Epilogue II - Eight Years Later

Epilogue II - Eight Years Later

Aphrodite Primrose Martinson, Lady Warrick, knew three things with utter and complete certainty:

1. Her husband loved her with every beat of his heart and showed her frequently a thousand different ways.

2. She could not love him, or their family, any more than she already did—no matter how big it might grow.

3. Unfortunately, no matter how much healing he might do, her husband would never dance again. Never run. Most days might barely walk, but with every step he took—or didn’t—and with every word he spoke, she would always be grateful he still possessed the in ability to fully moderate his speech to a manner becoming someone of his station. (“Do I need to assign you lines?” she would ask once they were alone, after a particularly ribald remark made before others. “By all means,” he would reply, that unholy light glinting in his midnight eyes. “Assign away. I will draw them upon your skin with my tongue.”)

The light twinkling of notes, melodic and uplifting, drew Aphrodite toward the harpsichord in the study. An unusual domain for such an instrument, mayhap—for any instrument, really—but it had a place of pride at the Warrick estate, in its master’s domain.

She smiled upon entering, seeing the two backs, side by side. One strong, tall and broad—comfortably attired in shirt sleeves—the other a miniature, feminine version, dressed in a white muslin gown with a midnight-blue sash, small feet kicking in the air beside her papa on the bench as she chattered away. The uplifting notes continued, as Richard reached around his youngest daughter and played over her shoulder, laughing when she plonked several fingers in the middle of his hands, nodding even though the discordant sound made Aphrodite wince.

She had just seen their seven-month-old son consoled until he finally nodded off. Teething could be such a trial; fortunately, the music seemed to help.

Never would she forget the first time she heard her husband play. Saw the raging intensity, witnessed the raw power of both man and music turmoiled together unlike anything she could have imagined. Not that she didn’t still love it when he played fiercely, which he did on occasion. If frustration got him down. Often after his quarterly meeting with his solicitor, noting debits (always so many) and credits (never enough).

When Sophia expressed irritation with her position, assisting a visiting scientist, or a local lad dared to call on Julia. (“She’s too young for that nonsense!”) If he didn’t hear from Knight or King as regularly as he thought they ought to write. If he had a specially rough day. But those times were farther and fewer between.

Though he still tested his boundaries, maintained repetitions of the dreaded seat-to-stands, his newest Merlin’s chair, delivered just last month after his other was rolled to within an inch of its life, was but a foot away—within reach as it would always need to be.

Yet it was moments like these, when the shared laughter between family members, when his quiet notes filtered through the rooms, luring her in from another part of the intermittently furnished manor house, that nourished her soul to overflowing.

Times like these, when he laughed, stopped playing to pull his three-year-old daughter upon his lap and let her make merry with mangled music, without a word of complaint upon his lips that tugged at heartstrings.

“You take after your mother, little one,” he told the child after a flinch-worthy bang-bang-bang upon the dear instrument they had relocated from Marigold Cottage, with Uncle’s blessing.

“Her mother is standing right here.”

“I know,” said with his back still to her. “I always know. One of my angels, my favorite one, lest you forget. I always know when you are close and watching over me.”

“Mama! Listen!” Bang-bang-plonk!

“Utterly brilliant, sweetheart,” Aphrodite said, working hard to conceal smiles and stifle laughter.

Richard had no such difficulty, laughing outright and glancing over his shoulder. “You know what happens to liars.”

“They get lines?” she asked, heart near to bursting.

“They do indeed!” He wiggled his eyebrows at her before facing forward once more, ere he lost his balance. “They do indeed. How soon is bedtime?”

Note from Larissa—including a plea

Dare I admit I had a really difficult time saying goodbye to these characters? I thought Daniel and Thea, of my other loooong novel, Mistress in the Making , would forever remain my favorite pairing. I must say they now have some competition…

Wrapping up this story has been a challenge. I don’t work well with deadlines, but I knew I could not put off releasing it another year! As both my husband and house can attest, the last few months finishing Moonlit has been my sole focus. I truly hope you have enjoyed reading both the challenges and triumphs presented within. ??

Interested in a bonus, potentially intimate scene between Aphrodite and Richard? If that’s something you’re clamoring for and I receive enough requests for it, I’ll get that done. Email me at larissa@ larissalyons.com .

Still craving more Christmas Kisses? Catch up with Ed and Anne in A Snowlit Christmas Kiss and Frost and Isabella in A Frosty Christmas Kiss . Other goodies and snarky cats ( Rescued by a Christmas Kiss ) abound at my website.

Laugh, love and dance whenever you can!

^..^ Larissa

P.S. Please take a moment and leave a review. Even just a sentence or two helps authors. And for some reason, reviews with pictures—yes, just a picture of your ereader with Moonlit ’s cover or you holding the paperback—may get those highlighted over other reviews. Snap a pic and share your thoughts…

And now for the “plea” part…

Please assist me in finding more fans.

I’ve been hearing grumblings from other authors for a while about the lack of new readers to historical romance. All those avid book lovers hanging out on TikTok? Regency romance has not sparked near the interest many other genres command.

As it is, I’m debating switching my focus to writing contemporary because my historicals are not selling enough to cover my costs of writing, much less provide any sort of profit. ??

If you enjoy my stories, pretty please with sugar on top, write those reviews, post online (anywhere…FB, Reddit, etc.), share with friends—or your friendly librarian ;-)—and help find more readers looking for fun, Regency-esque escapes. Thanks gobs!