"I shudder to think." He looked at her. "Of course, I'll need to beget them first."
He drew her nearer, one arm sliding around her waist, then his hand spread, warm and alive, over her hip, urging her back against him. The gravel path ended in an arbor framed by a bed of rioting peonies. They halted. Holding her before him, he bent his head; his lips touched, tracing lightly, laying a line of heat from temple to ear, then down the curve of her throat to where her pulse beat hotly.
"How many children would you like?" Her whisper was a little shaky.
"A dozen would be nice." He murmured the words against her throat, then turned her and brushed her lips. "But at least one boy and one girl, I think."
Phyllida settled in his arms and lightly kissed him back. "At least."
He stood with his arms loosely about her, their bodies just touching. There was honeysuckle close; the perfume drifted over them, subtly tempting. The same scent wreathed their bed. His palms moved, just a little, on her back. He looked into her face. "Have I told you the story about this garden?"
Night was falling, slowly closing about them, gently creeping over the land.
"Story?" Enough light remained for them to see each other's face, and the expression in each other's eyes.
"When I first came here, the garden caught me." He looked around. "Even before I'd gone into the house, I stopped and stared. Then I realized it was Martha's garden."
"Martha-Horatio's wife?"
"Yes. This is a copy of the garden she designed and grew beside their house overlooking Lake Windemere."
"Horatio re-created it here?"
"Yes, and that truly puzzled me. That first day, before I went inside, I felt as if Martha was trying to tell me something. Later, I thought it must have been some presentiment that Horatio was dead. Later yet, I realized it wasn't that at all."
Lucifer returned his gaze to Phyllida's face. "It was Martha who always created things-as women do. She created the atmosphere that filled their house, created the garden that surrounded it. Horatio knew nothing about gardening-I can still see them walking arm in arm down the paths with Martha showing him this and that. The garden in many ways personified Martha and, even more, the love she bore Horatio. The garden was part of her expression of that love, a permanent and public declaration. That's what I felt-still feel-in this garden.
"I said I was puzzled to find it here. I knew Horatio left the house at Lake Windemere because he couldn't bear the memories of Martha all around him. It was too painful. Yet here was Martha's garden, now Horatio's garden. Why?
"It took a while to work it out, but there's only one explanation that fits." His lips twisted wryly; he looked into Phyllida's eyes. "And I now know what Martha was trying to metaphysically jog my elbow about that first day."
"What?"
"You. Not just you, but the possibility of what we could share. Martha was trying to tell me to open my eyes so I wouldn't miss it."
He glanced around again; his arms tightened as he brought his gaze back to her face. "Horatio re-created Martha's garden because he realized, as I now do, that you can't turn aside from love. You can't choose to love-it doesn't work like that-but once you do love, you love forever. You can't move counties and leave it behind; it stays with you, in your heart, your mind-it becomes a part of your soul. Horatio re-created the garden for the same reason Martha created it in the first place-as an expression of his love for her and recognition of her love for him. Martha was still with Horatio when he died-I know that as definitely as I stand here with you. They're still here, both of them, memories living within this garden. Their love, shared love, created it; while it lives, their love lives, too."
His lips twisted again, this time in self-deprecation. "For all that we-the men in my family-try to avoid love, for the best and most logical of reasons, when it strikes, there's not one of us, not through all the generations, who has turned his back and walked away. For us, not walking away is harder, more frightening, than fighting any battle, but if there's one thing I've learned from my family, it's that surrendering to love, to the demands of love, is the only road to real happiness.
"While I've seen love in action in my family, I've learned a great deal from Horatio and Martha. Love simply is-it asks no permissions. Acceptance is all love asks, the only demand it makes, but it is an absolute one. You can either admit it to your heart or refuse it, but there's no other option."
For a long moment, he studied her dark eyes, wide and lustrous. "You wondered what love was, what it was like-it's surrounded you for the past week. Have you felt it?"
"Yes." Her lips softened; her eyes searched his. "It's a frightening, sometimes scarifying reality, but so wonderful and glowing, so vital." She drew a shaky breath.
He bent his head and drew it from her. "Have you made your decision-whether to accept love or not?"
He whispered the question against her lips. They curved gently. "You know I have."
He kissed her again, gentle and easy. "When the time comes, I'll ask and you can tell me."
"Why not now?"
"It's not the right time."
When Phyllida surfaced from the next kiss, she managed to breathe, "When will be the right time?"
"Soon."