Three Years Later

Callum

Summer had transformed Ashvale.

The roses climbing the south wall had reached nearly to the second-story windows, the gardens were bursting with color, and beyond them, the lake shimmered beneath an endless blue sky.

It was difficult to believe there had ever been a time when Callum could look across that same stretch of water and feel only distance.

Now it reflected laughter.

The sound drifted easily across the lawn.

Louis barked once—more out of habit than necessity—before lumbering after Nathaniel with considerably less dignity than the Great Dane believed himself to possess.

“Faster, Louis!”

“I assure you,” Callum murmured, “he is doing his best.”

Nathaniel glanced over one shoulder. “At his age, his best is rather slow.”

Louis responded with obvious offense by increasing his pace just enough to prove the point.

Callum laughed.

Nathaniel had grown nearly a foot since arriving at Ashvale three years earlier carrying little more than a few belongings and far more sorrow than any child should have known.

At ten years old, he had become all elbows and knees, forever outgrowing his boots, with an appetite Mrs. MacDonagh insisted would one day bankrupt the estate.

And yet, beneath all that growing, Callum could still catch glimpses of the solemn little boy who had clutched a wooden train as though it were the only thing left in the world. The toy now occupied a place of honor on a shelf in Nathaniel’s room, but whenever he found himself wrestling with a particularly difficult problem, one of its little carriages would inevitably find its way into his hands.

Callum smiled to himself.

A burst of laughter drew his attention toward the terrace, where Nicholas hovered so attentively about Isabella that one might have thought she was fashioned from the finest porcelain rather than carrying their first child.

“Nicholas,” Isabella said with long-practiced patience as he relieved her of a glass of lemonade before she had managed more than a single sip, “I am perfectly capable of carrying this myself.”

“I know.”

“Then why have you taken it?”

“Because you ought not to be carrying anything unnecessarily.”

Isabella rolled her eyes toward the heavens.

“If he continues in this fashion,” Mrs. Neville observed with quiet amusement, “he shall insist upon breathing on your behalf before the summer is through.”

Laughter rippled through the garden.

Nicholas accepted the teasing with surprising dignity. “I merely prefer to err on the side of caution.”

“You have been erring on the side of caution for the better part of six months,” Isabella replied.

“And I shall continue to do so.”

Callum shook his head, smiling as Isabella slipped her hand through her husband’s arm despite her obvious exasperation.

Some things, it seemed, were universal.

Across the lawn, Ophelia’s laughter carried on the summer breeze.

His attention drifted instinctively toward her.

It still surprised him, after all these years, how naturally his eyes sought her in every room they entered.

Beneath the shade of the great oak stood Ophelia, smiling down at the smallest member of their family.

Emmanuel was nearly one now. He had Ophelia’s riot of copper curls, Callum’s brown eyes, and enough curiosity to keep the entire household perpetually on alert. At present, he had decided Louis would make an excellent horse and was attempting to climb onto the Great Dane’s broad back with all the confidence of someone who had never once considered the possibility of failure.

“Nathaniel!” Ophelia called. “Would you—”

“I’ve already got him!” Nathaniel scooped Emmanuel up before the child could complete his ambitious expedition. “I know exactly what he wants.”

Callum raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Nathaniel grinned. “He wants a horse.”

“He most certainly does not,” Ophelia replied.

“He absolutely does.”

Before anyone could object further, Nathaniel settled the giggling child carefully onto his shoulders.

Emmanuel squealed with delight.

Louis, deciding this looked tremendously unfair, wandered over to investigate.

Within moments, one enthusiastic Great Dane, one gangly ten-year-old, and one delighted baby had become hopelessly tangled together on the grass.

Callum folded his arms. “I believe this will end badly.”

“I believe,” Ophelia said, smiling despite herself, “it already has.”

As though summoned by the prediction, two familiar voices spoke at once.

“Master Nathaniel!”

Mrs. Neville and Mrs. MacDonagh descended upon the scene with astonishing coordination.

“Nana,” Nathaniel protested as his grandmother relieved him of Emmanuel with all the solemnity of someone rescuing the future of England itself, “I wasn’t going to drop him.”

“I know,” Mrs. Neville replied. “That does not mean you ought to balance him upon your shoulders.”

Mrs. MacDonagh folded her arms. “And what possessed you to think this was sensible?”

Nathaniel looked genuinely puzzled. “Because he laughed.”

Emmanuel immediately proved the point by reaching both hands toward Nathaniel with an indignant squeal.

“There now,” Mrs. MacDonagh muttered, surrendering before anyone else had. “He’s perfectly content.”

“I told you.”

