It was nearing the four o’clock raffle of celebratory hampers and Nik borrowed a megaphone from the guy who was going to call the prize. He walked out onto the lawn and people started to naturally gravitate towards him.
Sybella took Fleur’s hand and his arm came around her.
‘For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Nikolai Aleksandrovich Voronov. I’m caretaker of this house.’
Sybella beamed at her daughter.
‘Edbury Hall is forthwith reopened to the public—not just the west wing, but the entire estate.’
His voice carried over the assembled heads of the small crowd and a small cheer went up, interspersed with plenty of ‘it’s about time’.
‘I’ll be taking up residence in Edbury but let me put your minds at rest. I will not be turning the Hall into a compound and setting dogs on trespassers.’
Some of the children laughed but Sybella noted the arrested look on Fleur’s face at the mention of a dog. She’d have to head that one off when things were a little more normal and she wasn’t feeling so loved up. She looked up at her Norse god and didn’t think that would be any time soon.
‘And just so it’s clear,’ Nik said, grinning down at her, ‘Sybella and I are getting married.’
* * *
At the end of the summer the bells of St Mary’s pealed as the happy couple emerged into the glorious sunshine.
Sybella, in an off-the-shoulder gauze and white satin gown, her bridal veil set back on her head, and Nik, in a grey morning suit, came first, and then Fleur and her friend Xanthe swinging their baskets of rose petals, the families and friends of both bride and groom spilling out of the church behind them.
The bride had invited Marla Mendez to the wedding, as long as she brought her young son.
Twelve months along almost to the day Leonid Nikolaievich Voronov came into the world in the beautiful local stone house on the wold Nik had moved them into after the wedding.
Leo was christened in the Russian Orthodox Church in London in the presence of his Russian great-grandfather and his English grandparents, but not his parents as custom dictated. He was again christened in the village of Edbury at St Mary’s and was carried in the arms of his proud older sister.
There was high tea at the Hall and the whole village attended.
Old Mr Voronov toasted his great-grandson and announced the Hall was being gifted to the National Trust and he was going to live in the new house on the wold with his grandson and his wife. The house was big enough to fit them all and small enough no one would be lonely.
Afterwards Sybella, holding her new baby to her breast, sat on the terrace in the summer sun, watching Fleur tumbling on the lawn with her friends and the absolutely ridiculously large sheepdog Nik had insisted on buying her when they’d first got married. A year down the track it was growing as big as a pony.
‘What are you thinking, moya lyuba?’ Nik’s dark voice ran through her senses like dark chocolate and honey, all the things she’d craved while she was pregnant. He hunkered down beside them, stroking the fine pale quiff of hair that was all Leo currently had on his small head.
‘How fortunate we are. How fortunate I am.’
‘It was fate,’ said Nik, a true Russian.
And Sybella was disposed to believe him.
‘Although one thing still haunts me,’ he mused.
She angled a curious look at him.
‘What if Sasha had been the brother who came down that weekend?’
‘I can’t say I haven’t given it some thought,’ she said lightly, rubbing a finger consideringly over his lower lip.
‘What did you come up with?’ he growled, snapping playfully at her finger.
‘Sasha’s so friendly, he never would have thrown me down in the snow and shaken me like a rattle and sent me on my way.’
‘Did I do all those things?’ Nik’s eyes kindled with hers. ‘Shameful. You can never tell our son.’
‘I will. I will tell him, when he’s old enough to find the right girl, just so he’ll know what to do.’
‘He’s a Voronov. He doesn’t need advice about finding the right girl. It’s in our blood. He’ll know when the time comes.’
So spoke her alpha male. Sybella smiled indulgently.