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“You have a diary?”
“Maybe I’ll start one.”
“I can picture it now. The great Lord Rochdale sprawled upon a picnic blanket on a sunny day, writing down his innermost thoughts.”
“I would make an excellent diarist if it wasn’t for my atrocious handwriting,” he concluded.
Clem closed the slight gap between them and rested her cheek upon his shoulder, savoring the comforting strength of him. Marriage and all that it brought with it had certainly been a change from living with her parents but with Roman’s support and love, it had been a challenge she’d adored.
She hoped now the support she gave him to aid him through his struggles with reading and writing would be enough to help him see the intelligent man he was. The fact he made jests about the matter these days led her to believe the shame he felt about it all had lessened—at least with her.
“I need to show you something before your family gets here.” His voice rumbled against her ear, and she wanted to sigh again. As excited as she was to see her family for the first time since their honeymoon, it signaled the end of a blissful several weeks of just the two of them.
“It had better be good,” she muttered when he eased his arms from around her and took her hand.
He led her down the hallway to the private drawing room—a generous room that faced out over the gardens and gained the best light for most of the day. Her mother would tell her it was perfect for painting but thus far, Clem had used it to house her lyre and various accoutrements, and plenty of bookshelves waited for her books to be sent from Bath.
It was her space, apparently, to do what she wanted with, though she’d yet to decide on what her next step might be. Truth be told, that itch to find something new hadn’t struck and she had a strong suspicion being married to Roman brought a new contentment she had not anticipated.
“Here.” He gestured to the wall between the two bookcases.
Clem wrinkled her nose and eyed the strange cat-looking creature. “Notthatpainting. Whyever did Mary give us that? Even she said it was ugly.”
“It is horribly ugly and if we need to find a new, discrete, home for it, we will, but I meantthat.” He pointed to the smaller frame just beneath.
“Oh.” Clem stepped forward and bent to read the crinkled and aged letter, beautifully framed in a delicate gilt. She turned and beamed at Roman. “You kept it?”
“Well, I told you I would.”
“I did not think you would go this far.”
A soft smile lingered on his lips, and she found herself echoing it. She had no doubt there would be many disagreements in their future, maybe smaller than the letter and maybe bigger, but they were getting awfully good at compromising.
“It’s for our own personal viewing here.”
Clem nodded and tucked herself into his side to gaze at the letter. “It’s perfect.”
He cocked his head. “I understand now why my ancestor was willing to throw away everything for the woman he loved.”
She looked up at him and her breath caught when she met his gaze.
He touched a finger to her chin. “I would happily die just to love you, Musgrave.”
“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I would prefer you did not.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “And I am no longer a Musgrave. You shall have to call me something else.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’ll still call you Musgrave I think.” He tightened his hold about her waist. “You are a Musgrave, through and through.”
“And you do not mind being married to a scandalous Musgrave?”
“On the contrary.” He squeezed her close. “I am more than proud to call a Musgrave my wife.”
THE END
