Page 157 of The Lord Meets His Lady

Epilogue

They sat on straw at midnight, waiting. Birth, like life, had a way of doing that. Teaching patience and love.

Genevieve wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. “How is she?”

Marcus sat on the ground, stroking the old mare’s neck. The old, nameless mare was giving birth.

“She’s fine. It’ll be a long night, I’m afraid.” He glanced up. “If you want to go to bed, I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“And miss a second of this? Certainly not. I like watching you with the horses.”

He was in his element. Mud on his boots. Dirt on his unshaved jaw. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, the horse tattoo flexing on his skin. And his smile as bright as ever.

They’d settled into marriage, a real marriage, not born of necessity or convenience. Instead a partnership had slipped into place, the blending that had already begun with their awkward arrangement.

Love begat freedom, and freedom begat understanding.

“With other men, I always wondered why they asked me questions. I felt like the more I said, the less they understood.”

“You mean, they were trying to get under your skirts?” he jested, speaking softly for the horse.

“Oh, Marcus.” Her laughter trilled, disturbing the sleepy barn.

Horses stirred, the mare chortled, and he raised a hushing finger to his mouth.

“Forgive me.” Voice hushed, she went on, “I mean, with you… You see me.”

“That’s it. No more books for you, Lady Bowles,” he teased, his voice low. “Too much understanding, and we’re liable to burst.”

“A fate I accept.”

Shifting to his knees, Marcus examined the mare, running his hand along her belly. “If we go by my brother’s letters, we’re bound for failure.”

His tone was grim. News of their hasty marriage had been met with a barrage of upset letters full of admonishments to stay north. Their scandal had caused North enough trouble in his bride quest. Then came delivery of the Pallinsburn deed, a gift from the marchioness. She celebrated her second son’s choice to wed the woman he loved and his pursuit of a life with horses.

The unexpected boon meant their coffers overflowed, enough to build a second barn. The ache of Khan’s loss lingered, and Genevieve was determined that someday the proud gray would come home. She hadn’t worked out how yet.

A letter crinkled in Genevieve’s apron pocket. “Speaking of letters, we have another one from your brother today.”

Marcus, still on his knees, scooted beside the mare’s spine, his capable hands checking movement. “No doubt to inform me of my erroneous ways. Again. Read it to me, please.”

She broke the Northampton seal and opened the letter. Her mouth formed the words, her skill at reading blossoming from nightly reading with Marcus. Only the slightest hesitation marked her as a fledgling reader.

Dear Marcus,

This letter is hard to write. My accusations of late have been harsh. The news I must share will shock you, but I…

She gasped, covering her mouth.

“Bad news?” Marcus’s head snapped up. “Is the marchioness well?”

Genevieve shook her head, scanning the letter. “Not bad news. Your brother says your mother is well. So is he. Quite well.” She checked the words again, her jaw dropping. “It’s your brother. He’s in love.”

“About time,” Marcus said drily. “May the sainted woman soften his stodgy edges.”

“There’s more.” She got up and held out the letter. “You’d better read it for yourself.”

He read the letter, his brows snapping together.

“I’ll pack a few of your things. You’ll want to leave come daylight, I’m sure.”

“Pack some things for yourself. You’re going with me.”

“To Northampton? But the horses—”

“Will be fine with Samuel and the new lad he hired.” He crumpled the letter and tossed it in a metal bin where a fire burned, giving light and warmth.

She stood with her back to the stall’s fence. Marcus gripped her shoulders, a sheen on his forehead from his labors. He dropped a kiss on her lips. “There’s no other woman I want by my side.”

Her hand rested on his chest, finding his heartbeat. “We’ll do this. Together.”