the joy of being surrounded by strong women who were loved by gentle men, and most of all, at the wonder of finding oneself at long last.