The Booklover’s Absolutely Amorous Affair (The Notorious Briarwoods #9)

Chapter 16

O nce the Briarwoods, in ever changing numbers, had started to come, they moved the family book discussion into the library.

The drawing room was simply too small. They needed chairs for at least half a dozen Briarwoods. For any given the week, they never knew who would need to stay at the duke’s estate and manage the children or their own needs.

Nimue’s mother was thrilled, of course, to have any of the Briarwoods in attendance and not just because of the prestige, but because they had all become very close.

The Briarwoods had fit in perfectly during the discussions over the last few gatherings, chiming in passionately, arguing fiercely over failed plot points, and eating heartily.

As always, there was a full selection of things to consume. Perhaps it was the fact that winter did make one wish to tuck into delicious savories and sweets, but the truth was, winter was done. Perhaps not officially, but spring had come to the Isle of Wight. Flowers were popping up all over the grass, birds were chirping, and one could feel it coming in through the breezes that a new season was arriving.

Which meant the Briarwoods were about to leave.

This was the last book discussion with them, and Nimue’s heart… Well, her heart felt a myriad of emotions. She’d thought she’d feel triumph at the end of this affair with Jean-Luc, who sat across from her at present.

She didn’t.

Instead, she felt as if she’d made the right decision, but it had come with a bitter end.

She refused to look back and wish she’d done things differently. But sitting here in the circle with so many of the Briarwoods and Jean-Luc, her heart, instead of lifting, sank.

She was going to miss them all terribly, and she was going to miss him.

Somehow, the Briarwoods had made themselves such a part of their lives so quickly. She almost couldn’t hear the discussions about the romance they had chosen this week, a book that had been published by the Duchess of Westleigh’s company, because she was so lost in her own thoughts.

But she did not fail to notice that Jean-Luc kept staring at her and fiddling with his waistcoat pocket. He had not said a word and looked quite preoccupied. Could he not even give her this last discussion of books? It seemed not! How it burned.

Romance. Ha! They were always reading these stories.

Suddenly, she piped up without thinking, “It always works out in the end in these novels. Always. No matter the trials, no matter the tribulations, no matter the plot devices, the couples always end up together in the end.” She scowled. “It’s not very realistic, is it?”

The entire room swung their gazes to her. “No, my dear,” her mother said gently, clearly alarmed by her sudden outburst. “That’s why it is fiction,” she said.

“Well,” the dowager duchess put in, folding her jeweled hands over her bright silk skirts, “it is fiction, but it does often work out in the end in real life too. Or at least it does in our family. And I think in the Cheverton household too, from what I can see.”

“I am not so certain it should always go so conveniently at the end of these books,” Nimue protested.

The room was now sitting on the edge of their chairs, listening raptly to her passionate discourse.

“Well,” the dowager duchess began, “the authors seldom detract from what is expected. Most novelists who write such romances understand that if they were to end them without it all being solved, their readers would be very angry with them. And there seems to be, in general, an idea that one should always reward the good.”

Nimue narrowed her eyes. “But clearly, the good are not always rewarded.”

Jean-Luc snapped his gaze to her. “That sounds like something I would say.”

“Does it?” she returned. “Perhaps you’ve had an effect on me.”

The whole group of booklovers then began to swing their gazes back and forth as if watching a play unfold.

“I hope not,” Jean-Luc said softly. “At least, not like that. I admire your cheerful optimism, Nimue.”

She arched a brow. Did he? It hadn’t served her well with him.

“The author has made it clear from the beginning of this book that it is not a tragedy,” the dowager duchess suddenly announced. “While I like tragedies,” said the dowager duchess, “I can only read them every now and then. Life has enough of them at present, and there will likely be many to come if things keep going as they are.”

Nimue trained her gaze on Jean-Luc, and before she could stop herself, she asked, “And you, Comte? Do you like tragedies, or do you prefer romances?”

He stared at her for a very long moment. “I like them all,” he said.

“But if you had to pick one?” she prompted.

Jean-Luc placed his hand over his waistcoat pocket, closed his eyes for a moment, then stood slowly. He opened his eyes, fixed his gaze on her, and came to the center of the room.

Without hesitation, he slipped a small box from his pocket. “I will pick romance,” he said. “I think I can say without doubt that romances are my favorite. Because like you said, no matter what happens—no matter the trials, no matter how many tribulations, no matter how many terrible things happen—it works out.”

She stilled, her gaze darting quite disbelievingly from the small jewelry box back to his face.

“And?” she whispered. “Will all of it work out?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but there’s really only one way to find out.”

“And how is that?” she asked, quite cognizant of the fact that it suddenly felt as if the entire room was holding its breath.

She couldn’t believe what was happening. Surely, she was wrong. Surely, he was not about to—

Jean-Luc got down on one knee and opened the box. “I’d like to ask…” His gaze—his always sardonic, French gaze—turned earnest, open, and full of hope. “I’d like to ask you to marry me.”

She gaped at him and then at the beautiful sapphire ring winking in the box. “I cannot trust my ears,” she whispered.

He smiled then and stretched the box towards her. “Will you marry me?” he asked. “Because it was pointed out to me by a rather remarkable young lady, Portia, that I am not acting like the hero of a story,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I was about to act like a villain by running off and leaving you here when I should be sweeping you away.”

“I don’t wish to be swept away,” she returned gently, her eyes filling with tears. A few weeks ago, this was the last thing she would have wanted.

Last night, she would have sworn this could never happen, despite how her heart longed for it.

Now, it was happening, and she could hardly believe the happiness being offered to her.

“Then let us not sweep away,” he said softly. “Will you allow me to remain here with you? In this place, where there’s so much peace and so much joy, and I have been happier than I have ever known?”

