Page 42 of The Viscount, the Blacksmith, and the Lady

Xenia accepted the embrace, noting her father’s handshake with Simon.

“You make us very happy parents,” Papa said. “I won’t make the expected speech demanding you take care of our girl, as I know you will.”

“I must say, I thought it would be Owen who won her heart,” Mama said.

Xenia cringed. Her mother said some of the boldest things, sometimes.

Simon chuckled. “As it turns out, the better man won.”

Now Xenia blushed, thinking of the contests she’d forced on the two men. Her parents would never suspect there was anything scandalous about his comment, but she and Simon knew. She quickly changed the subject. “I must apologize for?—”

“My child,” her father interrupted, his eyes twinkling with a knowing warmth that belied any sternness she had braced herself for. He wrapped an arm casually across her mother’s shoulders. “There’s no need for explanations. I understand at times the fire of young love burns too fiercely to be delayed by ceremony or announcement. I’m just happy you finally found that love.”

Xenia’s mouth parted in muted astonishment, her heart swelling with affection for the man who had always encouraged her to chase after her desires. She had expected disappointment or even anger, but instead found understanding—a reflection of the romance that had once blossomed between her own parents, and continued to flourish today.

“Thank you, Papa.” she whispered, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears.

Her father returned to the bakery kitchen while Mama went upstairs with Xenia and Simon. While Xenia quickly packed her few possessions, Mama went into the small kitchen at the back of their home.

A few minutes later, she entered Xenia’s bedchamber. In her hands, she cradled a serving dish Xenia recognized as the one Mama used on special occasions, its surface marred by hairline fractures in the glaze that spoke of countless meals and washings. “My lord, Xenia, my parents gave this bowl to Mr. Arbuckle and me when we wed. I wish for you to have it now.” Her fingers caressed the rim as she spoke.

Her mother’s gesture made Xenia think of her own family’s heritage, humble thought it was. With trembling hands, she took the dish. “Thank you, Mama.”

“I realize it’s merely ironware, but it has served us through many joyous occasions,” Mama said, looking at Simon apologetically.

Beside her, Simon took the dish, freeing Xenia’s hand for her sorting and packing. “We shall treasure this, and one day pass it to our daughter.”

Xenia glanced at her husband, her heart brimming with a love that grew stronger with each thoughtful word he spoke. She knew he meant the sentiment and that her family history was just as important as his own.

Too soon, she finished packing and gave one last look around the room that had been hers since birth. This was where she first realized she cared for Simon and Owen, the start of years of fantasies that matured as her understanding of love and carnal relations grew. Now she was living those dreams. She, Simon, and Mama went downstairs so she could say goodbye to her father.

“Thank you, Mama, Papa, for understanding, for this...” She gestured to the basket that held the bowl, now wrapped carefully in cloth. “And for everything.”

Her father, a man of few words, enveloped her in his strong arms. “We always wished the best for you. I never imagined it would turn out as well as it did.”

Mama hugged her and pressed a kiss on her cheek.

“You must come to supper soon,” Xenia said.

Simon nodded. “Ready, my love?”

She forced herself to leave. As much as she was enjoying being married, a small part of her would always be in the bakery.

On a lazy afternoon not long after Xenia had moved into the manor house, Simon rose from his desk, missing her company. He sought her in the morning room and the library, but she was neither place. He went to the bedchamber next, where he found her stretched on the bed with a book in her hand.

She smiled when she looked up to see him enter. “Good afternoon, husband.”

He loved how that word sounded on her lips. Closing the door, he came around to her side of the bed, bent, and kissed her. “Why look, my lovely wife is alone.” He wished nothing more than to ravish her at that moment, but felt guilty for intruding on her private time.

“Alone no longer, it would seem.” She set aside the book. “Is there something you need?”

Oh, was there. His lips twitched. “Nothing is amiss. I was reviewing accounts when I realized I miss you fiercely.”

She scooted toward the center of the bed, setting aside her book. “Sit with me, then. Or should we take a stroll in the garden? It’s a lovely day.”

He sat on the edge, but didn’t stretch his legs out beside her. “Would you prefer we walk? I’ve seen the garden this week. It holds no fascination for me. Not like you do. But if you’d rather?—”

“I’m happy for your company, no matter where we are, Simon.” She plumped the pillow by his side. “Sit with me. Tell me about your day.”