Epilogue
3 months later
Oliver stepped back, silently admiring the anatomically correct snowman and snowwoman he had spent the past hour creating outside Amy's bookshop. He swiped his gloved hands free of icy particles, dusting his palms on the thighs of his trousers, before settling his hands at his hips.
They weren't the best formed snow people but considering the time he had and the slush with which he had to work with, they were rather impressive considering. His wife would no doubt be inordinately pleased to have such remarkable specimens flanking her storefront.
Speaking of, she was late. Quite unlike Amy to be late for anything, he realised, and tore his gaze away from his lewd creations and surveyed the village square. It was shortly past noon, a stiff breeze chilling the air and making the light snow falling scurry and dance through the currents. As far as he could recall, Amy had only ever been late once before- the day of their wedding- and that had been entirely his fault.
A self-indulgent, wicked smile swept across his face at that memory. He liked to think of himself as the only bridegroom in the history of marriages to climb into his bride's window a mere hour before their morning ceremony. The sight of her in a gown of soft cream, her hair so neatly coiffured and prettily crowned with small white flowers (which must have been of the sturdy variety considering their cold, November wedding day) had suffused him with an intense wave of possessiveness and adoration that simply had to be appeased right then and there. He claimed her against her small writing desk, hiking her skirts high until they gathered at her waist, pressing her back against the wooden surface and spreading her thighs wide, pushing into her until he bottomed out. Her soft sighs and muffled cries of release continued to prevail upon his memory, and when he arrived at Haventry's chapel, also considerably later than he should have been, his hair had been notably tousled from her fingers and his austere black coat was creased.
"You look remarkably relaxed for a man who is about to say his marriage vows," Jason had remarked when Oliver finally sauntered down the aisle of the chapel to stand beside the pulpit.
"You looked as if you were about to expire on the spot before yours," Nate commented wryly, nudging Jason with his brawny elbow.
Jason shot him an annoyed look. "I was anxious. The enormity of the moment can be... overwhelming. After all, I am setting myself up to a lifetime of disappointing the one person I care most about." He raised an eyebrow at the other man. "Besides, Blanche told us all about how she practically had to drag you from the carriage in Scotland because you refused to leave it."
Nate grunted and refused to elaborate on the topic further.
Oliver merely offered a small grin and smoothed some of his mussed hair flat, comforted by the lingering scent of Amy that clung to his attire. "I am marrying my best friend, gentlemen," he told them. "Amy has been subjected to many, if not all, of my failings yet still loves me for them. I doubt I could want to be anywhere else than in this chapel today."
An hour passed and the occupants of the church grew agitated, impatience lingering over many a countenance. It seemed that all Haventry were in attendance that morning, as well as a few notable faces from London, and this ensured the Parish church was thoroughly packed. When Amy did finally make her way down the aisle towards him, on the arm of Lionel Hollingsworth in the absence of her own father, the colour of her cheeks had been heightened in recollection of what she had been doing with him mere moments before. They shared a heated look, a secret smile, and Oliver knew that she was made for him, that he was exactly where he was meant to be.
Presently, he turned back to regard the snow people. They stood about three feet high and were rather filthy, considering the snow that settled froze quickly and then turned into slush when it combined with the dirt on the ground. But he made do, and the snow female could certainly do with a bit of an enlargement in a certain area, and since his wife was in no rush to keep her appointment with him, Oliver made to do just that-
A cold ball of ice slammed into the back of his head, snow dribbling down the collar of his coat and shirt and soaking the inside of the garments. He spun on his heel to find her a few yards away, guffawing with laughter as she bent double at the waist. "Oh, truly?" he shouted, reaching down for a handful of snow and muck. He began to advance, moulding the snow into a firm ball in his palms. It happened so suddenly he hardly had time to comprehend it- a second, more concise and debilitating snowball hit him squarely between the eyes.
