Jacob’s “powers” had been refuted, too, and the slow transformation back into just a silent little boy had been started.
Mrs. Parsifal, encouraged by Theresa, had acted surprised that anyone had “misinterpreted” her tying of Jacob’s visit and her windfall together. How strange people were, she was heard to say. As if a little boy could affect fate in such a way. Why, her kinsman had been dead for months and the will written long before that; no magic charm had brought her the money.
Mr. Gudge, resplendent in his best suit of clothes at the wedding breakfast, had admitted that he had been lazy and curmudgeonly, not invalided. Anyone who had thought differently was a fool. ’Twas easy to see, he said, that the boy was just a quiet, decent lad, with an uncommon talent for drawing and carving. Nothing supernatural about that. And if he froze up now and then when folks tried to hug him, well, it just showed the child had uncommon good sense, for people were entirely too grabby, in his opinion.
And so now, a month into her marriage, Theresa was well on her way to contentment. James, after walking the pony a ways, let Angelica go with just a groom to guide her around the property.
He joined his wife and wound one arm around her waist. Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, “Shall we creep off into the bushes for a bit of naughtiness?”
“Behave, Mr. Martindale,” she whispered back.
“Do you really want me to?”
“No.”
“Good.”
They stood for a while, watching as Angelica walked the pony, and then, with the groom’s instruction, cantered. She was learning every moment. Theresa leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder.
“To think,” she said suddenly, looking up at him. “If you didn’t have children, I might never have met you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you moved here for your children’s sake, true?”
“I suppose. Though I always wanted to move back to the country anyway.”
“And then it was only Mrs. Greavely’s unkind comments about Jacob that urged me to break with courtesy and visit you in such an outrageous manner. And then, when I found Jacob about to go into the pond and I grabbed him, well, that certainly made things more informal between us from the beginning.”
“So, I have a series of happenstance, rudeness, and accident, as well as my adorable children, to thank for my current happiness?”
“Mmm, yes. But it was your love for your children, a father’s love, that first impressed me with what a kind and good man you must be. You were awfully frosty at first, and you thought I was looking for a husband; admit it!”
He laughed. “That seems so long ago. It didn’t take me long to realize that a woman of your stature would not need to ‘hunt’ for a husband. You must have had gentlemen begging for your hand.”
“Not a one like you, James. I could never have loved anyone the way I love you.” She gazed up into his eyes and touched his cheek gently.
“It’s a miracle, and I thank the heavens every day.”
He encircled her in his arms and she leaned back against him, content and filled with the spirit of love. She had a family. She had James. Whatever came now, good or bad, she had love to surround her.
About the Author
Donna Lea Simpson is a nationally bestselling romance and mystery novelist with over twenty titles published in the last eleven years. An early love for the novels of Jane Austen and Agatha Christie was a portent of things to come; Donna believes that a dash of mystery adds piquancy to a romantic tale, and a hint of romance adds humanity to a mystery story. Besides writing romance and mystery novels and reading the same, Donna has a long list of passions: cats and tea, cooking and vintage cookware, cross-stitching and watercolor painting among them. Karaoke offers her the chance to warble Dionne Warwick tunes, and nature is a constant source of comfort and inspiration. A long walk is her favorite exercise, and a fruity merlot is
Mrs. Parsifal, encouraged by Theresa, had acted surprised that anyone had “misinterpreted” her tying of Jacob’s visit and her windfall together. How strange people were, she was heard to say. As if a little boy could affect fate in such a way. Why, her kinsman had been dead for months and the will written long before that; no magic charm had brought her the money.
Mr. Gudge, resplendent in his best suit of clothes at the wedding breakfast, had admitted that he had been lazy and curmudgeonly, not invalided. Anyone who had thought differently was a fool. ’Twas easy to see, he said, that the boy was just a quiet, decent lad, with an uncommon talent for drawing and carving. Nothing supernatural about that. And if he froze up now and then when folks tried to hug him, well, it just showed the child had uncommon good sense, for people were entirely too grabby, in his opinion.
And so now, a month into her marriage, Theresa was well on her way to contentment. James, after walking the pony a ways, let Angelica go with just a groom to guide her around the property.
He joined his wife and wound one arm around her waist. Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, “Shall we creep off into the bushes for a bit of naughtiness?”
“Behave, Mr. Martindale,” she whispered back.
“Do you really want me to?”
“No.”
“Good.”
They stood for a while, watching as Angelica walked the pony, and then, with the groom’s instruction, cantered. She was learning every moment. Theresa leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder.
“To think,” she said suddenly, looking up at him. “If you didn’t have children, I might never have met you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you moved here for your children’s sake, true?”
“I suppose. Though I always wanted to move back to the country anyway.”
“And then it was only Mrs. Greavely’s unkind comments about Jacob that urged me to break with courtesy and visit you in such an outrageous manner. And then, when I found Jacob about to go into the pond and I grabbed him, well, that certainly made things more informal between us from the beginning.”
“So, I have a series of happenstance, rudeness, and accident, as well as my adorable children, to thank for my current happiness?”
“Mmm, yes. But it was your love for your children, a father’s love, that first impressed me with what a kind and good man you must be. You were awfully frosty at first, and you thought I was looking for a husband; admit it!”
He laughed. “That seems so long ago. It didn’t take me long to realize that a woman of your stature would not need to ‘hunt’ for a husband. You must have had gentlemen begging for your hand.”
“Not a one like you, James. I could never have loved anyone the way I love you.” She gazed up into his eyes and touched his cheek gently.
“It’s a miracle, and I thank the heavens every day.”
He encircled her in his arms and she leaned back against him, content and filled with the spirit of love. She had a family. She had James. Whatever came now, good or bad, she had love to surround her.
About the Author
Donna Lea Simpson is a nationally bestselling romance and mystery novelist with over twenty titles published in the last eleven years. An early love for the novels of Jane Austen and Agatha Christie was a portent of things to come; Donna believes that a dash of mystery adds piquancy to a romantic tale, and a hint of romance adds humanity to a mystery story. Besides writing romance and mystery novels and reading the same, Donna has a long list of passions: cats and tea, cooking and vintage cookware, cross-stitching and watercolor painting among them. Karaoke offers her the chance to warble Dionne Warwick tunes, and nature is a constant source of comfort and inspiration. A long walk is her favorite exercise, and a fruity merlot is
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