It had not really been necessary to come into the country in person in the middle of the Season, Elliott soon discovered. Merton was cheerfully resigned to returning and immersing himself in his various studies. And his eldest sister was quite capable of seeing that his attention did not stray too far from duty. Samson and the butler and housekeeper between them had kept house and estate running smoothly, and both tutors were eager to take their pupil in hand again.
But perhaps duty to his position as guardian of the boy had been only an excuse. It was not that he did not enjoy being in London for the Season.
Or that he did not enjoy being there with Vanessa. But he had kept remembering the few days following their wedding - their honeymoon as she had once called it - with some nostalgia. They could not have stayed longer at the dower house - duty had called them to London. But he would have /liked /to stay longer.
A man ought to be allowed to spend sufficient time alone with his bride to get to know her thoroughly, to become comfortable with her, to enjoy himself with her.
To fall in love with her.
It was perhaps unwise to try to recapture the magic of those days.
It was /probably /unwise.
They had both spent the bulk of the first day home at Warren Hall. They had not promised to return on the second day, though they had said that they /might /go. It was a sunny day with very little wind. It was really quite hot. It was a perfect day for a ride over to Warren Hall, or for a drive there in an open vehicle.
It was a perfect day… "Do you really /want /to go to Warren Hall today?" he asked Vanessa at breakfast. "Or would you prefer a quiet day at home? A stroll down to the lake, perhaps." "Together?" she asked him. "Together, yes." "I daresay Stephen will be busy all day," she said. "It may be wise not to disturb him. And Meg was planning to spend all morning with the housekeeper and all afternoon - weather permitting - seeing what can be done to improve the rose arbor. The weather does permit." "It would be best, then," he said, "if we did not disturb her either." "I think so," she agreed. "The lake, then?" "The lake." She smiled at him suddenly, that bright expression that involved not only her mouth and eyes, but every part of her right down to her soul - or so it seemed. It always dazzled him. "Yes," she said, "let's go to the lake, Elliott. Even though the daffodils will no longer be blooming." "But nature never leaves us bereft," he said, "no matter what the season." Good Lord, he would be writing poetry soon if he was not careful. But his words proved prophetic. The daffodils were, of course, long gone, but in their place were the bluebells, growing even more lavishly on the far riverbank and carpeting the slope on which the daffodils bloomed in spring. "Oh, Elliott," she said as they walked along the banks. "Could anything be lovelier?" Everything within sight was blue or green, from the water to the grass to the flowers to the trees to the sky. Even her dress was cornflower blue, and her straw bonnet was trimmed with blue ribbons. "The daffodils were /as /lovely," he said, "but not lovelier." "Elliott." She stopped walking and stepped in front of him. She took both his hands in hers. "I was happier here for those three days than I have ever been in my life. Though that cannot be quite true because I have been happy since too. I am happy now. I want you to know that. I promised /you /happiness, but I am the one who has been most blessed." "No, you are not." His hands closed firmly about hers. "If you feel blessed, Vanessa, you cannot feel more so than I do. And if you are happy, you cannot be happier than I." Her eyes widened and her lips parted. "I am happy," he said, lifting her hands one at a time to his lips.
For once he seemed to have rendered her speechless.
He was inclined to remain so himself. But if he did not say it now, perhaps he never would. And such things were important to women, he believed. Perhaps they were equally important to men. "I love you," he said.
Her eyes brightened - with tears, he realized. "I love you," he told her again. "I am head over ears in love with you.
I adore you. I /love /you."
She was biting her lower lip. "Elliott," she said, "you do not need to - " His forefinger landed none too gently across her lips. "You have become as necessary to me as the air I breathe," he said. "Your beauty and your smiles wrap themselves about me and warm me to the heart - to the very soul. You have taught me to trust and to love again, and I trust and love /you/. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. More than I knew it was possible to love. And if you think I am making an ass of myself with such romantic hyperbole just because I want to make you feel better about admitting that you are happy, then I am going to have to take drastic measures." Her face filled with laughter - and radiance. Two tears spilled onto her cheeks. She blinked away any others that might have followed. /"What?" /she asked him.
He smiled slowly at her, and realized he was doing it - letting go his final defenses against the dangers of loving - when her own smile was arrested and she freed her hands and cupped his face gently with them. "Oh, my love," she said. "My love." The same words she had spoken that night in the library while he wept.
He had scarcely heard them then, but he heard their echo now. She had loved him for a long time, he realized. It was in her nature to love, but she had chosen to love /him/. "Do you have something to tell me?" he asked her.
She tipped her head to one side. "The baby?" she said. "There will be a baby, Elliott. Are you happy about it? Perhaps it will be your heir." "I am happy about the /baby,/" he said. "Son, daughter - it really does not matter." He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers.
She slid her arms up about his neck and leaned into him. "I am glad it is /here /we have spoken of it for the first time," she said. "I am glad it is /here /you have told me you love me. I will always, always love this place, Elliott. It will become sacred ground." "Not too sacred, I hope," he said. "It has just occurred to me that it has not rained for several days and that the ground will be dry. And this is a secluded spot. No one ever comes here." "Except us," she said. "Except us." And the gardeners who prevented this part of the park from becoming too overgrown and wild. But all the gardeners were busy with their scythes today, cutting the grass of the large lawn before the house.
He took off his coat and spread it on the ground among the bluebells, perhaps in the very same spot where they had lain among the daffodils during their honeymoon.
And they lay down among the blooms and made quick and lusty and thoroughly satisfying love.
They were both panting when they had finished, and they both smiled when he lifted his head to look down at her. "I suppose," he said, "I am going to have to pay for this. You are going to make me gather an armful of blue-bells for the house, are you not?" "Oh, more than an armful," she said. "/Both /arms must be laden and full and overflowing. There has to be a vase of bluebells for every room in the house." "Heaven help us," he said. "It is a mansion. The last time I tried counting the rooms, I found I could not count that high." She laughed. "We had better not waste any more time, then," she said.
He got to his feet, adjusted his clothing, and reached down a hand for hers. She clasped it and he drew her up and into his arms. They hugged each other for several wordless moments, but not for too long.
There were flowers to be gathered. The house was to overflow with them.
Their /lives /were to be brimful and overflowing, he suspected - and always would be.
What else could a man expect when he was married to Vanessa?
He grinned at her and set to work.