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Sebastian

S ebastian picked up the fowling piece and situated it how he thought it should be held. “See? A natural.”

“There is nothing natural about the way you are holding that, my love.” Selina approached him from behind his back, her arms wrapping around him to show him the way.

He smiled at the feel of his wife against him and made his arms and hands clay in her capable hands. The sounds of London were present but not all-encompassing in the seclusion of the townhouse garden.

“Elbows in,” she said, squeezing his arms inside hers to force his obedience. “Cheek to the stock, not the trigger. And keep your stance steady, else you will knock yourself flat when you pull the trigger.”

Her breath brushed the back of his ear, and he turned his head toward her, his cheek decidedly not against the stock.

He shifted his body enough to steal a kiss.

She smiled but quickly pressed her lips together severely. “Focus, Sebastian.”

“You are distracting me,” he complained, then stole another kiss.

She nudged him away from her, but her cheeks were pink with delight. “Have you any wish to learn, or is this simply a joke to you?”

“I am to concentrate my mind on holding this weapon of destruction when my wife is fairly throwing herself at me?”

Her head tilted to the side, and she pegged him with an impatient look, though her eyes danced.

True to her word, Selina had donated hefty sums to various charities, along with selling Chesleigh House.

The London townhouse had been kept and a modest estate purchased in Surrey.

In short, they had kept enough to lead a comfortable life and provide the children with robust educations.

With the help of Silas Yorke, their investments continued to grow what they had to draw upon.

It had been a happy year indeed—by far the happiest of Sebastian’s life.

The door opened, and a flurry of voices sounded. Margaret, Felix, Hugo, and Pip emerged, and behind them, Phoebe and Mr. Evenden.

“We have some news,” Phoebe said, looking at Mr. Evenden with a glow about her.

He met her gaze with an expression that was better suited to the privacy of the bedroom than a garden full of children.

“They are engaged!” Felix yelled, beating them to the news.

“Felix,” Margaret said, horrified.

“It is the truth,” Mr. Evenden said. “Phoebe has done me the honor of accepting my presumptuous offer of marriage.”

Selina’s arms dropped from around Sebastian, and she ran to Phoebe, pulling her into her arms. “The happiest news possible! Oh, Phoebe!”

Sebastian strode to Evenden and put out his hand, smiling broadly. “My felicitations, Evenden.”

The garden was full of laughter and animated voices for the next few minutes, until Pip managed to grab hold of the fowling piece in Sebastian’s grasp. Only after a fair amount of careful grappling did he and Selina manage to extricate the gun .

“Perhaps you had all better go inside,” Selina said significantly.

“I am making marked improvements, I’ll have you know,” Sebastian called out as Phoebe, Mr. Evenden, and the children disappeared into the house with Pip.

“Your form is as bad as your poetry,” Selina teased, giving the gun to him again.

“Which has also improved markedly,” he defended.

Nothing brought him greater pleasure than leaving terrible poems around the house for her.

“I am well on my way to becoming a crack shot,” he said, running a hand over the length of the fowling piece in the manner of someone accustomed to handling firearms. There was a smudge, and he frowned, then thumbed it.

A sharp crack rang through the air, making them both jump as a flock of birds tore away from one of the trees.

Sebastian looked at his wife, whose eyes were closed, as though she was praying for serenity.

“Entirely on purpose,” he said. “A true hunter always maintains the element of surprise.”

Selina suppressed a smile and removed the gun from his care, setting it aside. “Shall we see whether the tree will survive this element of surprise?”

They walked hand in hand to the tree and found a few marks in the tree where the shot had scattered.

“Oh dear,” Sebastian said.

Upon the ground lay a dead pigeon.

Selina’s hand flew to her mouth.

Sebastian’s expression grew solemn. “This must be Montfort, Montague’s brother. An aspiring messenger pigeon cut down in his prime.”

Selina’s eyes wrinkled at the sides, and her shoulders shook with laughter. “Oh, Sebastian. What shall we do with the poor creature? ”

“He must join Montague in the study, of course.” He regarded the bird pensively. “Quite a good shot, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes! If only it had been on purpose.”

He tried and failed to suppress a chuckle. “I will learn, my love. One day, I will ride to hounds with you, and I will only discharge weapons on purpose—and at intended targets.”

She stepped up to him and grasped his braces with her hands, smiling up at him. “I know it, and I look forward to it. But I do enjoy having the upper hand in at least one area.”

Sebastian’s mouth quirked up at the edge, and he trailed a finger along her hairline tenderly. “Well, then, my dearest sharpshooter.” He brought his mouth just shy of hers. “The pigeons of England had better watch out.”

She laughed in delight, but the sound was stopped when his lips covered hers.

The warmth of the kiss spread through Sebastian like fire through dry brush, and he held her more closely, still hardly able to fathom that after everything, she was his. Pigeons, Pips, pretense. None of those had kept them from one another.

And nothing in the future would, either.