He, along with Edwin Bruce, visited the farm for holidays, adding to the joyful noise filling our home, the camaraderie, the love. Edwin regaled us with stories from New York, describing the huge successes of the clubs he now ran, the lines that wove down the blocks, the glowing write-ups in social magazines. And especially amusing to Isabelle, the fact that the dress she’d worn to that disastrous club opening was being recreated and sold in upscale boutiques all over New York City. She’d apparently started a new trend and every fashion-forward female wanted to wear the same dress as the woman who’d caused a would-be king to give up his kingdom for love.
I was happy for Edwin—the glow in his eyes as he told us stories made it obvious it was still his passion. But as for me, everything I was most passionate about, everything that filled my spirit and calmed my soul, resided on eight hundred acres in Bluegrass country.
This was the kingdom where my heart resided. And I’d finally returned.