Page 133 of The Pumpkin Bride

“I won’t,” she promised. “Ever.”

This moment, this life with Bram—it had always felt inevitable. Even in the most impossible moments, like death. But even that could not stop them. Look at him over there, beaming at her like she was the sun and the moon wrapped together. The way her cheeks hurt, she must’ve been wearing the same smile. She’d felt married to him since . . . forever, really. Tonight was about declaring it in public so that everyone else knew how they felt about each other.

She squeezed her father’s arm. “I’m ready, Papa.”

With that, Marigold took the first step into the next chapter of her life.

Chapter 40

“Good morning, Mrs. Duncan.” Bram kissed her nape as he curled his body around hers.

“It is not morning, Sir Duncan. Outside is still pitch.” She twisted in his arms and kissed him back. “For the record, it’s bullshit that husbands don’t take their wife’s rank.”

“But it doesn’t matter, since you’ve decided to step back from royal service.”

“I’d hardly call it stepping back, since I never really stepped forward.” She stretched and rolled her back. “I can’t believe how late my family stayed last evening.”

“I can,” he said. “Country parties are more fun than courtly ones.”

“My father certainly enjoyed your orc cider.”

“Your brother, too. I’m sure they’ll need willow bark this morning. Elenor will look after them at the inn. I’m sure they’re happier there.” He kissed her shoulder. “Brambleton Castle must be awkward as ass right now. I wouldn’t want to go within a hectare of the place.”

“Although you can now, if you want.”

“Thanks to you.” He kissed her.

“Thanks to us.”

“To us.” She tucked his hair behind his ear.

Outside, Barnaby shrieked.

Marigold giggled. “Does he ever crow at dawn?”

“Not once.”

“We’d best start the day.” She flipped back the covers. “I’ll do the chickens, you milk Queen?”

“Deal,” he said.

As they descended the steps, a full Grimroot Farm breakfast awaited them—pumpkin-apple oatmeal, eggs scrambled with herbs, fresh cranberry scones and butter, and a fragrant tisane of ginger and honey.

“Hello?” Bram called. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, kids.” The autumn sprite fluttered around their house.

“How long have you been here?” Marigold asked.

“D’you want the truth or . . .” The sprite flapped a hand. “Let’s say I got here an hour ago and sure didn’t hear anything happening upstairs. Once dawn breaks, I slumber, and I still needed to give you a gift. Morning chores are done, along with the cleanup from yesterday, and breakfast is on the table. Thought you two could use a lazy morning.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” Marigold said.

“’Tis my fault you had a three-year pause.”

“I hope you understand you didn’t do that of your own free will,” Bram said.

“I suppose you’re right, but it’ll take me a second to wrap my brain around it, though.” He peered through the window. “Almost time. Okay if I pop by when I’m back?”