Amy was howling now while he could only stare at her in shock. He had not even realised that the damn woman had two of the things. He had been outsmarted, bested by his wife-
Oliver dropped the snowball he had been forming and launched himself at her. She straightened with a squeak, giggling helplessly as she pivoted and began to retreat. The ice on the ground hardly provided for much traction and her boots were no match against it, causing her to slip in her attempt at a getaway. Her arms cartwheeled and Oliver managed to wrap his arms around her seconds before she landed on her bottom. It was easy enough to spin her about and press her against him, dipping his head to nip at the side of her neck.
"Such a troublesome, disobedient wife," he teased. "Whoever decided to marry you must surely be out of his mind."
She snorted, yelping when his nip turned into a more pressing bite. "Ben, people will see," she gasped, wriggling against his hardening body. She was so very warm and soft in his arms he couldn't help responding to her.
"They will see a man utterly besotted with his wife," he mumbled, sweeping his hands over her back to cradle her face.
She laughed helplessly and relaxed against him, banding her arms around him in return. When he bent his head to hers, she tilted her face up to meet his eagerly, and while the snow swirled and eddied gently about them, he kissed her reverently, hungrily. Though it was well past noon, the village square was largely devoid of people, and the few that were present were well aware of the amorous nature of Lord Oliver Hollingsworth's new marriage.
Not that Amy ever resisted him. It appeared that she desired him with as much intensity that he did her, her body straining towards him even now. She leaned into his kiss, a welcome sigh of familiarity and pleasure escaping her, her fingers digging into the flesh of his back despite layers of fabric between them. Months had passed since the first time he had kissed her, all those many evenings ago at Lady Blackwood's ball, and it amazed him how much he adored the simple act of kissing his wife. She felt wonderfully responsive, opening wide against him, meeting his tongue eagerly, until they both shuddered with the pleasure of it.
Kissing her felt like coming home after an extended stay abroad in an unpleasant city- a loving respite.
Eventually, because they were after all in the middle of a very public village square and it was the middle of winter, Oliver ended their embrace and disentangled his limbs from hers, but not before tucking her against his side so that he could guide her steadily across the icy ground towards her bookshop.
"You are late," he remarked dryly. "I have been freezing my arse off for three hours."
She cocked her head to the side and stared at him with sceptically narrowed eyes. "You are a liar, sir. Our appointment was for half an hour before noon. I am barely an hour late."
"Regardless, I was terribly bored while I waited for you."
"Henevieve took it upon herself to guard the Gravewood stables. Your men were too petrified to venture in to tend to the horses for fear of her attack. I took care of the situation as quickly as I could, otherwise I would have had to walk here."
They drew to a halt before the entrance to her shop, now affectionately dubbed Griffith's Books. He had pressed for the shop to be christened Griff's Books, but Amy had resisted with the mulish insistence that she believed her mother had as much a claim to the shop as she did, and it was her way of honouring Heather. "One day, we will serve chicken at the table for dinner and Henevieve will mysteriously have disappeared," Oliver vowed sternly. "That hen is a menace to society."
"If you dare to eat my chicken I shan't speak to you again, Ben."
He held his hands to his heart as if mortally wounded. However, the dramatic gesture was ignored for Amy spied the crude snow people he had fashioned either side of her door. Her hands landed on her hips and she turned to him, a vain attempt at a look of disapproval on her face. It was wholly ruined by the smile trembling on her lips and glistening her bright eyes. "You are terrible. You know very well it is ladies' tea and talk this afternoon. You'll have them in a right tither with... with..." Her eyes darted back and forth between the sculptures before she sighed, a breathy laugh escaping her. "I shall have to find some small clothing to make them modest."
He chuckled. "Let them be. The old prudes will get a thrill out of it, I'm sure."
She snorted daintily and dove a gloved hand into the pocket of the deep blue coat covering her frame. From it she procured her keys which clinked merrily between her fingers. Hesitatingly slightly, Amy turned to him and fished out another from her pocket. This she held out to him and he noted that attached to it was colourful circle of plaited ribbons. "You are going to need this," she said, "when you see what surprise I have for you inside."
"The anticipation is killing," he agreed, accepting the key. He'd be damned if he waited in the cold again for her and much of their time lately had been at the shop, in any event. Amy had transformed the interior and, naturally, he had shouldered much of the grunt work. He couldn't complain about that, really. Her bookshop had been scandalised on every surface available in the last three months succeeding their nuptials. "I do hope it is something naughty."
