EPILOGUE
“Genevieve?”
“Yes?” Genevieve replied dreamily, looking up from where she sat on the settee in the small parlor upstairs. The snow was thick outside the window.
“I think we're ready.”
“I did say so,” Genevieve said, smiling. “We should go today. If the weather permits it.”
“Yes.”
Genevieve smiled as she looked up into that fine-boned, handsome face. Somehow, he seemed nervous, with a tension she had come to be able to sense in the time of knowing him – the way the skin tightened around his eyes, the taut muscle at his temple.
She herself felt deeply peaceful, with a sweet contentment she'd barely imagined. She smiled. “We will leave with the spring tide.”
“Yes.”
She sat up straighter from where she reclined on the chaise, her embroidery on her knee. She had been feeling a delicious drowsiness that Arabella suggested was natural to feel. She reached for his hand as he sat opposite her. “Dearest, we'll have so many lovely things to see. We'll go directly to Chateau Malpons, and from there to my uncle's lands near Paris.”
“I know, dearest,” he said. He swallowed. “I just...dearest, are you sure that your father will approve? I mean, I still barely speak...and...”
“My father can speak English,” Genevieve giggled. “And yes. He will love you as I do. And your French is coming along quite famously.”
He made a wry face. “You are generous, dearest.”
“I speak truth,” she countered, smiling. She reached up and stroked his brow, loving the way it felt to experience his soft, dark hair under her hand. It was a reflex from spending nights together, when she loved to touch his face where he knelt over her, a new level of closeness as they made love.
She felt her heart swell with joy, just thinking of what wonder lay ahead of her in their new life. They would reach her uncle's estate, where there was a dower house, which her uncle had promised her would be hers to share with her family. She herself could not inherit Malpons, but her son – should she have one – would be heir after Uncle.
She beamed. She had her suspicions that soon they would be expecting a child. She could already be almost sure, but she hesitated to mention it to Adair until she was sure he was less worried.
“I know,” he said, kissing her brow. “My dear, you are a veritable sweetheart.”
“Oh, Adair, you too,” she giggled, as her senses took leave of her, melting into sweet bliss as he kissed her brow and eyelids, moving slowly down her face.
When they sat back, bodies warm with the kiss, she looked into his eyes. “Adair, my sweetheart,” she said, holding his gaze, “I think we will not be alone as we travel France.”
“Not alone?” he looked puzzled. She bit back a delighted smile. “But, dearest..? We...”
“We will be alone for a while yet,” she grinned, unable to hold back her smile any longer. “But we won't travel without another...presence.”
He stared at her wonderingly as she took his hand and rested it, softly, on her lower abdomen. His eyes grew round.
“My dearest? Are you sure? I mean...you can be sure...how..?”
Genevieve felt her face split with a grin. “Oh, my dearest! You do make it sound complicated.”
He looked into her face, his brown eyes soft, and he laughed too. “Oh, my dearest.”
He embraced her and they lay on the chaise together, their bodies pressed close, the sweetness of his presence curved to her body, his head on her shoulder.
The day rose beyond the windows to snow and cold, but inside a fire burned brightly. The glow was like the glow in her heart, but nothing like its incandescent brightness. Because the light of love is all-consuming and all-reaching, swallowing all shadows and making them disappear.
Love is the guiding light.