Page 119 of The Viscount and the Vixen
“Not in the least. He loves you, Portia. And he will love her as I do.”
“You love her already?”
“It is an odd thing, love. Once you open yourself up to it, it has its way with you. I could no more not love her than I could not love you.”
“I will give you an heir, I promise.”
“I would welcome an heir, but know this, Portia—with or without an heir, my love for you will not lessen.”
“Every time I think I can love you no more than I do, you say or do something that proves me wrong—and I find myself loving you a little more deeply.”
“Then I shall look forward to a lifetime of proving you wrong.”
Epilogue
Havisham Hall
Christmas Eve, 1887
Standing on the landing at the top of the stairs with her husband behind her, his arms circling her just below her breasts, and the marquess beside her, Portia could not have been more pleased. “What do you think, Father?” she asked.
“Beautiful, my dear. It’s just as it was the last time that Linnie and I held a Christmas ball here. Of course, we had an abundance of guests then.”
She’d saved the tidying of the ballroom for last, and this was her gift to Marsden. Every room in the manor was now absent cobwebs and dust; every room had been set to rights.
“Will you host a ball here?” he asked.
“We thought in the new year, if you’ve no objections.”
“You’re the lady of the manor. It’s your decision.”
“If you’re not comfortable with so many people—”
“It’ll be good to see old friends. Will you dance with me now?”
She smiled at him. “We don’t have an orchestra.”
He patted his chest. “The music is here. You don’t mind, do you, son?”
“Not as long as I get the last dance.”
“Will you dance with me, Papa?” Maddie asked from her crouched position where she was peering through the railings.
“Absolutely,” Locksley said, lifting his daughter into his arms as she squealed.
It always touched Portia deeply to see the love he showered on their daughter. She was truly his, no doubt about it.
“And me?” their three-year-old son asked, his mop of black hair unruly, his green eyes filled with mischief.
“And you.” He scooped his heir up with his free arm before jogging down the stairs, the children clinging to his neck and laughing.
“He’s a good father,” Marsden said as he escorted Portia to the dance area.
“You set a good example.” She squeezed his arm, leaned against him. “Thank you.”
His white bushy eyebrows shot up. “For what, my dear?”
“For giving him to me.”
