Simply Anna
Page 22
He pushed his hand into her hair and lowered his lips to meet hers, pressing gently and then more forcefully as his other arm slid around her waist and held her tightly. Anna wrapped her arms around him. The world around them faded away, and she forgot all the many objections she should be making as her knees went limp. The heat from his kiss spread through her body, making her feel weak and, at the same time, pulsing with life. She pressed closer against him.
Philip pulled away until his lips were just a breath from hers. “You are not simply Anna,” he whispered. “You are my Anna.”
Epilogue
Philip held his new bride’s hand as he led her up the stairs to the master’s bedchamber. He’d deemed the day a success every time he’d seen Anna’s smile.
The wedding had been an event the island would be talking about for years to come. Anna refused to be married in a church when she learned her dark-skinned friends were not allowed inside, and so the vicar had agreed to perform the ceremony at Oakely Park. Philip thought his mother would have swooned had she been in attendance, but this wasn’t London; it was Jamaica, and he only cared what one person thought.
As Philip had looked down from the Great House steps that morning, he considered that there had likely never been a gathering quite like this. An earl and his family, a ship’s captain, a band of pirates, local landowners—though the Stapletons were conspicuously absent and had been ever since Philip returned a wailing Clarissa to her home a few weeks earlier and told her he planned to marry for love not money—and hundreds of newly freed, former slaves.
Full emancipation at Oakely Park had been his wedding gift to Anna. When he saw her smile and tears of gratitude as she threw herself into his arms and covered him with kisses, he did not spare one thought to the cost that would be the result of what the other plantation owners had called “ridiculous philanthropy.”
When the ceremony had ended, the doors to the Great House were thrown open. All were welcome to celebrate at a grand party with food, dancing, and laughter that lasted late into the night.
Philip had been unable to take his eyes from Anna the entire evening. It was nearly impossible to believe she was his wife. She’d danced with Captain Courtney, Malachi, Ezekiel, Captain Fletcher, and Lord Lockwood; finally, Philip decided that enough was enough and kept her at his side for the remainder of the night. She didn’t seem to mind at all.
He watched Anna and her former employer, Lady Lockwood, talking and laughing and then embracing when it was time to part. His heart swelled as he thought of all the lives Anna touched. He could not be luckier in his choice of a wife.
The last guests departed or were shown to their rooms, and he finally had Anna to himself.
He set the candelabra on the dressing table and turned to see her staring at the oar mounted to the wall above the bed.
“It does not complement the room at all.”
Philip stood next to her and studied the piece of wood with weathered scraps of fabric and string still wrapped around it. “That oar brought to me the thing I love most in the world. Normally, I would defer to my wife in matters of home decor, but in this instance, I must insist.” He slipped his arm around her waist.
Anna turned into his embrace, sliding her hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “Your wife.” She sighed. “Today was perfect, Philip. Everything . . . completely perfect.” She fingered his cravat. “I cannot believe you freed all the workers. Are you certain we can maintain Oakely Park without the unpaid labor?”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Let us just hope that Tom’s coffee farm turns a profit. And we shall not be wealthy, my love.”
“I do not care one bit because we will be happy. Thank you, Philip. I am lucky to be married to such a kindhearted man.”
A knock sounded on the door, and Ezekiel poked his head inside. “Can I assist you in preparing for bed, my lord?”
Anna hurriedly jumped out of his arms.
“Thank you but no. I am in good hands. Good night, Ezekiel.” Philip closed the door and turned the key in the lock. At the moment, his thoughts were the farthest thing from kindhearted.
Anna giggled; her cheeks had turned a lovely shade of pink.
Philip pulled her back into his embrace. “And what are you laughing about, Miss—” He opened his eyes wide. “’Pon my word, I just had a realization.”
Anna raised her brows, and her lips twitched in the way that drove his heart wild.
“The reason I was never able to find a name that suits you is because only one would do—mine.” He pressed his lips to hers and feathered kisses over her cheek.
Anna sighed, and the sound made his heart lurch again. “I like it very much,” she said. She pulled back and placed her hands on the sides of his face. Deep in her eyes something smoldered. “I love you, Philip.”
She kissed him, and he held her closer. He adored the way she melted into his arms and decided that there was nothing in the world as perfect as loving Anna.
“Do not ever forget it,” he whispered.
Author’s Notes
Researching and writing a book about slavery was more difficult than I could have imagined. I found that I couldn’t bear to work on this story for days at a time. The topic became so heavy and painful that I thought I wouldn’t be able to finish. But I felt such a need to tell Malachi and Betty’s story. Reading old plantation journals, I found some of the most beautiful stories of survival and endurance and love: owners that cared for their slaves like family, and workers that protected their white masters at risk to their own lives. Learning that the world in the nineteenth century was not strictly divided by color was a comfort.
This book was intended to be a happy story, a romance, not a dissertation about the evils of the transatlantic slave trade. I hope my failure to delve into the more gritty details does not portray a lack of caring or understanding on my part for what real people suffered. It was a hard line to walk, telling enough to feel as if I was being true to those who were there and not being so extreme that I would change the tone of the story.
As much as we would like to believe that human slavery is a thing of the past, human rights organizations estimate that 21 million victims of human trafficking exist at the time of this book’s publication. To find out how you can be a voice for those who cannot speak for themselves, visit ourrescue.org
About the Author
Jennifer Moore is a passionate reader and writer of all things romance due to the need to balance the rest of her world, which includes a perpetually traveling husband and four active sons, who create heaps of laundry that are anything but romantic. Jennifer has a B.A. in linguistics from the University of Utah and is a Guitar Hero champion. She lives in northern Utah with her family. You can learn more about her at authorjmoore.com.
Other Books by Jennifer Moore
Becoming Lady Lockwood
Lady Emma’s Campaign
Miss Burton Unmasks a Prince