Page 18 of The Governess’s Absolutely Impossible Wish (The Notorious Briarwoods #8)
S pring was coming.
Zephyr could feel it in the air. It was still quite cold. Snow still fell on occasion, and the sky did have a tendency to turn gray. But the birds had changed. Their songs were brightening. Small flowers crept up from the cold earth, promising that soon England would be a glorious jewel again.
All this was part of the rhythm of life, part of the rhythm of the world, part of the rhythm of his existence to go into the test of winter and then emerge again, bright and hopeful. Perhaps it would always be like that. This cycle was part of his body and mind and soul.
He could accept that.
Yet there was something he needed to do.
As his wife romped with the children outdoors, ignoring the chill air, he smiled. Giselle had continued to act as the children’s governess. Though she was his wife, she could not abandon them, she had said. But he knew it was more than that. It was not that she felt a duty to the children or to his family to educate them. It was because that was who she was—an educator of children.
How she adored watching the children grow. He’d realized she loved seeing the light in their eyes as they understood something she was hoping to convey. She was inspired by the fascination on their faces when they explored a stone or a star or some little creature in the lake.
Yes, his wife would ever be teaching, ever be helping the children to grow, ever be helping them to find themselves, and she was helping him to find himself too. He’d always thought he’d known himself. The Briarwoods generally did. But he’d shoved this part of him far down so now he was having to befriend it, and part of befriending it meant approaching his mother who stood by the side of the lake, watching the children play.
“Yes, Zephyr?” his mother queried without glancing over her shoulder.
He was surprised, though he shouldn’t have been. He thought he’d been being rather quiet, but she’d clearly sensed him.
“Mama,” he began, “I must speak with you.”
“I am here to listen,” she said, turning towards him, her hands tucked into a large muff.
He drew in a breath, steadying himself. He knew in his heart that she would handle this conversation beautifully, but that did not stop his body from rattling with a touch of apprehension. “Leander told me, quite strongly, that you were waiting for me to talk to you.”
“I am always waiting for my children to talk to me,” she said kindly.
He tsked without recrimination, for he loved her involvement in their lives. “That’s not true, Mother. Sometimes you quite force your hand upon us.”
She laughed. “Occasionally, I do,” she agreed. “When it comes to love and things like that. But I long ago learned there are some paths which I cannot direct. I must simply wait for them to unfurl. And I think what you’re about to say is regarding one of those.”
He blinked. He was surprised by this. His mother was ever managing people’s lives. To hear her admit that she could not always manage everything was heartening.
“Mama,” he said, “I struggle very hard in January and February.”
She was quiet, her face serene.
He cleared his throat, willing himself to be honest. “And it’s more than I ever let you know before. I know you know to some degree. But Leander made me see that it was important that I tell everyone the truth. The pain is very bad. Sometimes it feels as if I have an actual wound in my heart or my chest, and I cannot make it stop. In the past, I have forced myself to smile and to pretend as if nothing is wrong. But I don’t think I should do that anymore. I think I must try to heal the wound or at least tend to it when it is there, rather than pretending it doesn’t exist.”
Quietly, his mother pulled a hand from her muff and reached out to him, just as she had done when he was a small boy. And he took it, just as he had done when he was a child.
For a second, he felt the same safety he had when he was small. She had always been there, making sure he knew that no matter how dark or scary it was she would always be with him.
“I am so glad you have realized this, my love,” she breathed. “And I shall do everything I can to help you with it. Never pretend to be what you aren’t because it will only hurt you further.”
She was quiet for a moment before continuing thoughtfully, “The hardest thing about being a parent, and soon you will know this, is that no matter how much we wish to, we cannot always make our children see how to heal. We cannot always teach them through our own mistakes. Sometimes our children have to have the experiences themselves. I wish I could have saved you from the pain of this. Yet, I could not. This is part of your life, this road you must travel down, just like Leander. I’m so glad the two of you have each other, to be guides for each other. And I’m so glad you understand now that you do not need to hide it away. Every part of you is loved, my boy.”
His heart swelled at that, and he felt such relief that he couldn’t even describe it. Zephyr nodded, feeling as if he was truly coming home to himself and so he dared to say, “I have an idea.”
“Do you?” she said. “You must tell me.”
“Well, I do not know how well it’ll be taken by everyone.”
“The only way to find out is to say it.”
“It involves an island,” he began. “And the time after the Christmas revels.”
She gazed up at him, and then her eyes began to dance. She waggled her brows, “Well, Zephyr, I do love an island.”
And he began to laugh because of course his mother did. Of course his mother would agree to his idea. And of course he no longer needed to be afraid of choosing something different. Things did not have to be the same. Just as he had told Giselle. No, every day could be a surprise. Every day could be an opportunity to try something different.
He squeezed his mother’s hand and she smiled and said, “Now, go to your wife. You know that she’s waiting for you.”
He gave his mother a quick, thankful embrace and then raced down to the lakeside.
He took Giselle into his arms and lifted her off the ground for a moment.
“Now, now,” she said. “Do not tumble me into the frigid water.”
He beamed down at her. “Bit of cold would do us good, would it not?”
“You?” she teased. “A bit of cold doing us good?”
He groaned. “Well, maybe I just need to embrace the thing that I hate.”
She laughed. “Or perhaps we should run away from it.”
He gazed down at her, studying her cheerful face. She had borne so much as of late, and yet she had not been brought down. Quite the contrary. Her father had slipped away in his sleep, at peace. Or as much at peace as it was possible given his life. Giselle had seemed to heed her father’s lesson and was refusing to live life with any hint of regret.
“I thought you were done with running,” he said, smiling.
When they’d first met, she’d fled him. Fled their love. Fled their connection. What could she possibly mean?
“Oh, no,” she said, giving him a wise smile. “I will never be done with running,” she said. “I will run to what I want. I will run to what I need. I will run to what is good for me.” And she lifted her hands to his shoulders. “So, let us run together, Zephyr. Let us run towards our life. Let us run towards happiness. Let us run always for what will make us stronger, better, more alive and more in love.”
More in love, he thought to himself. He beamed down at her then, grateful for her. Grateful that she had come into his life.
Then he beamed down at the children who were the promise of their future, the promise of the Briarwoods, that their way of life would continue.
“Yes,” he agreed. “Let us run.”
And the children let up a cheer.
“A race,” cried Octavian.
Maximus clapped his mittened hands. “I shall win.”
Portia propped her mittened fists on her hips. “No, it shall be I.”
And then Zephyr’s two younger twin nephews, Leander’s children, Nestor and Calchas, who were beginning to toddle quite well and could come out with the older ones, let out protests.
“No, no,” Nestor proclaimed. “Me!”
Calchas’s pink cheeks turned an even brighter red in his excitement. “Me first!”
And then Giselle bent down, eying all the children with patience and kindness. “Being first does not matter,” she said. “It can be quite fun to get to a place first, but I will tell you this, beautiful children. We shall all get there and we shall all be together.”
The children nodded, then turned, ready to take off.
Giselle took a ready stance and then called, “Go!”
They ran along the edge of the lake. They ran together. They ran towards happiness.