Couldn't recall any motherly sort of passages that didn't involve Epilogues and such, so instead, I offer you a toast.
More from my Regency WIP, Lilacs at Dawn. Our story up to now: The night before his wedding, Viscount Webb is shot while on a mission on foreign soil and loses consciousness clutching his bride-to-be's garter. Somehow, he makes it back to England in time. But his new bride, Sabrina, and his brother, Andrew, think he's drunk, rather than wounded, in shock and lightheaded from loss of blood.
At the reception, he offers his new bride a toast:
Webb rose, taking her hand. All eyes turned toward them as he swayed on his feet, lifting his glass to her.
"To my wife . . . the woman I would not die for."
An awkward silence greeted his words, followed by shocked gasps that made Sabrina's face flame.
"You mean 'would die for,' you ox," Andrew said.
"I know what I mean," Webb growled, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him, his hand tightening on hers so she could not turn away. "I crawled back from hell to be here."