Simon sat with his back against a tree, his legs crossed, not too far from Giselle’s grave. He’d been working his way closer all morning. He’d started by walking through the town center, making his way to the churchyard, sitting by the gate on the bench he’d paid for with the money he sent the rectory every month to care for the graves here.

His parents were here, and his younger brother Gavin, too. A fever had swept through the village during the war and taken all three of them. Simon had failed them, too, in a way, not being here for that. But for some reason their deaths—though they had saddened him—had not burdened him with guilt. He knew realistically there was little he could have done to save them from that fever. He had neither caused it, nor could he have cured it. More likely had he been here he, too, would have died from it.

The irony was that he’d gone to war to die and he’d have had a better chance had he stayed at home.

He looked around. He was the only one in the cemetery. It was a beautiful day. Hot as usual this summer, sunny. The birds were singing, there were bees buzzing about, the odd butterfly. Many of the graves in the small cemetery had flowers planted around the headstones. His family’s did not. They were clear of debris and in good repair, and Simon supposed that was all his yearly donations were worth. He would have sent more if they’d told him about the flowers. But then, he hadn’t asked.

Still, it wasn’t a bad resting place for all eternity, he supposed. It was quite tranquil and pretty, shaded with large trees. He could hear the steady stream of traffic at the rectory, so it wasn’t boring for them, either, if they were still hanging about the place waiting for him to show up.

Well, here he was.

He slowly got to his feet, hat in hand, and walked over to his mother’s grave. Marissa Gantry, Wife and Mother it read above her dates. His father was next to her, Stanley Gantry, Husband and Father.

Was that it? Was that the sum of their lives? He thought about Christy and Robert, how much they loved one another and little Christian, and he supposed that those epitaphs were not perhaps as simple nor as empty as they seemed. They encompassed a whole lifetime of experiences—joys and sorrows and shared adventures. He remembered the happiest moments from his childhood and recalled his parents’ fondness for each other and for him and Gavin, and supposed that yes, that was the sum of their lives, and it told a full and rich story.

He walked over to Gavin’s grave and squatted down in front of it to read it. Taken From Us Too Young. Gavin had only been seventeen and he’d died first. His mum had doted on Gav. When Simon left, he’d been only thirteen. According to the last letter he’d received Gav had been itching to buy a commission of his own and go to war, but both Simon and his parents had wanted him to go to university.

Simon wiped tears from his cheeks. They’d been gone so long. And when they died, he was at war. There had been so much death all around him, and theirs had just been three more. He realized he had never grieved for them. What an injustice to them. They had loved Giselle, too, and right on the heels of losing her he’d run off to war, hoping to die, and they’d never seen him again. It was a wonder they had written to him at all, that they hadn’t disowned him and cut him off, but that hadn’t been their way.

He stood up and walked over to Giselle’s grave. He shivered and crossed his arms, remembering the last time he was here, the day of her funeral.

He made himself read her epitaph aloud. “‘Giselle Marie Gantry, Beloved Wife and Daughter.’”

He laughed softly at how hollow and inadequate those words were. Her loss had set him on a course of self-destruction that had lasted almost twenty years. Her mother had collapsed and had taken to her bed until the day she died, according to his own mother’s letters.

“It’s very nice here.”

Simon’s head came up at the sound of Christy’s voice behind him. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t surprised to hear it.

“The last time I was here was the day I buried her,” Simon said, still not turning around. “It was so cold that day. The wind was blowing out of the east right off the North Sea, and it was raining. Nothing like today.”

He knelt down and brushed some dirt off the headstone. “You know, I expected to be overcome with emotion when I got here. But…nothing. Not really.” He sat down, one knee up, his elbow resting on it, staring at her name. “I guess I’ve spent so many years mourning her I haven’t got anything left.”

Christy knelt down beside him, and Robert walked over to stand in front of him. “You have memories. Good memories,” she said. “Maybe now you can focus on those. You’ve tortured yourself with the bad ones for too long already. I think Giselle would agree.”

“She wouldn’t even recognize me now,” Simon said. “I used to be a wild, reckless boy. I never had a care for anyone else except for my own pleasures, and the world let me act that way. My world, anyway. But my pleasures in those days were hunting and fishing and riding fast horses, and Giselle. The prettiest girl in the county, and I’d fight anyone who said differently.”

Christy reached out and wiped another tear from his cheek.

“Am I crying? I didn’t realize,” he said, capturing her hand and kissing it. Robert handed him a handkerchief. “Thank you.” He wiped his face.

“I like fishing,” Robert said. Simon laughed.

