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‘But you love them. That is why they are fascinating. It is the way that you see them that’s extraordinary.’
‘Beatrice...’
‘Philip, thank you for showing me this.’
‘I did not know how else to say... Except to say... I love you. I love you, and I am very sorry that I could not say it when you needed me to. Of the two of us, you are the stronger.’
Her chest burned. With joy. The satisfaction. With love.
‘It is my joy to be a warrior for you.’
‘I do not deserve you.’
‘If there’s one thing that I learned from being ill, it is that life is a gift. It is not about what you deserve or don’t deserve. Bad things happen. The glorious things too. And what if we had not stumbled into each other’s arms by the fire? That was a gift.’
‘We both fought very hard to become something we were not in the end.’
‘Did we?’
‘Yes. You to become James’s wife. Me to become Briggs. I think I will let the rest of the world continue to call me that. But as for you... I will be Philip. Only for you.’
‘And I am Beatrice. And it makes me happy.’
‘You are mine,’ he said. ‘And I care for what is mine.’
‘I know you do.’
‘I have some sweets for you.’
‘Why do I feel as if I’m being tempted?’
‘Because. You are. Now my darling wife... I feel that you should adequately show your love for me.’
‘Of course, Your Grace.’ She looked up at him, and their eyes met. ‘Philip.’
Epilogue
There never was a man more frightened of his wife giving birth than the Duke of Brigham. Though perhaps her brother nearly matched him for anxiety. And when his daughter came into the world, with a healthy set of lungs, screaming, he could only give thanks that his wife’s lungs seemed just as healthy.
The pregnancy had gone well. And the doctor said the labour was one of the easier he had ever seen.
It was true each time his Duchess gave birth. One thing he marvelled at was how different his children were, one from the other. And yet, he did not love any of them less.
William, for his part, proved to be a good big brother, though he did sometimes resent his siblings getting into his things, most particularly his cards.
The last of their children came when William was seventeen.
‘I shall not like to be responsible for caring for this child when it cries,’ William said.
He had just graduated first from Oxford. A brilliant mind. He had never been the most popular at school, but the friends he did have were true indeed.
‘Do not worry, William. You will benefit from the practice,’ Beatrice said, patting him on the head. ‘After all, you will be a father one day.’
‘I shall need to travel more first,’ William said. ‘I have a plan to visit every country and territory.’
Beatrice smiled, if a bit sadly. ‘I have no doubt you will. But I will very much look forward to your return.’
‘You do not have to worry, Mother,’ William said. ‘I will always come back home.’
