December 1823
The cold of winter was kept at bay by a roaring fire in the main hall of Falder.
Ruby sat to one side of Asher and in his lap their eight-month-old son slumbered, his soft breathing making Emerald smile.
‘Play us another one, sweetheart,’ Asher said as Emerald took the harmonica from her lips. ‘It keeps Ashton quiet.’
Curling her fingers around the small instrument, she looked around. Lucinda and Rodney were ensconced in the corner and Miriam and Alice and Annabelle sat further over with tapestries on their knees, Azziz, Toro and Taris laughing behind them.
Her world.
Her world with Asher.
Full. Complete. Perfect.
She fingered the rich satin of her dress and her eyes caught the portrait above the fireplace. The portrait done last month by one of the painters now fashionable in society.
Emerald Wellingham, the Duchess of Carisbrook.
Asher had instructed the artist to draw the Nautilus dancing on the ocean, the rolling green hills of Falder behind and the peninsula of Return Home Bay.
And if she looked carefully she could see in the distance the outline of a ship that looked a lot like the Mariposa, a man and a woman and a young boy on the quarterdeck holding hands and smiling.
Tradition and the sweet fullness of family. The past bound finally into the present.
With love.