Chapter 24 #3
“Don’t let it get too quiet over there,” Jennifer called.
“We would hate to need to come check on you two,” Lady Petunia added.
Sam looked up at Harriet. “Is this better?”
“It might be the best we’re going to have,” she said with a smile. “Dazzle me, my lord.”
He laid his paper on the stone next to her, prepared his quill for future brilliance, and steeled himself for a proper go of things.
He was tempted to compare his lady to a summer’s day, or portray her as a dream that was beyond his pen’s power to describe, or simply write something very modern that included them both in some adorable chocolate-box cottage near Stratford where he could rehearse his lines and she could write mysteries about felines and non-gory mysteries if she chose, but he was far too distracted by the woman herself.
‘Twas no wonder so many poets had lived in freezing little cottages where the only things keeping them warm were their imaginations and perhaps a bit of peat.
They never would have gotten anything done otherwise.
He finally looked up at her. “I’m having a hard time concentrating.”
“Should I go?”
He caught her hand before she could move.
“I’ll manage.”
“Would you like me to be your scribe?”
He smiled and shook his head. “I want you to sit there with the light from my mother’s window falling down on you and let me think romantic thoughts. As always, feel free to reward me as you see fit.”
“What sorts of romantic thoughts are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking of observing clutches of snowdrops whilst wandering along river banks with wild thyme.”
“Are there fairy rings mentioned anywhere in Shakespeare’s works?”
“The Tempest speaks of green ringlets in the grass,” he said thoughtfully, then he looked up. “There’s a sonnet that says that ‘love’s not time’s fool.’”
“’Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds’?” she asked with a smile.
“That one,” he agreed. He considered, then set his quill aside and turned toward her. He took her hand in both his own. “I’m not seeing any alterations in my feelings,” he said quietly.
“Or in your life?”
He took a deep breath. “Perhaps not, which I suppose means the next question is, could you live with that?”
She looked at her hands in his for a moment or two, then at him. “Is that a proposal?”
“I’m testing the waters first.”
“And here I thought you only wanted to take me out to dinner,” she said lightly.
“I still do, just more than once.”
“How many times more than once?”
“Seventy years’ worth?” He snuck a look at her to see how she was taking that. “Give or take a day or two. But only a day or two.”
She fussed with the edge of his tunic sleeve. “So, does that mean you’ll come visit me in Omaha?”
“Actually, I thought maybe we could avoid that sort of distance.”
She met his gaze. “As in, you’ll move to Omaha?”
He couldn’t decide if she were teasing him or not, so he imagined he would do well to take her words as they came at him. “We could absolutely discuss it, if you like.”
“Not very many castles there.”
He lifted a shoulder in a bit of a shrug. “Your father seems to have found things to satisfy his need for the same.”
“He also comes to England every year for at least a month.”
Sam nodded carefully. “So he does.”
He watched as something began to show in her eyes, perhaps the realization that he was indeed earnest. He wasn’t sure he could bear to watch her take an abrupt step back from him, not again, so he smiled.
“We could live wherever suits us both,” he said. “If you can endure me for more than once for a single supper. But don’t think about it yet—”
And that was as far as he got before she put her hands on his cheeks, looked at him with tears in her eyes, and kissed him.
More than once.
He was fairly certain she’d stepped on his toes or perhaps he’d caught her before she tripped, though perhaps he was simply too overcome by the fact that she had pulled him up off his stool, pushed him down on the bench, then moved to sit on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I’m not good at this,” she said, looking at him briefly.
He blew his hair out of his eyes. “Are you daft, woman? You most certainly are, but if you wish to hone your skills, I am, as always, your most devoted and loyal servant.”
She smiled and went back to her goodly work.
He imagined, when he could think again, that he was going to need a bit of cold air to restore his wits and cool his blushes. He would have protested when she pulled away from him, but he found he couldn’t manage to even open his eyes.
“You’re laughing at me,” he grumbled.
“I’m making noises of appreciation over your absolute adorableness.”
He did look at her then, then leaned forward and kissed her very softly. “I’d like to talk to your father tonight.”
She nodded.
“And then talk to you on the morrow.”
“Just talk?”
“Well,” he said, “we have to start somewhere, don’t we?”
“That’s worked pretty well so far.”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close for a moment or two, then only protested slightly when she crawled off his lap and held out her hands for him. He considered, then looked up at him.
“I’m not sure I can move yet.”
“Then—oh, yes, Lady Jennifer. I’ll be right there.”
Sam suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as his lady abandoned him for his mother who he was absolutely certain had timed her request for aid with perfect precision.
He leaned his head back against the stone and spared a few moments to hope that all would sort itself as it needed to, then heaved himself to his feet and followed after his mother and his future—well, whatever she would agree to be that he sincerely hoped would include many, many suppers together.
He made certain the ladies were escorted properly down the stairs, then hung back at the edge of the hall and watched as Harriet navigated conversation with his sisters that included some French, a bit of Latin, and from what he could tell was a fair amount of Italian.
He suspected that boded well for his future jet-setting.
What he was certain of was that Harriet Delphinium Brewster was not at all what he’d thought her to be whilst at the same time being absolutely who he’d known she was from the moment he’d met her.
Lovely, ethereal, and at her core not afraid to march onto the field with whatever arms she had to hand.
She looked over her shoulder, found him, then smiled.
He suspected he would never catch his breath again.
He made her a low bow, then managed to get himself all the way to his father’s solar without running afoul of siblings, swords, or wee children bent on wrestles. He knocked, then was bidden enter.
He made his father a bow, then made Harriet’s father the same courtesy. His father leaned back in his chair and smiled.
“Aye, son?”
“I’ve come to speak with Lord Harold, Father.”
“About anything in particular?”
Nicholas’s eyes were bright with what Sam suspected was a fair bit of amusement, but his father had suffered through his own bit of torture to have his beloved wife, so the path was at least well-trodden. He bowed again to his father, then looked at his love’s sire.
“I would like to discuss with you having your daughter’s hand in marriage,” he said seriously.
“Well,” Harold Brewster said, “why don’t you have a seat, son, and let’s examine how you’ll see my daughter taken care of. We have a few minutes before supper, if I have my schedule aright, and we can absolutely return later for more discussion if necessary.”
Sam spared a moment to acknowledge the delicate path he was going to be walking between medieval mores and modern conventions, but he was a knight of the realm and the woman he loved deserved every ounce of chivalry he could put on display for not only her, but her parents.
He nodded politely to Lord Harold and went to sit in a chair he was fairly certain wasn’t going to be all that comfortable for what was apparently going to be a good portion of the rest of the day, but he would absolutely endure it.
Perhaps he would, as his father had advised, collect it as one of those moments that would make up the simplicity of his life. If nothing else, Harriet would find it amusing and it would give him fodder to use with his own children as time went by and they found themselves in his current straits.
He was going to thoroughly enjoy it, of that he was certain.
But first to win their mother. He faced his love’s sire and put on his best smile, hoping it might work a bit better than it normally did.