Heron House
Five years Later
N ot everyone could change, and certainly many people never did.
But Callum? Callum changed almost overnight.
It was not easy. As a matter of fact, it was quite brutal.
Some days, it was absolutely agonizing. Some days, the voice in his head commanding him to leave the house and go to Parliament, or to stop being with his family and wife and find something to occupy his brain and body, was so intense that he was sometimes certain he would go mad with it.
But he was nothing if not focused, and so he had and still did surround himself with the Briarwoods every day, all day, as best he could. He had even gotten his manservant, Shepard, to take part, and Shepard had been positively delighted.
The man followed him about, chirping, “It’s time to rest, Your Grace.”
And Shepard, having been given full permission in advance by Callum, did not leave him be until he did.
There were days when he wanted to punch Shepard in the nose. Well, not really. He was deeply grateful for the optimistic, stubborn fellow.
And the truth was he loved the way Cymbeline would arch a brow at him and give him an unyielding look.
Whenever he spotted the look, he would know that he had to stop, that he had to pause.
But nothing gave him more reason to pause than the twin little girls and the little boy who had come into his life.
Now that he had children, little souls to teach how to be in this world, he was determined that they did not feel they had to chase and churn and always be proving their worth, because the truth was those little souls were worthwhile simply by being born.
And he was going to be especially careful with his son, the future Duke of Baxter. Because he would not allow his son to, like he had, and his father before him, break himself in the name of a dukedom.
And so as he did now, and almost every summer night, instead of going out to balls and card parties, talks and events, he laid out on the lawn behind Heron House on the grass with his two little girls and his little boy tucked in his arms. Cymbeline laid with them, the guiding force of their family.
The scents of summer flowers filled the air, a gentle breeze wafted along the ground from the Thames, and the night sky shone overhead, a blanket of jewels that sparkled with such iridescent magnificence that one realized they were but a speck in a vast universe.
And yet, despite the fact that they were a speck, a moonbeam, a tiny bit of dust floating in a huge, ongoing play, they were still glorious, important, and needed.
His eldest little girl, with her soft curling blonde hair teasing her cheeks, let out a gleeful exclamation as she pointed up at the sky and spotted a constellation.
Her twin sister pointed her small hand at another constellation with a delighted cry.
And their little brother laughed and clapped his hands.
As they marveled at the firmament, his wife leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek.
“This is heaven,” she said.
“Yes, it is,” he replied simply.
It had taken him many, many years to understand that while good deeds were important, actually being with those one loved was the most important thing of all. And to understand that they were just a brief moment in a span of time that they could not comprehend.
But as he, his daughters, his son, and his wife sprawled out on the lawn of the magnificent house that had brought peace and joy to so many, Callum understood that the stars overhead had shone for thousands of years.
Thousands upon thousands of people had looked upon those stars.
He understood that countless others—thousands and millions more—would also look upon those stars.
But all that actually mattered was just this moment, with the gentle feel of his children in his arms and his wife beside him.
The End