EPILOGUE
Miranda rose and stretched. Pushing back her chair, she left the estate manager’s office, locking the door behind her, and strolled across the yard into the main house. It was quiet inside Darkwater now that the day was ending and the workmen’s hammers and saws had stopped. The renovation of the house was proceeding nicely, but Miranda had to admit that she would be grateful when she and Devin left for their belated honeymoon trip to Italy and she would no longer have to hear the sounds of the workers rebuilding the house. They would have left long ago had she had not felt the need to spend the last month making sure that the estate’s affairs were all in order.
But that was all settled now, she thought, and she could turn her attention to packing. Also, Joseph and Elizabeth had gotten back yesterday from their extended trip to Scotland, and Joseph could tend to the renovations now, while Miranda and Devin spent the next four months traveling.
Time, Miranda knew, would heal all wounds. She could and would forgive Elizabeth for the attacks on Devin. But it had been much less awkward with Elizabeth gone for the last month, and it would be easier, too, for them all to deal with each other after a few more months. Devin had spent the last month getting better acquainted with his daughter, though, of course he had not—and would never—let Veronica know even by a hint that she was anything other to him than a younger sister-in-law.
Rupert and Strong were both now in prison. Miranda had suggested letting them emigrate to a colony, instead, to avoid scandal for the family, but Devin had insisted on turning them in to the authorities. “They tried to kill you,” he told her, his eyes bright and hard as stones. “If they were not to go to prison, I couldn’t let them live.” Miranda had quickly agreed that prison was called for.
Miranda went up the stairs and along the corridor to Devin’s studio. It was where he could usually be found. He turned at the sound of her footsteps and smiled.
“Miranda. Come look. I finished your portrait.”
Miranda smiled and went forward obediently to look. It was the fifth of her portraits he had finished and, according to Devin, his favorite. It would hang, he had decided, in the entryway downstairs. In the painting she was wearing a bloodred gown, vivid against her white skin. Like all of Devin’s paintings, it was filled with light and color, and it made Miranda look, she thought, more beautiful than she really was. However, she never complained to Devin about his paintings in that regard.
“It’s lovely,” she told him, slipping her arm around his waist.
“I still haven’t quite captured that quality,” he mused, studying the portrait.
“What quality?”
“The quality that is uniquely you.” He grinned down at her. “That is why I’ll keep on trying.”
“People may get tired of your painting my face over and over again,” she teased.
“Ah, but you see, that’s the beauty of it—I don’t care. I don’t have to sell my paintings. I am, after all, a wealthy man. You told me so yourself.”
“You are indeed,” Miranda agreed. “I think I have all the estate’s affairs in order now.”
“That’s good. Then we can leave for Europe soon.”
“Do you want to hear the sum total of your assets?” Miranda asked.
He smiled at her. “It won’t mean much to me. I think I shall leave all that in your capable hands.”
“It was that sort of attitude that got you into trouble in the first place,” Miranda scolded him playfully.
“Ah, but the difference, you see, is that I can trust you.”
“Yes.”
“I love you,” he said simply and bent to kiss her.
Miranda took his hand, and they strolled out of the studio and along the corridor to dress for dinner.
“You know, the ironic thing is that Strong was actually quite a good estate manager. Your estate prospered under him as it had not for years. The farms were producing enough rents for you to live well. And he made a deal with a coal company to mine your land in the Roaches that makes you a very wealthy man indeed. You could have renovated Darkwater yourself.”
They reached Miranda’s bedroom and went inside. Miranda turned her back to Devin, and he began to unhook her dress.
“Have you ever thought about that?” she asked. “You had plenty of money. It was never really necessary for you to marry me.”
“Oh, yes, it was,” he contradicted her, bending down to place a kiss at the base of her neck. “It was very necessary—for my happiness. I could have had all the money in the world, but if I had not married you, I would never have known love.”
Miranda turned and smiled up at him, letting her dress slide down her arms and pool at her feet on the floor. “And you know it now?”
“Oh, yes.” His smile was slow and rich with promise. “I have a very intimate acquaintance with love now.”
“Then why don’t you show me?” she asked, sliding her arms up the front of his shirt and around his neck.
Devin pulled her close to him, his mouth coming down on hers. “I would be happy to.”
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