“Is there to be a fight?” Emma called out when she saw Lady Ashington headed in Abigail’s direction.
“Will you fetch some of the berries from Philip?” she then asked Emma.
“Yes, of course, Mother,” she replied then hurried off.
Nicholas Compton watched the entertainment at hand and secretly hoped that young Abigail got a chance to give Philip a lesson. He didn’t get out to Chatwick Hall often and he knew he should do so more. The children all seemed to be growing so quickly. Especially Emma. He watched as she bent down and discussed the berries with her younger brother.
She was as smart and resourceful as she was beautiful. Miriam was the kind of mother who a child such as Emma would bloom under, and she had done just that. Ashington may have taken his bride-to-be from him six years ago, but he, in return, had given his daughter a family. One that Nicholas knew he would never have given her. If he allowed himself to think of where Emma would be now if the old woman had brought Emma to him instead of Ashington, it spurred thoughts he did not want to have. He was a much different man today than he had been back then. A child from a mistress would have been of no interest to him. Watching Emma now, he realized what a tragedy it would have been not to have known such a child. He would forever be grateful to his brother for giving her a home when she had no one.
Miriam came walking back across the lawn toward Nicholas and it appeared as if the problem had been adequately handled. She was as lovely today as she had been the first time Nicholas had laid eyes on her. Loving Miriam had been so very easy for him. He had loved her at first sight or so he had believed. She was the kind of woman that men fell in love with before they had a moment to realize it themselves.
The difference between the way Nicholas had loved Miriam and the way Lord Ashington loved her was where the importance laid. For Nicholas had loved the thought of her, the idea of her presence. She brightened up a room and that was what he had been drawn to.
Lord Ashington simply loved her. He was only complete with her by his side. He didn’t see her as a way to lift his spirits, but he saw her as his companion. They moved in unison and even in a crowded ballroom, they would find each other, their eyes would meet, and they would smile as if they had just shared the most intimate of secrets.
“Whitney!” Emma’s voice rang out and Nicholas turned his attention toward the object of Emma’s adoration. Her aunt Whitney.
At eighteen, Whitney was breathtaking in ways that made grown men forget words and how to use them properly. Whitney held open her arms to Emma who hugged Whitney tightly as she reached her.
“She’s enchanting,” Miriam said and Nicholas tore his gaze from Whitney to look at his sister-in-law again. Slightly embarrassed to have been caught looking at her sister. Miriam was grinning at him with a knowing look. “You know, the Duke of Thorne has called upon her twice,” she said to him.
“He’s too old for her,” Nicholas replied, not at all pleased with the information.
“He is nine and twenty. She is eighteen, Nicholas.”
Nicholas scowled out over the yard as if it had suddenly become offensive. Lady Ashington hid her amused grin and lifted her gaze to find her husband making his way toward them. His long muscular legs clad in riding britches were always such a pleasing sight. Miriam loved him more today than she had the day they wed. She often wondered if she would continue to love him more every year and if so, how much she would love him when they were old. Could one body hold such an emotion?
“I would, of course, find you out here flirting with my wife,” Ashington said as he approached his wife and brother.
“You did steal her from me at the altar,” Nicholas drawled. “This is but the least I can do.”
“You never saw the doorway of a church. Yours was the shortest engagement in London’s history,” Ashington replied then took the spot beside his wife. His hand slipped over hers.
“Indeed, Brother, it was. What is most difficult to accept about it is that my story still has not made it into one of Miriam’s novels.”
This was not the first time Nicholas had asked when he would become a character in one of her novels. Miriam lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Perhaps I am waiting to write you into a novel until your story has its proper happy ending.”
Both Nicholas and Ashington laughed then as if the idea that Nicholas would one day settle down was ridiculous. Miriam only smiled. She knew the day would come and possibly very soon.
Miriam looked out over the field just as Whitney chased after a giggling Abigail. Although Whitney’s limp would never be completely gone, it was barely noticeable now. She could walk and even run without pain or exhaustion. Everything she had dreamed of for her sister was coming true.
The warm June sunshine and the sounds of the children’s laughter made for a perfect day on the grounds of Chatwick Hall.
The End
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