At his lewd wink, she blushed prettily and ducked her head as she pushed open the door. The bell she had positioned above it tinkled in welcome and they stepped inside, brushing snow and muck off their boots in the process. "Not quite," she admitted sheepishly with a coy look in his direction, "but that can always be arranged later."
"God, have I told you today how much I love you?"
"Only once this morning, after you did something wicked to my bottom."
Suffused with that pleasant recollection, he assisted her out of her coat and hung it on the stand beside the door, then did the same for himself. The entry to the shop had been completely remodelled- before cluttered with shelves and dust, now it was a cosy, open space with a two low tables and comfortable armchairs. The windows flanking either side of the door provided ample light for clientele to while away a few hours with a book and Amy would undoubtedly serve coffee or tea, as well as whatever delicacy she had freshly made that morning. He spied yesterday's cinnamon spiced bread safely contained under a glass cover, placed upon an ornate stand on the counter now pushed towards the back of the shop.
He angled for it now, helping himself to a couple of buns while Amy unravelled her scarf from about her neck and added it to the coat stand. She grinned at him, noting his avid perusal of her form, and then gestured towards the stairs that led to the first floor of the shop. "I want to show you something."
Stuffing a chunk of delicious bread into his cheek, he nodded mutely and slid his hand into hers. Amy guided him slowly up the narrow stairwell. It was dark and the stairs worn with age, so they were both mindful of their footing. Soon, and upon his advice, she would find the means to repair them, but for now the shop's ground floor and basement only served a purpose. To his knowledge, the upstairs rooms were unoccupied and Amy had begun to use them to store various artefacts from the shop she had found in the basement that couldn't be sold or would serve a purpose later.
"I do not want you to think I am insisting you use the space," Amy was telling him, her voice softly appeasing and slightly hesitant. "I thought that it would be something useful, and it is sparse at best, not at all lavish I am sure, so you do not have to feel obligated to use it at all."
"Griff, what are you talking about?" he asked, swallowing the last bit of stolen bread.
Reaching the top of the landing, she turned to him and her eyes were shining with trepidation and excitement simultaneously. "It needs a carpet, but otherwise I think it is quite suitable really- for Haventry standards," she pressed. Taking his hand, she tugged him a few more steps to a door on the left, then turned back to give him a wobbly smile. She tilted her head towards the closed door, causing him to look where she had made the quirky little gesture.
A copper plaque had been bolted to the centre and it read: Lord O. B. Hollingsworth, Barrister.
"Griff-"
"Before you say anything," she said quickly and pushed open the door. "Just... give it a think, Ben. I know you'd need to study, or apprentice or do that thing with a bar-"
He grinned at her wryly. "Called to the bar-"
"Yes, well, whatever it is called... you're far too clever to let your mind wallow. I saw how much pleasure you found assisting Nate and Blanche."
He followed her inside the small chamber, lacing his fingers with hers, and when she halted in the middle of the room he pulled her back against his chest, banding his arms around her waist and resting his chin atop her head. She had surreptitiously created him an office space and... it was a damn nice one, at that. A very official-looking desk of deep mahogany centred the furthest wall, a plush leather winged back chair primed behind it. There were thoughtful adornments upon the surface, varnished dark wood shelves planted against the panels lining the walls. Comfortable, heavy armchairs were situated before the desk, the windows covered with clean, velvet drapes. There was a hearth, too, and though the floor was bare, he hardly noticed the absence of a rug in favour of the sheer marvel he felt for the woman in his arms.
"How did you manage this without me noticing?" he murmured.
He felt her shrug in his arms. "It wasn't all that difficult," she admitted archly. "You have given me full accountability, after all. I do not have to run any expenses through Gravewood in order to maintain the shop, and since there is an unprecedented income steadily entering the ledgers from the cottage rental, I can afford to spend a little more frivolously now and then."