“You were still foolish.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Nathaniel sighed with theatrical resignation. “I shall endeavor to be less foolish.”

“Splendid.”

He accepted Emmanuel back into his arms the moment permission was silently granted, holding his little cousin with a care that never failed to move Callum.

Nathaniel had loved the child from the instant Ophelia placed him in his arms.

Not with jealousy or uncertainty.

Simply with the wholehearted devotion only children seemed capable of.

Callum felt Ophelia slip her hand into his. Neither of them spoke for a while. They simply watched.

At length, she rested her head lightly against his shoulder. “You’re smiling.”

“Am I?”

“You have been for some time.”

He smiled a little wider. “I was just thinking how strange it is.”

“What is?”

His gaze followed Emmanuel as the child reached determinedly for Louis’s ears while Nathaniel patiently redirected both tiny hands toward the dog’s collar.

“Before I ever met you, it seemed every conversation with Mr. Whitmore ended with the same reminder. Produce an heir or lose Ashvale.” He smiled faintly. “Then we married, Nathaniel came into our lives, and somewhere along the way I stopped thinking about it altogether. It wasn’t until you told me you were expecting Emmanuel that I remembered the stipulation existed.”

Ophelia looked up at him, her expression softening.

“Though,” he added, “I did remember long enough to amend my will.”

Ophelia tilted her head. “Your will?”

“Emmanuel will inherit Ashvale one day, just as everyone expects.” His gaze settled on Nathaniel, who was patiently rescuing Louis from Emmanuel’s determined affection. “But I’ve made certain Nathaniel’s future is every bit as secure. He’ll never have cause to question whether he belongs here. Nor whether he’s loved any less.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“No,” Callum said quietly. “I wanted to.”

His gaze drifted back to the lawn where Nathaniel had finally succeeded in convincing Emmanuel that Louis was, in fact, a horse.

“They’re both my sons, Ophelia.” His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful. “I’ve never seen them any other way.”

She slipped her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder once more. “I rather think Mr. Whitmore would be delighted to hear that.”

Callum smiled. “So would I.”

They stood together in comfortable silence, watching Emmanuel shriek with delight as Louis resigned himself to being an unwilling steed while Nathaniel trotted proudly beside him.

After a while, Ophelia drew a slow breath. “There’s something I’ve never told you.”

Callum looked down at her.

“Some months ago, I received a letter from Evelina.”

The words settled heavily between them.

“She wrote from the asylum,” Ophelia continued. “She asked for my forgiveness.”

Callum’s brow furrowed. “I don’t remember hearing about this.”

“Because I never told you.” Her fingers absently traced the back of his hand. “I answered her instead.”

He turned toward her, surprise plain upon his face. “More than once?”

She nodded. “She was… very different from the woman we knew. Broken, I think.” Her gaze drifted toward the boys on the lawn. “I forgave her, Callum. Not because what she did deserved forgiveness, but because I no longer wished to carry it with me. I asked only one thing of her.”

“What was that?”

“That she leave our family in peace. That she let go of the life she’d imagined and allow us to live ours.”

“And she agreed?”

“She did.”

Callum was quiet for several moments. “I don’t know that I could have done the same.”

Ophelia offered him a small smile. “Perhaps not.”

There was neither reproach nor triumph in her voice. Only gentle understanding. “Forgiving her didn’t erase what happened,” she said. “Nor did it excuse it. But anger had become another burden I no longer wished to carry. She has already lost everything. I saw no reason to lose a part of myself as well.”

Callum studied her in silence.

Time had changed so much since the day she first crossed the lake and walked into his life. It had brought disappointment, betrayal, and heartache enough to leave lasting scars. Yet none of it had stolen the quality that had captivated him from the very beginning. Ophelia’s kindness had never been born of naïveté. It had survived every trial placed before it, becoming quieter perhaps, wiser certainly, but no less generous.

He reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers once more.

“Do you remember the day I crossed the lake?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

“I told myself I was only making certain you were well.” A quiet laugh escaped him. “I spent a very long time pretending that was the only reason.”

“I know.”

His gaze drifted across the water, now bright beneath the summer sun. “I’m very glad I crossed it in the end.” He looked back at her. “I cannot imagine what my life would have been had I left that lake standing between us. I would never have known the truest part of you.”

Her smile softened. “You know,” she said quietly, “my heart crossed that lake long before you did.”

He felt his own catch.

“It has belonged to you for a very long time, Callum.”

He lifted her hand and pressed a lingering kiss against her knuckles. “Then I shall spend the rest of my life guarding it better than I did when you first arrived.”

She rose onto her toes and kissed him. “You’ve been doing rather well these last few years.”

THE END