The tapers burned brightly.
Those flames burned brightly. She, like her husband, lit the flames to remember. She always would, as he would, and she wanted him to always know that he was never alone.
Their three children, John, Adam, and Jane, danced together, holding hands under the bows of the willows, laughing with their many friends who often came to their parties.
The three were each only about a year and a half apart, and the other children playing with them were just as small.
Several nannies kept watchful eyes on them to make sure that nothing untoward occurred, and a few of them had too many sweets.
She could tell that a nap was necessary soon.
But one of the best things about her parties, if she did say so herself, was that children were always welcome.
The rest of the gardens were full of them from the ages of one years old, tottering about on their little slippers with their nurses in tow, to children who were eleven years old, playing croquet, tennis, badminton, and lawn bowls.
Their parents happily danced on the temporary floor set up so that everyone could enjoy the day alfresco.
Her husband came up behind her and swept his arms about her.
“For so long,” he murmured against her neck, “I thought it was going to be such a cold mausoleum. How wrong I was.”
“You know,” she admitted, pressing her body against his, “when I first saw this castle, I wondered if it was a sort of cathedral, but it is not. It was always a beacon for love,” she said. “It had just not been tended to in a while.”
“And now, you and I together, we’ve tended to it, haven’t we?” he observed, scandalously kissing the nape of her neck. He let out a sigh. “I thought ignoring my memories was the right thing, that it would stop me from feeling pain, but I see now it is the sharing of them that makes the pain go away.”
“Yes,” she said, “I think so too, my love.”
He held her tightly then and they turned to look at the children playing underneath the dancing willows. Green leaves sprouted from those branches, and they swept about like they were dancing with the children themselves.
In a way, she thought, they were.
The wind certainly was laughing and playing with them, and in her mind, she could hear the laughter of other children.
Some might think that quite morbid, but she did not.
She felt as if they had been blessed, as if they were being loved and cared for by those who had come before.
All of those who had stretched out before them, generations of loved ones who had done all they could and had fought hard to make this life possible.
She and her husband would continue to do the same.
She and Garret would fight tooth and nail, full of love, to make certain that their children had a wonderful world to inherit.
There would always be fear.
There would always be pain, but in the end, there would always be love. A love so beautiful it would never end.