Epilogue

EPILOGUE

London, Sixteen months later…

It was not something she would ever grow accustomed to. Belladonna Goodwynne Crane stared in complete dismay at the assortment of gowns laid out before her. Silks and velvets, embroidered wool, rich brocades—it was a feast for the senses. And far too dear.

"This is too much, Desmond. Who could possibly need so many dresses?"

"You," he said. "We will be going into society some while we are in town. There will be parties and the theater to attend… and the wedding, of course."

Belladonna smiled at that. Edwina was getting married. She'd met the most charming man, brother to the new vicar—a peaceable and very mild mannered sort—and they'd fallen immediately in love. She might, she thought, have helped that along just a little. Not to create the feelings, but to remove some of the obstacles that might have been in their path. She'd never tell Edwina, but she was certain that Desmond suspected.

"I hate to leave Julianna alone so much!" She protested.

"We have a houseful of servants, love. She's not alone."

"And who in this house is prepared to deal with her… uniqueness?"

As if on cue, the baby in question giggled from her cradle that had been placed beside the bed. Desmond said nothing, but he did walk over and pick up his daughter. A dark haired, cherubic creature with whiskey eyes and a winsome smile that was remarkably like her mothers. He pressed a kiss to the untamable curls that were far longer and far thicker than a child of only six months ought to possess.

She patted his face in response, but her gaze was fixed on something above them, hovering near the ceiling. It prompted a peal of giggles from her. He didn't ask what it was. In truth, he didn't want to know. When living with a woman, or women, who were blessed with such gifts, the key to happiness was an unprecedented amount of willful ignorance.

"Keep the dresses, Belladonna," he insisted. "We will find places for you to wear them. Or you may simply wear them at home because you like the look and feel of them—or because I do."

She wavered, whether because she wanted the gowns or because of the sensual innuendo in his voice, he could not say.

"It's such a waste, Desmond! They'll only fit me for another few months anyway."

His tickling of Julianna slowed and then halted altogether. When he turned to her, there was a question in his gaze, but hope as well. "And why is that precisely?"

"It's common knowledge that a woman always shows sooner with her second child. And that when carrying boys, they tend to grow much larger. I'll be the size of our house before it's all said and done."

"A son?"

Belladonna smiled. "Yes. A son. Your son."

"Our son," he said. "Have there been any boys born in your family's line?"

"Not for the last century," she said. "Although, Julianna is the first to be born without bearing the Goodwynne name. In truth, it's been very rare for any Goodwynne woman to have more than a single child. Our family tree has been naught but a series of single, straight lines for a hundred years or more. Whether through her untimely death or that of her partner, the lines were terribly abbreviated."

"And the curse you feared for so long?"

Belladonna shook her head. "I do not fear it anymore. I think Amarantha was right when she said the curse would end with me."

Desmond put the baby back down in the crib and then moved toward her. He pulled her close. "Curses or no, you are all I could have ever wanted. I love you, Belladonna, and I love our daughter and our son and any others who will follow."

"Then perhaps we should remove all those dresses from the bed and you can show me?"

He shook his head. "No. I think we're just going to have get creative."

And they did.