A Love Worth Pursuing Bonus Scene

Six years later

Celia Tilbury's fingers raced up and down the keys, striking white and black and harmony with the perfect blend of lightness and depth.

Upon the concluding consonance, she held down the pedal, bringing a resonating hum to the floor beneath her.

And then, she let out a breath she had not realised she had been holding.

A round of claps sounded behind her, and she turned, with a smile, to her family.

"Oh, Celia, that was marvellous! I cannot believe it. You composed this? With such feeling and emotion, how did you do it?" her mother asked.

Celia shrugged, looking shyly away. Although she still had a bold and exuberant personality, she did not find her value in the compliments of others so much as she found it in the skills she had honed, in her daily diligent practice.

"I think we know how," her father said. "You see her. Day in and day out. I have never seen anyone spend so many hours in practice. Celia, you have made us proud."

"Thank you, Father. My passion for the pianoforte only grows each day. I thought that, at some point, I might lose interest. You know how I can be," she said.

"Ha! How you can be? Yes, I do know," he said. "I know that you are passionate about a great many things and that you love to start learning a new skill before you have mastered the other. But I also know that you never quit whatever previous skill you worked on. You simply draw it out until it is mastered."

"Indeed. That is our girl, isn't it?" her mother asked.

"To be perfectly honest with you both, I think part of the reason I thrive is because . . . I can," she said.

"Well, of course you can. You are very capable," her mother said.

"No. That is not what I mean," she said.

Her mother looked at her inquiringly.

"I mean that I spent my younger years in destitution. I had nothing. You know that. At one point, I did not even have a family. It was very difficult," she said.

Her mother and father glanced at one another, looking sad. Henry climbed up onto their father's lap while her mother held Charlotte.

"But then, suddenly, I was given a chance to do and have anything I wanted. Some days, I wanted to give up when things were hard. And then I would remember. I would remember what it felt like to not have those chances, to not be able to do what I wanted," she said.

"And that drove you onward?" her mother asked.

"In every way," she replied. "I would sometimes grow frightened that I might lose my opportunities all over again, although that fear dissipated, and I knew that you both would never let that happen."

"Other times, I would just remember what it felt like. I would remember watching other children walk with their parents as I sat next to the street. I would consider the opportunities they had, knowing I would never have them.

"And then . . . I did. I did have those opportunities," she finished.

Her mother brushed a tear from her eye and looked at her father with pride in her eyes. He, too, looked emotional as a result of her confession.

"Oh, goodness, look at the two of you! It is not something to become somber about," Celia said with a laugh.

In truth, she still got emotional about it as well. But Celia always tried to pour that emotion into her playing and composing.

Now and then, she would find herself overwhelmed by her happiness. She had never thought it would be possible. But, despite the hardships she faced in the early years of her life, Celia had flourished.

Since being found by Nancy, and living with her kindness, Celia had a family. Blood or otherwise, she knew that it was so.

Just six years before, that family had grown to include Henry, and then Charlotte came along three years later.

She loved them dearly, their little smiles, the way Charlotte would cuddle into her embrace and how Henry always smelled of hay because he loved the horses more than anything else.

Both were rather mischievous, but that only endeared them to her further. She frequently took credit for that, saying it was the gift they inherited from her.

"Your Grace," the maid said, coming into the room. "Lunch is ready in the garden."

"Yes, thank you, Tilda. All right, everyone, you heard her. Let's go," her father said, leading the family out the door.

Celia followed along behind, bringing up the rear of the merry band.

The sun was bright, and they settled into the little table in the middle of the garden. Eating together as a family was always a treat, but Celia was particularly eager to enjoy her time with them today.

Although it was still three years away, she had begun to think about her impending marriage and the fact that it would take her from them.

"Oh, dear, Lottie, what have you done?" her mother asked with a laugh.

Distracted from her thoughts, Celia looked at her sister and saw the pudding that covered her face. Jealous that she was getting all the attention, Henry dove his face forward, placing it directly into the pudding.

"Henry!" her mother gasped.

Henry and Charlotte laughed hysterically.

"Oh, no, you two do not laugh! I shall have your hides for that," her mother teased laughing along.

