I feel nimble and lissome and energetic—like I could climb a mountain.
Like I could fly if I wanted to.
I look down at myself and realize I’m not wearing the nightdress and robe I went to sleep in. They’ve been replaced by a pale yellow party dress, with ribbons tied at my shoulders, a lovely silk bodice that cinches at the waist and hugs my breasts, and a shimmering skirt poufed up with layers of crinoline that falls to my knees.
It’s an exquisite dress . . . a young woman’s dress.
My gaze drifts over my bare arms. The firm glowing skin, without a hint of age spots or wrinkles. Carefully, I run a hand over my hair—it’s wavy and long, pulled back on the sides with a clasp in the back in Edward’s favorite style. I grasp the ends with my fingers—mesmerized by the shiny, dark strands—not a hint of gray to be found.
“My goodness, look at me.”
Edward’s voice is devilishly suggestive.
“Oh, I’m looking, believe me. I can’t take my eyes off you.”
I turn my hands this way and that—amazed at their smoothness and dexterity.
“Am I dreaming, Edward?”
“No,” he answers softly. “You’re not dreaming, sweetheart.”
I lift my gaze to his.
“This is real? You’re here and I’m here? And it’s all real? Truly?”
His smile is so tender, so all-encompassingly loving, it takes my breath away.
“Come here, Lenora, and I’ll show you just how real it is.”
I rise from the bed on steady legs. We gaze at each other for a moment, and then I’m moving to him—flinging myself at him. He catches me in his strong, perfect arms, laughing, and spinning us in a circle.
Tears of sweetest joy and relief spring into my eyes.
“You’re here! You’re really here!”
“I’m here, Lenora,” he croons. “Right here with you, my lovely girl.”
He sets me on my feet, dipping his head to kiss my forehead and then each closed eyelid, my nose, my cheeks—his breath a feather-light brush along my skin. Then Edward presses his lips to mine, deeply and passionately, his hands grasping my lower back, pulling me to him and molding our bodies together.
His tongue is wet and warm, the press of his mouth hungry and decadent.
I sigh against his lips. “I want to kiss you forever.”
A chuckle vibrates in his throat. “I can arrange that—and it definitely won’t just be kissing.”
I tilt my head back, laughing. “How I’ve missed you. I know you were with me, but it wasn’t the same—it wasn’t this. I’ve missed you so much.”
“And I’ve missed you.” He kisses me again, with an urgency that makes my heart gallop and my head swim. “But we’re together now—and we’ll never be parted again.”
“Yes, yes,” I whisper. “Never again.”
I run my palms along the swells of his arms, his broad, solid shoulders, combing my fingers through his thick hair. My love, my life.
And then we’re kissing again—with the fervency of true love in its first, full bloom.
A needy groan rumbles from Edward’s chest. And oh . . . I’ve missed that sound too.
Several moments later, our kisses slow, and we stand breathing against one another, holding each other—Edward’s lips resting against my brow.
“What happens now?” I ask him.
“Now, we move on. To our next adventure. Beyond the palace.”
“Beyond the palace,” I breathe out. “What wondrous words.”
“They’re all waiting for us,” Edward tells me, caressing my hair. “Your mother and father and your sister Miriam, my brother Thomas and Michael, and dear old Alfie. Evangeline is waiting for you there, and Calista and Thomas.”
I close my eyes, feeling the bliss of it. I have waited so long for them. Yearned for my children so deeply, there aren’t words to describe it.
Edward kisses my hand and moves toward the door. But I tug him back, turning to the window.
“Wait. I want to look at them one last time.”
We walk to the window and push the curtain aside, gazing down into the garden where our grandchildren and great-grandchildren are enjoying the sweet air of the sunlit afternoon. Nicholas stands with his arm draped leisurely across his wife, Olivia’s, shoulders. They watch their daughter, Lilliana, performing a dance she just made up, while her twin brother, Langdon, sits reading against a tree trunk and his little brother, Theo, climbs in the branches above him. Olivia’s sister, Ellie, stands beside her husband, Logan, as he holds their smallest boy, and their other children, Finn, Declan, and Elizabeth, run about. Henry kicks a ball to his son, Edward, while his young daughters, Maggie and Isabel, chase each other in a game of tag nearby.
We watch them all for a time, until I say, “They’re going to be just fine without us now, aren’t they?”
“Oh yes,” Edward promises. “They’re going to be outstanding.”
Just then, feisty little Jane, Henry’s firstborn and heir to the throne now—though they don’t yet know it—stops in her tracks. And peers up at the window.