Rannulf turned and wrapped his arms gently about the old lady. “Grandmama,” he said.
“You have made me very, very happy today, Rannulf,” she said.
He grinned at her. Having her grandchildren about her during the past month appeared to have done her health some good. Though one never quite knew with her, of course. Her health was one topic she would never discuss.
“I am happy too,” he said.
“I know.” She tapped him on the arm. “That is why I am happy.”
Finally the opportunity came to have a private moment with Judith. They would spend their wedding night at the dower house, which had been opened up, cleaned, and prepared for the occasion. But most of the rest of the day would be spent at Grandmaison with their families. It was a stolen moment, then, in the middle of the afternoon, when they slipped outside together and strolled to the rose arbor. It was not as laden with blooms as it had been earlier in the summer, but even now it was a secluded and lovely area, its terraces bathed in late-afternoon sunshine, the stream gurgling over the stones in its bed.
They sat down together on the very bench where Judith had sat that first time she came to Grandmaison, the day when he first offered her marriage. He laced his fingers with hers.
“At the risk of sounding callous,” he said, “I am glad it rained that day and that neither your coachman nor I heeded the warnings not to travel onward. I am glad the coach overturned in the ditch. How different our lives would be today if those things had not happened.”
“And if I had said no when you offered me a ride,” she said. “It was on the tip of my tongue to say so. I had never done anything nearly so improper before. But I decided to steal a little dream for myself and it has turned into the dream of the rest of my life. Rannulf, I love you so very, very dearly. I wish there were words adequate for the feeling.”
“There are not,” he said, lifting their hands and kissing the back of hers. “Even when we make love tonight, it will not adequately express love itself, will it? That has been the great surprise of the last couple of months—that love is not entirely physical or mental or even emotional. It is larger than any of those things. It is the very essence of life itself, is it not? That great inexpressible mystery that we can best grasp through the discovery of a beloved. Rescue me here, Judith. Am I spouting nonsense?”
“No.” She laughed. “I understand you perfectly.”
Her head tipped down then and the fingers of her free hand played along the back of his.
“Rannulf? Do you remember when we were up in the hills at home six weeks ago and you said that you almost wished it were true?”
“About...” He gazed at the shining curls at the back of her head, his mouth turning dry.
“It is true,” she said softly, and lifted her head to look into his eyes. “I am with child. At least, I am almost certain I must be.”
He stared at her, transfixed.
“Do you mind dreadfully?” she asked him.
He bent to her then, releasing her hand so that he could place his arm about her shoulders, sliding the other beneath her knees and swinging her up into his arms as he stood. He twirled her once about.
“I am going to be a father ,” he told the blue sky above them, tipping back his head. “We are going to have a child .”
He whooped loudly and then bent his face to hers. She was bright-eyed and laughing.
“I think,” she said, “you do not mind dreadfully.”
“Judith,” he said, his lips touching hers. “My wife, my love, my heart. Am I spouting nonsense again?”
“Probably,” she said, still laughing and twining both arms about his neck. “But there is only me to hear.
Spout more of it.”
But how could he? She was kissing him hard.