Two months later
Morgan ran her finger along the edge of the message from Eloise, smiling. Seemed she had grown quite fond of one Lord Rockafetch. Morgan stole a glance across the table at her beautiful husband, who sat reading his own messages for the day, a similar smile on his face.
“Let me guess,” she said.
He looked up.
“That is from Henry?”
Edward nodded and then waved her over. She stood and walked around the table. He pulled her into his lap, playfully nipping her earlobe. “Seems the self-proclaimed bachelor has met his match in your lovely friend.”
Morgan giggled. “It would appear that way, my lord.”
Edward cradled her in his arms, his low chuckle vibrating off his chest like lapping waves on a shore. She would never forget how badly she had wanted to hear and witness this man’s joy—only a short time ago. Back when he was the teacher in her aunt’s ballroom.
Since then, her husband had shown her how many layers he truly did possess, and how much love he could give. They had come so far, grown so much, and fallen so completely in love. Morgan smiled, growing reflective. So much transpired after the day the Earl of Wellington walked into her life.
They had lost so much on the day Richard was stolen from them. He was laid to rest in the cemetery outside Westingham castle, his home, and the resting place of many of the Kingston’s ancient bloodline. The Queen had attended, and the country had wept for the loss of one so loved as Richard Kingston, Duke of York.
Morgan’s mind wandered further back, to the day after the attack. Perkin had ridden straight to Greenshire castle to inform Greyland and Alexander, while Edward had obsessively poured over documents from his father’s safe. Sometime in the middle of the night he had come to her, and unburdened the secret he was now honor-bound to keep.
The Queen was expecting a child. The news was earth shattering for Edward. But moreover, had been the knowledge that he must hide the secret from his brother. Morgan talked with him until the wee hours. Afterwards, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. When they woke the next morning it felt as if the burden was somewhat lifted for her husband.
A new understanding had grown in the two of them, an awareness that was solid and strong, unwavering and safe. Since that night, Edward told her every fear, every dream, every hope he had. Although some of it was hard to stomach, she knew he must purge it all.
He had repressed so much, and unknowingly, she had been doing the same. She told him everything that happened with Roderick, and every cautious step she had taken…along with the few rebellious ones. The only topic Morgan did not ask about, and he did not offer, was the words she heard him speak to Perkin, Alex, and Greyland after the funeral.
Morgan was passing the study, where the four had been holed up all morning hashing out the last details regarding the inheritance. Morgan decided not to interrupt them and continued down the hall, but not before she heard two distinct words; Albus Draco.
She remembered enough of her Latin to translate the words quickly into White Dragon. Morgan thought it odd at the time, but did not inquire as to the meaning. If it was something Edward someday felt he needed to share, it would be his choice.
Roderick had been taken into custody at The Tower of London the day after the attack. Her mother was granted permission for a divorce by The Queen, and was currently residing with her aunt in London. Lord Melbrooke had not been seen or heard from. It was rumored he sought passage to America. Lastly, they were assured that an investigation into Davenport was underway. It seemed all wrongs were being set right.
As far as Morgan’s new family was concerned, they drew in even closer, finding strength in the tight family unit and comfort within each other’s presence. It was everything she had ever wanted, and everything she would die for to defend. These were her people. This was where she belonged.
The only one who was not faring well was Perkin. He hid his pain skillfully, but Morgan was more perceptive than most. Her brother-in-law was deeply affected by the loss of his father.
She could tell by subtle things. Such as the way his eyes would grow despondent when he thought no one was watching, but never to a depth that would give himself away. He could reengage at a moment’s notice in conversation, his brilliant mind masking the hurt that chewed at him from the inside.
This worried Morgan most because it could not be healthy. He was not allowing himself to grieve. Instead, Perkin was fighting to shoulder this weight all by himself, diving into his work with parliament, affecting the image that he was still the world’s ever-present shining example of a rock. When the truth was, it was all an act. One Morgan was sure he could not maintain forever.
The only other person who seemed to understand this was Dalton. He stayed glued to Perkin’s side, never giving away his best friends secret and ever watchful of him. He remained the one constant pillar in her bother-in-laws life. And for that, Dalton had Morgan’s undying gratification.
Edward pulled her from her musings by kissing her neck softly. She turned to butter in his hands, as she always had done. The man truly was a master at seduction, but that was no new revelation. Edward Kingston was a master at most things, and he had taught her so much.
He led her into a life she never imagined she could have, guiding her from his vast experience and teaching her what it meant to be truly loved. In turn, she had followed him into the pits of hell, fighting tooth and nail beside him and proving to him that true love could indeed, conquer all.
They were each other’s compass. One another’s careful and steady guidance. Both of them weathering life’s storms and emerging stronger when the clouds did lift. Because of each other. Because of love… and scars.
Edward brushed back a strand of her hair, which she always kept loose now, and whispered in her ear the words that started their journey together.
“Shall we dance?”