Celia jumped up from the table as if to grab them, but Henry and Charlotte were immediately on their feet as well and they ran about in circles, giggling and chasing one another.

"I am going to get you! Both of you! You cannot escape me!" Celia declared.

Finally, she got hold of Charlotte and, laughing the whole way, placed her in their mother's lap.

"I told you I would get you," she declared.

"No! No! No!" Charlotte said, giggling in her mother's arms as Celia and her mother both tickled her.

"Oh, dear. I do not think my work is done," Celia said, turning to her brother who was still trying to run circles around the table.

"No little brother can escape the mighty Celia!" she yelled.

He let out a false cry of terror and raced past her once more, leading Celia in circles. She ran slow, as if he was too quick for her, but, finally, she gave it her usual speed and scooped him into her arms.

With Henry rounded up, she brought him to sit on her own lap and nuzzled her face into his neck as though she was going to eat him for dessert.

"If you ate all that pudding, you must be so sweet!" she teased, causing him to laugh until he swatted her away.

"All right, all right. I surrender," Celia said.

Diligently, Celia and her mother wiped the children's faces clean of the pudding.

"Dear, oh, dear. Whatever are we going to do with the both of you?" her father asked.

"Ask your eldest. I don't know what we would do without her help," her mother said, glancing at Celia.

"I think Celia is simply practising," he said.

Celia blushed and gasped in protest upon realising his meaning. She knew he was alluding to her future, her impending marriage and the children she would one day have.

"That is nonsense. I am simply being a good sister," she said.

But it was too late, and her thoughts began to wander.

Lord Daniel Whitaker, future Duke of Braewood would be sixteen soon, just a year older than she. After meeting him when she was a mere ten years of age, Celia had become very fond of him. It had been no surprise to anyone but herself to find that he was quite fond of her as well.

She loved her family as they were and, at just fifteen years of age, she was glad for a few more years to spend with them.

But she was thrilled when she thought about the future life that she was going to share with Daniel. And, yes, she was even excited for the children they would one day share, although she felt it a bit too early to be thinking along those lines.

"Now that you mention it—or rather, now that you have brought up a topic close to it, is Lord Daniel coming for tea this afternoon?" her mother asked.

"Do you even need to ask?" her father replied for her.

Celia laughed.

"Yes, he sent his card. He is intending to come shortly before tea and will stay for a brief visit. He does, however, have to leave earlier as he has another engagement," she said, trying to hide her disappointment.

"Oh, what a shame," her mother said.

"Yes, well, it is not as though we never see one another," Celia said, trying to act like she was not sad.

Daniel came to visit every single day. Most often, it was in the afternoons for tea, but sometimes earlier in the day as well.

They would spend their time talking, riding horses, and exploring. Celia would play her latest composition for him, they would read to one another, and they would speak about the future.

She loved him and, when she looked at her own mother and father, Celia believed that she and Daniel would look much the same. She saw love when she glanced around the table. Deep, true, unconditional love.

"My darling, you have found a good man, there. I can see that he adores you, and it makes me so happy to know that you will be well looked after once you are married to him. Remember what I told you on my wedding day? That you would marry the best man in all the world," her mother said, looking at her father.

"And did you?" he asked.

"I most certainly did," her mother replied.

This was what Celia wanted. She hoped that her life would be blessed with the same happiness.

In three years, she would know for certain. But in this moment, she did not wish to take a single day for granted.

"Oh, dear, I think Miss Jones forgot to bring the bread. I must go ask if she has forgotten about it," her mother said, remembering suddenly.

"Do you really knead to go and ask?" her father asked, using his knuckles to mime the action of kneading dough.

Her mother looked at him with a raised eyebrow, looking perfectly unamused.

"That is, quite possibly, the worst joke I have ever heard," she said, right before she began to laugh.

"You love me anyway," he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her close.

"Yes, I daresay I do. However, that does not change my opinion of your joke," she said.

Nevertheless, her father leaned toward her mother and gave her a sweet, loving kiss.

No matter what the future might bring, Celia was loved, she was blessed, and she was a part of a family.

The Next Book is Available on Our Website and on Amazon!
Read The Next Book!
Click on the Image or Scan the QR Code