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He was reminded once more of her athletic nature, for she ran with ease, clasping the skirt of her gown around her legs. He had to sprint to catch up with her, turning a corner where he nearly collided with her. They both spun in a circle, grasping onto one another to stop themselves from falling over.
“It’s here.” She nodded her head behind him. “See? This is the house I told you not to sell. It is the home I grew up in with my father.”
Elliot angled his head, looking to the house he’d heard so much about it. It was a fine house, built in the Palladian style and made of red and white brick with pillars at the front. Each window was vast, no doubt flooding the interior with great beams of light.
“It’s quite something,” Elliot said softly, realising that this house now belonged to him and Ophelia. “We should come stay here some time. We should bring Grace, too. I think she would like it here.”
“I’d like that.” Ophelia’s smile grew wider at his side. “For so long this has been my home, but I wanted you to know something I realised this last month when I was away from you.”
“What is that?” he asked, watching as she looped her arm through his.
“My home is with you.” She seemed to laugh at herself with the words. “How odd that sounds!”
“Odd? Why?”
“Well, I have made a home with a man I pulled out of a river. It’s a good job I pulled you out, is it not? God forbid I had left you there to drown!”
He laughed with her, agreeing with her without hesitation.
“I am very glad indeed that you, of all people, were there to pull me out.”
Epilogue
Seven Months Later
“I should have heard something by now. Shouldn’t I have heard something?” Elliot paced back the other way across the hall, his gaze constantly darting up the nearest staircase to the landing above. It didn’t matter or help, for no one came to update him. He was left alone to his thoughts and worries.
“Elliot, calm yourself.” Grace’s words made him turn on his heel and pace back the other way.
In the sunlight that was fading through the windows, the room had turned a murky shade of grey. The darkness was only fought off by the single candle that the butler had lit and left beside them on the hall table. Grace’s face was now lit by that lonely candle, in an orange glow.
“How can I be calm?” Elliot asked wildly, not once desisting with his walking. “You can tell me to be calm, but I can see it in your face that you are worried too, Grace.”
His sister did not deny it. Grace turned her face down and her hands fiddled in her lap, like a child looking for something to toy with to distract herself.
Elliot let his eyes dance across his sister for a minute before he returned to the incessant glancing toward the staircase and the landing above it.
In the last seven months, Elliot’s sister had changed a little. At times, there was still something of the child about her, but mostly, she was growing up. He had seen how Ophelia’s attentions and friendship had made Grace blossom. She no longer hid in rooms or acted out to find some wanted attention. She offered opinions of her own in debates, opinions that were well read and researched, and she made more effort to act her own age.
Ophelia has done this. She has given Grace a new lease on life.
Elliot longed to talk to Ophelia of how much had changed in these last few months, but at this moment, he was forbidden from being allowed anywhere near her. Ophelia was tucked away in her chamber in a distant room of the house. The only thing audible from that room were Ophelia’s occasional cries of pain and the doctor’s hasty orders, delivered to maids to fetch more hot water and sweet tea.
When footsteps sounded across the landing, Elliot practically ran to the bottom of the steps, jumping up on the lower step and angling his head high, waiting for news. Mrs Mouser appeared, running hastily with the skirt of her gown in her hand.
“Mrs Mouser? Is all well? Is anything wrong?” Elliot asked with impatience. He’d heard enough horror stories to know that nothing was certain. Childbirth was a dangerous affair.
Please, Ophelia, you must be well. You must survive this.
His mind kept turning to the child that was to be born, too. He wondered if it would be a boy or a girl, and whether they would look more like him or Ophelia.
“Mrs Mouser?” Elliot’s heartbeat seemed to slow in his chest as Mrs Mouser had still not answered him. She hurried down the steps and stopped in front of him, the lines in her face revealing her tiredness and showing just how many hours she had been upstairs with Ophelia, preparing for the arrival of the child. “Please, tell me all is well.” Elliot held his breath, fearful of the answer.
When Mrs Mouser smiled, he could have danced with his relief.
“All is well, Your Grace,” she declared, her excitement palpable as she clasped her hands together. “The child is here. Healthy too, all ten fingers and ten toes, chubby little cheeks, quite red as well.” She giggled with delight. “Oh yes, quite the picture of health.”
“And Ophelia?” Elliot asked, taking a step up the stairs.
