Epilogue
About Two Months Later
On her new husband’s arm, Abigail walked into his−their!−townhouse, greeting family and friends as they welcomed them to their home. Smiling, she saw Winifred and her husband Trent, her friend’s eyes aglow with delight to see her brother happily married. Aunt Mara seemed quite changed as well. Although she still stood back, far from the spotlight, her eyes no longer shone with sadness, but with joy, with hope, as she bent down to whisper something into her granddaughter’s ear. And then there was Abigail’s grandfather.
After their talk about past mistakes and the burden of time passing, there had been a silent understanding between them. Although he still appeared the cold, distant duke−and very much enjoyed the effect he had on others!−Abigail knew that he loved her. He had never said it. Not with words. His love for her was in the little things he did. The way he noticed her, saw her joy and all but pushed her toward it, afraid she would miss out and live a life of regret.
A life he knew only too well.
“Are you happy?” her husband asked, his voice low so only she would hear.
Abigail sighed, “I am.”
For a moment, his gaze lingered on hers, taking in the small creases on her forehead, the downcast lids and bent of her head. “You wish your father were here, do you not?”
Abigail smiled. “As do you.”
Griffin nodded, the same touch of sadness and regret in his gaze that Abigail felt in her own heart. “I do,” he confirmed, “and I’ll never not regret that they are not. Still, I cannot help but wonder if we would even have met, had they not been taken from us.”
Taking her seat at the large breakfast table, surrounded by the people she loved the most, Abigail knew that he was right. Would she ever have come to London if her father had not died?
Abigail was certain that the answer was, no. She would never have gotten to know her grandfather and her aunt. She would never have met Griffin. She would never have fallen for him.
Good and bad did walk hand in hand, it would seem. No one could help that. Tears and smiles could never be without the other for how would we know the meaning of a smile if we had never learnt that of a tear?
Smiling at her husband, Abigail knew that she did not regret her past for it had led her here. Still, she could regret her father’s passing without guilt over the happiness she had found in life. After all, he would have wanted this for her.
Not all regrets were dangerous.
Only those that were self-inflicted.
Others were merely memories.
Memories Abigail would cherish for the rest of her life.
The End
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