"Wherever we are," Calder says simply. "All four of us. That's home."
EPILOGUE
ELOWEN
Three YearsLater
The goats are bleating again.
I set down my mortar and pestle, wiping chamomile dust from my hands, and go to the greenhouse window. Sure enough, Clover and Sage have escaped their pen again and are currently attempting to eat the rosemary hedge.
"Your goats are loose!" I call toward the house.
I feel Calder's amused resignation before I hear his voice. "They'reourgoats, princess. You're the one who named them after herbs."
"That doesn't make them less your responsibility!"
His laughter carries across the yard as he emerges from the house, heading toward the renegade goats with practiced patience. Three years of farmhouse living has made him surprisingly competent at goat wrangling.
I watch him work, hand settling unconsciously over my still-flat stomach. Three months. Twins. A secret we've kept close while we adjusted to the reality of it.
But today, we tell people.
The farmhouse sits in the valley about twenty minutes from Mira's cottage, close enough to visit easily, far enough to have our own space. It's modest compared to the Ashford estate, but it's ours. Built with help from Calder's family, designed by all four of us, every room exactly what we need and nothing we don't.
The greenhouse is my favorite part. Larger than the one at Elderwood, with better light and temperature control. Rows of medicinal herbs, experimental plantings from seeds I brought back from India, the traditional varieties Asha would have grown.
Asha. Great-great-grandmother. Healer. The reason I exist.
We found her village eighteen months ago: Kumbakonam, in Tamil Nadu, where the earth is rich and the plants grow with an almost sacred vitality. The village elders remembered the Rowan family, remembered Asha who married the British man and left but never forgot her roots.
They taught me things Mira couldn't, techniques passed down through generations, plant combinations specific to that soil, that climate, that ancestral knowledge. Julian documented everything with careful precision, filling three notebooks and hundreds of photos.
We came home different. Settled. Ready.
And then, finally, it happened.
"You're thinking too loud."
I turn to find Tyler in the greenhouse doorway, smiling that sunrise smile that still makes my heart kick. I smile.
"Excitement and nerves and something that feels like..." He crosses to me, hands settling at my waist. "Are you ready for this?"
"Terrified," I admit. "What if something goes wrong? What if?—"
"Then we handle it together. Like everything else." He kisses my forehead. "But nothing's going to go wrong. You're healthy, the babies are healthy, we're going to tell our families today and they're going to be so happy they'll probably cry."
"Your mom will definitely cry."
"My mom cries at everything." He grins. "It's her superpower."
Julian approaches, precise footsteps, careful energy, the particular flavor of his presence that means he's processing something big. He appears in the doorway, pale blue eyes finding mine immediately.
"The fellowship committee called." His voice is carefully neutral. "Harvard wants an answer by next week."
My stomach drops. "Julian?—"
"I'm thinking," he says. "Strategically considering all variables."
