A Masquerade in the Moonlight

EPILOGUE

AN ETERNAL

FLAME

It matters not what you are thought to be, but what you are.

— Publicus Syrus


Love is not in our choice, but in our fate.

— John Dryden

PHILADELPHIA

1811

“Oh, Thomas—isn’t the night beautiful?”

Marguerite twirled round and round on the gently rolling hillside of the estate they had rechristened Little Chertsey, holding out her colorful Gypsy skirts, her bare feet skimming over the dew-wet grass as she danced in the moonlight, just as she had on her wedding day a full year earlier, feeling free and unfettered, and very, very loved.

She collapsed, laughing, onto her knees on the blanket as Thomas applauded her efforts, then lay on her back, her breasts heaving as she tried to catch her breath.

“Hoyden,” Thomas scolded teasingly, leaning over her, his hand resting lightly on her still flat belly, the sleeve of his snowy white Gypsy shirt visible in the moonlight. “You’ll have to put an end to this sort of romping once our baby is born.”

She shook her head, loving the feeling of her unbound hair as it pressed against her cheeks. She was soon to be a mother! The thought was exhilarating, and humbling at the same time. There was so much to teach a child, so much to learn from that child. “No, I won’t. We’ll just bring him up here with us, to dance and sing and lie on our backs while we watch the stars.”

“And look for the body of the man in the moon?” Thomas asked, beginning to nuzzle her throat, his warm breath tickling her so that she giggled again.

“Possibly, Thomas,” she answered, slipping her arms up and around his shoulders. “Grandfather and Finch will tell him about England and our home in Chertsey, Paddy will stuff him full of tales about Ireland and leprechauns, but we two will be the ones to bring him up here and tell him all about the man who lives in the moon.”

“What will we say, aingeal?”

Marguerite sighed, pulling his head down so that it rested against her breast. “Ah, Donovan,” she said, using his name as an endearment, “we’ll tell him to look for the obvious, yes, but also for that which is concealed. We’ll teach him to look carefully, look deeply, to see the goodness, and the flaws as well. And then—”

“Ah, indeed, sweetheart,” Thomas interrupted, raising his head once more, and gazing deeply, lovingly, into her eyes. “And then?”

“And then, my darling husband,” she answered solemnly, “we will teach him how to look again, through the eyes of love. As you were so intelligent to do when we first met. As we both do now. Isn’t that right?”

Thomas smiled, gently stroking her cheek so that she shivered deliciously, savoring his closeness, faintly shocked that, after all this time, he could still arouse her so easily. And then he kissed her, and she gave herself up to the night, and the moon, and the man who would hold her heart into eternity.

~~ The End ~~