Laughter. A sound that had become rather common in The Farraway household in the last four years. Guests poured into the drawing room of Edenbrook Manor, their enthusiasm floating through the room.

From the garden outside came the intricate strains of a violin, drifting in through the open windows. The warmth from the late spring sunbathed the entire room.

Amelia sat by the pianoforte, her fingers gliding delicately from one key to the next, producing the lullaby she had written for her new-born daughter just weeks before. Each note came out soft and promising, echoing the tranquil delight that had become the norm in her life.

Her daughter lay in the cradle next to her, looking like the most adorable little child she was. Amelia cast a glance at her sleeping form, a smile lining her lips.

Anthony came to stand beside her, joining her with their three-year-old son balanced on his hip. His face wore a look of pride and contentment, smiling down at his wife while she played.

Amelia, ever sensitive to his touch, leaned in. She gazed up at him momentarily, meeting the piercing blue eyes that always steadied her heart with just one look. Her heart trembled with emotion in her chest. In the past four years, she had come to know a love that was so safe and exciting, one that put all her fears to shame. Her old fears of being in the water were now a thing of the past, replaced by a longing for the quiet moments she often got to share with Anthony on the lake. They had grown fond of sharing boat rides at dusk, and sometimes with their son.

Her husband had told her about his nightmares of the shipwreck. But in the time they’d been together, she was aware that they had faded. He had confessed to her one morning that his nights were only filled with blissful dreams about their growing family and the future that lay ahead.

She could truly not be more grateful for how their lives had turned out.

“That is a beautiful piece, my dearest,” Anthony remarked.

Their son—his hair as dark as his father’s but eyes are bright as his mother’s—bounced in his father’s grip, reaching to touch his little sister.

Amelia and Anthony chuckled.

“You’re going to wake her up,” Anthony murmured.

“But can I guard her, Papa?” his son asked, his eyes soft.

Another round of chuckles came from his parents.

Just then, Emma and Henry, who had wed soon after Amelia and Anthony, walked right in, their own toddler in tow. The little boy took off in a sprint as soon as he spotted his grandparents, throwing his arms around the Duke’s legs once he reached him.

His Grace released a hearty chuckle, bending to scoop the boy onto his hips.

“Be careful, Patrick!” Emma called out, as she and Henry approached them.

“Oh, he is quite well, Emma.” Viola waved a hand in dismissal, running her other hand through the boy’s hair. “He is the spitting image of his father,” she commented, always delighted to be in the company of her grandson.

“But he has Emma’s smile, which means he has your smile,” Patrick put in.

Viola hummed in satisfaction. “And he bears your name.” She brought her lips to kiss the boy’s cheek. They could hardly ever grow tired of him. Emma often argued that they in fact spoiled him more than they ever did her.

Meanwhile, just by the hearth, Blanche, her mother and the kind-hearted viscount she was now blessed to call her husband, stood to chat with the other guests. Her arm remained intertwined with her husband, who was positively besotted with her. They had met at a ball last season and their connection was almost instant. Neither of them had looked back since.

“Dear, you cling to him as though he could run away if you didn’t,” Julianna teased her with a playful whisper.

“He couldn’t, mother,” Blanche replied, her cheeks red as she smiled. “Our hearts belong to each other now, and there is no better place we desire more than to be in each other’s arms.”

A smirk crossed the dowager countess’ face. She did not doubt her daughter’s words one bit.

Just as Amelia finished her piece on the pianoforte, the servants brought in tea. They moved between guests, serving with the efficiency that could only be born from long years of practice.

Daniel, newly returned from his latest adventure in India, stood in the centre of the room, regaling a small group about his tales from the country.

“Is it as hot as it is rumoured to be?” one of the men asked with a curious tone.

“Perhaps hotter than the rumours say,” Daniel replied, after a moment. He went on with his stories, captivating every single person in the group with his exciting escapades across the globe.

His gaze swept the room for a moment, stopping at the pianoforte where Amelia stood close to Anthony, fussing over his nephew while his little niece slept soundly. His heart filled with admiration for both of them and the family they’d built. He was truly glad for them.

At another corner, slightly removed from most of the guests, sat Caroline and Jonathan. Their eldest child, Daphne, was seated at their feet, playing quietly. Jonathan kept her engaged, making funny faces at her. Caroline chuckled, bringing a protective hand to rest on the swell of her stomach. They were expecting their second child and Jonathan had made sure he was always there for her. He straightened in his chair and leaned close to murmur something that only she could hear. Her face instantly turned red and a sheepish smile crossed her lips.

“Behave, Jonathan,” she warned, nudging him playfully.

Her eyes caught her parents’ on them and her cheeks heated even more, even though she knew they couldn’t possibly have heard her husband.

Aldrich and Cynthia held their teacups with one hand each and their other hands folded into each other’s. Life had been terrifically kind to them, Cynthia thought, beaming as she shifted her gaze between all her children and grandchildren. Their family had grown with flourish, and she and Aldrich always had a full house, complete with the laughter of children, whenever everyone came around. It was better than anything she could have wanted.

“Please do not tell me you are about to cry again, my love,” Aldrich teased.

“Oh, stop teasing me, Aldrich. I am allowed to cry,” she said, earning a rich, deep laugh from her husband.

The sound drew Amelia’s attention, and her smile grew seeing her mother’s proud gaze and the pleased look in her father’s eye. She had been tempted a few times to remind them—albeit jokingly—that they had thought a life with a certain Lord Felton would be better for all of them.

Nothing could possibly be better than her life was now. She liked to think her parents would agree.

The last she had heard of Edmund, it was said that he had wed the daughter of a wealthy merchant. No one else could have understood his reason for seeking a match with someone who wasn’t part of the aristocracy class. But Amelia had a good inclination to what his reason was. She had never told anyone about his family’s misfortune, as she believed it was right to keep her promise. She knew his matrimony was mostly to save his family from bankruptcy. Rumours had circulated of course, as it usually did in London, but she had never indulged in such gossip.

The afternoon progressed with warmth, joy and rich laughter rippling through every corner of the room like the familiar melody it was. What greater excitement could one know than that which was found in the company of family reunited?

Amelia exchanged a loving glance with Anthony.

“Did you ever imagine it would be like this?” she asked him, running her gaze over the room.

Anthony smiled. He raised her hand to kiss the back of it. “Every day, since I realised that I was in love with you.”

Amelia let out a satisfied sigh and settled her head on his shoulder. She had imagined the many ways their life could have turned out. However, with her second collection of music publications now out in stalls and salons, she could never quite have pictured it to be so perfect. That was why Anthony was the ideal complement to her, and her to him. They were made for each other, truly.

She knew in that instant, as the scents of flowers from the garden drifted in with the gentle breeze, that whatever tides or notes carried them through life, it had brought them to each other so that they could shape their lives as they chose. They were not bound by pressure, guilt or expectations, but by a love that was solid and steady.

A love that was constant. 

-The End-