Page 92 of The Mister I Married

Epilogue

FOUR YEARS LATER

That first glimpse of Bristlewood through the carriage window never failed to bring a smile to Emmy’s face.

She’d enjoyed her stay in Bath, of course—spending an entire week with her two best friends was always lovely, and they’d had a marvelous time reveling in the town’s many delights, drinking the waters in the Grand Pump Room and strolling Sydney Gardens’ lamp-lit labyrinth.

But, oh, it would be good to be home again.

Alex was already standing in the drive, waiting for her as he always did when she returned home from a trip away. She drank in the sight of him, solid and sturdy and so handsome he made her heart flip over.

“Welcome home, Emmy.” Her husband’s voice was warm, his grip firm as he handed her down from the carriage.

Her heels had barely grazed the gravel before she launched herself into his arms and pressed her lips to his, her fingers burrowing into his thick hair, warmed by the autumn sun.

“I missed you,” she whispered against his mouth before kissing him again, this time with tongue, wringing a low growl from deep in his chest.

“Not half as much as I missed you.” He nuzzled her cheek, his arms closing tight around her waist, as if he never wanted to let her go again. “Tell me you still love me, Emmy.”

She smiled, her cheek pressing into his cotton day coat. He made the same teasing demand every time she returned from a trip—a little tradition she had grown to adore.

Leaning back in his arms, she met his gaze and said, “I was only gone a week, Alex.”

He cocked one brow. “A lot can happen in one week. Especially in Bath.”

Her smile turned impish as she cupped his cheek. “Yes, I still love you,” she said, “but ask me again tomorrow.”

A laugh tumbled from his lips, and he gave her bottom a playful squeeze before steering her toward the house, one arm draped around her waist.

She leaned into him as they headed for the door, and asked, “Where are the children?”

“In the library, napping with their grandfather.”

She gave a low chuckle. “Wore each other out again, did they?”

He nodded. “Every day this week.”

Mr. Whitcomb was a doting grandfather, and had been from the start, ever since their daughter’s arrival on a warm September day nearly four years ago.

He seemed to care not one whit that his first grandchild was a girl and not his son’s heir. He’d spoiled Ava with love and attention, and she adored her grandfather in return, as did Ava’s little brother, Christopher, who’d come along two years later on the night of the harvest moon.

“I don’t like to complain,” Emmy said lightly as they walked into the entrance hall, “but I am a little disappointed they’re not all here to greet me. I missed them so while I was gone.”

All the way home, she’d thought of her children, of Ava’s mischievous giggle and Christopher’s fierce, chubby-armed hugs, and perhaps it was silly, but she couldn’t help feeling a little put-out that they were napping upon her homecoming.

“You know they missed you, too,” Alex said, watching her with understanding eyes while she unlaced her bonnet strings. “Ava’s talked of nothing but your return for two days now, and Christopher keeps asking where his mama is.”

Emmy’s heart squeezed, more than a little mollified. “And no doubt there was some talk of what gifts their mama would bring home for them, too,” she joked, handing her bonnet to Reeve after greeting him with a smile.

“It might have been mentioned a time or two,” Alex admitted, a wry gleam in his eyes. “Now, tell me about your trip. Did you have an enjoyable week?”

As they made their way up the stairs, Emmy regaled him with a detailed account of all she’d done during her seven days in Bath.

“…and Sophie is writing a novel, apparently, though she refuses to even hint at what it’s about,” she said, “and Olivia is going to have another babe, probably in the spring.”

It was still something of an absurdity to her, even now, four years after her wedding, that she and her two dearest friends were all happily married with families of their own. As a girl, she’d envisioned living with them, growing old with them, Olivia at the pianoforte, Sophie reading a novel by the fire. She supposed a little part of her had always held onto that dream, even into adulthood, until her friends were married, of course, and the dream ended.

Not that she had any complaints with how things had turned out.