(Ruby's POV)
The morning after we returned from seeing my father, I woke to the sound of rain.
It was a soft rain, gentle against the windows. The sky was gray, but not dark. The sea was calm, the waves barely a whisper. The garden was wet, the shoots glistening with water.
Nicholas was still asleep. His face was turned toward me, his dark hair spread across the pillow. The scar on his chin was faint in the pale light. I watched him for a while, thinking about the baby, about the future, about the garden we were going to build.
Then I slipped out of bed.
The floor was cold under my bare feet. I pulled on my robe and walked to the window.
The east field was visible from here, a stretch of green between the manor and the cliffs. The workers had started clearing it last week. The grass was gone, the soil turned. Soon, the paths would be laid. The benches would be installed. The flowers would be planted.
I heard Nicholas stir behind me.
"Ruby?"
"I'm here."