She swallowed. She’d been so certain he would leave. But he wished to stay. Here. With her. With her family. He could have the world and all its treasures, but he wanted her and this little corner of the world.

It was then that she knew without a doubt, in the deepest part of her soul, that her mother had always been right. This whole affair had been for one purpose, and one purpose only, and that was for her to realize that she didn’t want to remain unwed. She’d simply needed the right man, and Jean-Luc certainly was the right man.

And the dowager duchess had been right too.

The greatest independence came from the greatest growth, and no one would ever be able to help her grow like Jean-Luc.

“The Isle of Wight,” she declared as a tear slipped down her cheek, “is for anyone who wants to stay.”

He shook his head. “Not good enough. You are now also heading into non-heroic territory,” he pointed out.

“Am I?” she gasped.

“Yes,” he said and he extended his free hand to her. “I know that you said you did not wish to marry. I said the exact same thing, but who are we if we cannot change? Who are we if we cannot alter our ideas? Are we fixed? Are we unyielding in the face of so much love? No!” he proclaimed. “We are alive. We are surrounded by the people who love us. You have offered me your love and promised it would always be mine. And the truth is, my love for you is the greatest force I have ever known,” he whispered. “And I want to give it all to you.”

And at that, there was a bustle of conversation from the Briarwoods and her family, for his comment made it clear that she had previously confessed her love to him.

She groaned. “Oh, no. They shall all now know forever that I said it first.”

He beamed at her. “That only means that you are the braver of the two of us,” he said.

She laughed at that.

“We already knew that,” Zephyr called out.

“Silence, you infuriating Englishman,” Jean-Luc drawled. “Though I love you too, my cousin.”

Jean-Luc’s face transformed into one of bewilderment. “I thought I had to be so droll, so clever, so part of the grand game of the court I grew up in. But this? Here, this life with my family and your family, Nimue? This is what it is all about.”

The Briarwoods and the Chevertons, as one, all seemed to lean forward and applaud.

“There’s nothing to applaud yet,” Jean-Luc cut in, waving them to be quiet. “She has not yet said yes.”

“But she will,” the dowager duchess said.

Nimue swung her gaze to the dowager duchess. “I thought you said there was no point in trying to maneuver me.”

“There isn’t,” the dowager duchess said. “I spoke with your mother. I took one look at you, and I knew that the best thing to do was to let you sort it out yourself. I learned my lesson, and I am so relieved you both seem to be learning yours. You two are terribly clever people, and it was very clear from the beginning that you two were going to love each other. How could two booklovers not? But sometimes people can be very, very stubborn, so we’ve all been holding our breath.”

Nimue turned to her mother. “Mama, is this true? Did you discuss this with the dowager duchess?”

Her mother had the good grace to look sheepish, and then her father stood.

“The truth is, my love, everyone has discussed it.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the families.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, flushing with embarrassment.

“Well, you see, my dear,” her father began rather merrily, tucking his hand into his waistcoat pocket. “You two have been going about on adventures and spending a good deal of time together,” her father said softly but without recrimination, and she could feel Jean-Luc shift rather uncomfortably on his knee. “And we were all just hoping that the two of you would figure out what we all knew. It’s been like watching a play, except with exceptionally higher stakes.”

“Oh, Papa,” she called out. “And Mama. You two let me believe that you would be very happy if I did not marry and stayed with you until you were old, and I was old.”

Her mother and father exchanged glances. “If that is what you had chosen, my love,” her mother said, “we would’ve accepted it, but we had a funny feeling from the moment you came home and told us about Jean-Luc that things were going to change.”

“Besides, your mother and I don’t need someone to take care of us,” her father pointed out. “We’re incredibly capable people.”

“Of course you’re capable,” Jean-Luc declared. “But just because she marries me doesn’t mean that she won’t take care of you. It means that you’ll have more people to take care of you. I will take care of you too, and your family. The whole Briarwood family will take care of you,” he said, “because that’s what they do.”

Mrs. Cheverton all but crowed with happiness. “And the Chevertons shall look after the Briarwoods!”

“Hear, hear!” declared the dowager duchess. “What is this world if it is not a place in which we take care of each other and love each other?”

“I would like to point out that I am still upon my knee,” Jean-Luc said. “Waiting.”

Nimue laughed, and then she took his hand and pulled him up. “We can’t have that.”

“That is still not an answer,” he said as he gazed down into her eyes. “What is holding you back?”

She paused and said quietly, “I thought I was going to be perfectly content as I was.”

“You were content as you were,” he said in his rather pragmatic French way.

She groaned. “Yes, I was, but that doesn’t mean that things can’t be even better.”

“Am I the even better?” he asked, his gaze beginning to spark with joy.

“I don’t know. Are you going to keep running away?” she asked boldly.

He slipped the ring from the box and took her hand in his. “No, I’m not going to run away anymore, because Portia, and my dear cousin Zephyr, troublesome man that he is, pointed out the truth to me.”

“And what is that?” she asked softly.

“We all have this truth.”

“We do?” she queried, loving the feel of her hand now in his and the sight of the ring so close to her finger.

And as he slipped the golden, sapphire-bedecked band onto her ring finger, he declared, “Every day that we’re alive is a gift. Every morning that we open our eyes and breathe in the air is a treasure. And if we do not embrace that, then we are letting down all of those who cannot have that same gift, who that gift was stolen from.”

He folded her tightly to him. “I thought by cutting myself off that I was protecting people in the future from being hurt. I can’t do that anymore. It is not good, nor kind, nor brave, nor smart. So, will you help me,” he said, “to face this world? Will you be mine?”

She linked her arms about his shoulders and tilted her head back. “I will. You and I will stand together, side by side, with our family, no matter what comes.”

Her heart soared as he pulled her up onto her toes and asked, “Now, my love, what are we reading next?”