“You told me that you have a sixth sense about danger,” Robert said.

Simon looked up at him in surprise. “Yes. Although this seems an odd time to bring it up.”

“Did you always have it? Even as a child?”

“I suppose so,” Simon said. “Although it failed me with Giselle.”

“Did it? When did you first notice you had it?”

“Robert, stop interrogating him,” Christy said sharply.

“Now that you mention it, I don’t recall any incidents before the war,” Simon said, frowning. “But then, I was never in a life or death situation before then.”

“Except Giselle,” Robert pushed.

“Yes, except Giselle,” Simon agreed. “What are you getting at?”

“That maybe Christy and I owe Giselle a debt for keeping you safe all these years,” Robert said. “Maybe, while you were blaming yourself and trying to die, Giselle was working very hard to keep you alive.”

Simon looked at him shock. “Are you saying that my sixth sense comes from Giselle?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Robert said, sitting down beside him, opposite Christy. They all sat and looked at Giselle’s headstone for several minutes.

“Thank you,” Christy finally whispered, “for keeping him safe for us.”

After a while Simon reached out and grasped both their wrists. “You came for me.”

“Of course we did,” Robert said. “You belong to us now.”

Simon didn’t dispute his words. “How did you find me?”

“First we went to Daniel’s,” Christy said, surreptitiously wiping a tear from her eye. “And he told us you went to Ashton on the Green. Oh, Simon, what you did to poor Hastings.”

“He’ll be a better man for it, mark my words,” Simon said with laughter in his voice. “Haven’t we all gone to Ashton Park to heal ourselves at one time or another?”

“We were at Ashton Park when we found out you’d been kidnapped,” Christy said quietly. “It was not a pleasant memory for us. Yesterday, at least we knew that we would find you today.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Simon said. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her temple. “And how did you know I’d be here?”

“Daniel did tell us you were coming here, to Bury St. Edmunds. When we arrived we just guessed that this would be where we’d find you.”

“You know me too well,” Simon said, standing up.

“If only that were true, I would have known you were going to run after our night together,” Robert said, standing as well.

“Running? Is that what you think I was doing?” He shook his head and affectionately ran his hand down Robert’s arm, a gesture no one who might be looking would find too familiar. “I came to say goodbye. I never had, not properly. It was time.”

Christy reached a hand up, and both men stepped forward to help her stand. “Simon, this will never do. We must find some flowers for all the graves. And I am going to have a stern talk with the rectory about this. We will arrange to pay them for the upkeep, and we will come a time or two each year if we can.”

“I already pay them, Christy.”

“Well then,” she said in righteous indignation. “I can see that they have taken advantage of your absence to shirk their duties. Have you no other family to take care of them?” Simon shook his head. “We will find someone before we leave.”

“Where is Christian?” Simon asked as they headed toward the rectory.

“With Very Tarrant,” Robert said. He grinned and looked at Simon out of the corner of his eye. “Along with Mary Peppers and Essie.”

Simon burst out laughing. “I am going to get a visit from Kensington and Tarrant as soon as we get back to London,” he said. “So are we going to work for Barnabas?”

“What do you think?”

Simon had given it a great deal of thought on the way to Suffolk. “I think it’s a good idea. The pay is better, and eventually we could find ourselves at a desk if we want. Things are changing, and we can change with them. And I trust Barnabas. He will always make sure we are taken care of. I don’t think we could do better.”

“You make some good arguments.” Robert stopped and turned to him. “And I would get to work with you every day.”

“That is definitely one of the favorable arguments,” Simon agreed.

Christy stepped between them and took each by the arm, looking up at them. “So we are going to do this, then? We’re going to be together at last?”

“We’ve always been together, from the very beginning,” Simon told her. “We fell in love the first time we saw each other.”

“Not true,” Robert said. “I hated you. Your perfect hair, and handsome face, and heroic nature. I wished baldness on you.”

When he stopped laughing, Simon confessed, “I hated you, too. You were always so perfect. Perfectly polite, beautiful manners, manly physique, immaculate past. I wished you to the devil many times.” He touched his hair. “But never baldness. If something should happen, we shall look to you now.”

“Do you think that two men who fall in love with the same woman are only a heartbeat away from falling in love with each other?” Robert asked.

Simon’s heart stumbled in his chest. Was Robert saying he loved Simon? “Perhaps. I know I have seen it happen many times. Loving Christy has turned us from enemies to lovers.”

“Not yet,” Robert said, his eyes gleaming with intent. “But tonight, I plan to correct that.”