Page 87

Beatrice closed her eyes. “Tired, but blissfully happy.”

“BeBe, are you certain you should travel to Hefferwickshire House at the end of November?” Worry creased the corners of Cassius’s indigo eyes. “Your lying-in period will scarcely have ended, and I don’t want you overtaxed.”

“Cassius Westbrook, don’t you know by now, I am not a fragile flower?” Her loving smile belied her mock sternness.

“No, you, my love, are a canna lily. Resilient and strong, and incredibly beautiful.” He chuckled and pulled her near to kiss her temple. “I suppose we must go. Grandmama did beckon.”

“And Layton and Lilly are expecting their first child,” she said.

Now that was a romantic tale of its own.

As Beatrice and Cassius passed the drawing room, she glimpsed her portrait hanging above the fireplace.

A confident, poised woman gazed back at her.

How had Cassius captured those elements when Beatrice hadn’t been the least bit confident or poised at the time?

She paused, and Cassius followed her gaze.

“I knew you would be a marvel on canvas,” he said, as though reading her mind.

Beatrice rolled her eyes, adoring how much he cherished her. “Your love makes you biased.”

“Your modesty, dear wife, becomes you, but the British Institution does not award five hundred pounds for excellence in art unless the piece is truly exceptional, especially considering my submission wasn’t a history or a landscape painting.”

They continued on their way.

How very different this house had become, now that love and laughter filled it.

She rested her head against her husband’s shoulder, loving him so much, her heart overflowed.

“I’m so glad you accepted the commission to paint me, Cassius. We might never have met otherwise.”

“I believe we would have met another way, my love.” Cassius turned her into his embrace. “We were destined to be together.”

He lowered his mouth to hers, and Beatrice gave herself over to the joy and bliss of his kiss.