He dropped a kiss to her temple. Shortly after their wedding, Oliver convinced Amy to be fully installed in Gravewood Manor- and that included Heather and a menagerie of wildlife, as well. He had toyed with the notion of acquiring property of his own, just for the two of them, but Amy seemed most content surrounded by family and her life in Haventry kept her fulfilled. He would never take her away from that. He had, however, suggested that the cottage could be rented out, thus ensuring a steady income that neither of them had anticipated. She was mere months away from paying back his loan in its entirety, though he never failed to mention how she was under no obligation to do so. "You should spend frivolously whenever you please, my love. However, I am quite humbled by your thoughtfulness." His arms tightened slightly around her. "It would take me at least four more years to be legally allowed to practise, and more time spent in London. My eyesight-"
"-is an excuse," she told him pointedly, turning in his arms and draping her arms about his neck. "You have been saying that for years and yet you're still able to see- granted badly. Shouldn't you put to use what years you have left, use it to your full advantage?" She rose up on her toes, pressing her lips to his, mumbling, "You are so damn smart, Ben... too smart for your own good. Annoyingly smart."
"I am not sure whether you are complimenting me or insulting me," he grumbled, turning her and edging her towards that rather large desk.
She retreated, matching him step for step. "Perhaps both."
He backed her until she bumped against the edge of the wood, curling his fingers about her thighs and pushing her up and backwards. She gasped softly, her pupils widely dilated. "An office in Haventry, hmm?"
"London can't have all of you, Ben."
His fingers sank into the locks of her hair, tilting her head back towards him. Her lips were parted, inviting, her lashes sooty and graceful. Her eyes widened when he stepped closer, parting her thighs as wide as they would go until she strained the fabric of her skirts. "You have all of me, Griff. You always will."
She studied him carefully for a moment. "Is this something you would consider? Something you want?"
"You believe in me more than I believe in myself." He sighed and dropped his head against hers, smiling. "I suppose it does intrigue me. You will have to come with me to London, however. Now that I have you, I have no desire to spend time away from you."
"A day or two-"
"Hush, you'll break my heart!"
"So dramatic," she giggled, urging him down to her lips.
"Allow me to show you how dramatic you sound while I am doing those wicked things to your bottom on the newest surface in your bookshop," he growled, stepped away and promptly turned her around. His hand splayed in the space between her shoulders, pressing her forward until she leaned against the polished wood, her fingers spread wide to either side of her. Oliver hesitated, wondering perhaps if he was too brazen and forward. "Unless you-"
"Ben, shut up! If you don't make good on that promise now I shall shove snow down the front of your trousers, so help me-"
He laughed, covering her body with his even as he began to hike up her skirts. His lips skated against the side of her neck, her needy little sounds of pleasure mesmerizing him. "God, you are amazing. You are perfect, Griff, so damn lovely, and thoughtful-" he swallowed a groan as she pressed her thighs back against his, wiggling enticingly, the friction rendering him mad with desire. "I love you so damn much."
He didn't allow her the opportunity to return the sentiment verbally as he reared back, keeping one hand positioned against her back, and the other freed his aching cock from his trousers. She was everything to him, she always had been, and he was overwhelmed with all that she was as he sunk deep into her.
He had devoted most of his life to his friendship with her, and now dedicated the rest of it to her happiness. Nothing had ever felt more natural than being in her company, making love to her, simply being with her... and he smiled against the damp skin of her neck as she made that familiar, soft mewl of release, her fingers clenching where they entwined with his. His beautiful, considerate best friend and wife.
His Griff; her Ben.
♡ The End ♡
Author's Note:
Thank you all so much for the love and support shown for this story. It was an exercise in patience on my part as I am rather used to more dramatic plot elements, but allowing Oliver and Amy to lead the way created new arcs and developments.
That being said, the duration of the unfolding of the story occurred around a number of losses, each triggering very dark places within me. At times it was difficult to maintain the lightheartedness I initially wanted- so champagne helped, especially during the middle. Needless to say, the verbose and error-ridden prose was a result of this state of mind, even though I thought I had at least done a reasonable job of editing it... ah well.
Stay tuned for a Blackwood Christmas Special Novella :)
What am I gonna do next? There are more Brightmore's in the works, and a fantasy romance I've been nursing for a few months.
Love all round,
Ash x