24. In Which Parents Reach a Decision – Ashbourne House, Grosvenor Square, London #2
"Occupied for at least an hour."
"Then stop talking and touch me properly."
He groaned and kissed me harder, his hands sliding up my thighs, pushing my skirts higher. "Damn, I love you."
"Show me."
His hands found the ties of my petticoats, the fastenings of my dress. Twelve years of marriage had made him efficient—he could undress me in the dark, by touch alone, and he did so now with practiced ease.
"You're still wearing too much," I complained, tugging at his cravat.
"Patience."
"I've been patient for weeks. Watching you be noble and restrained with Charlotte and Edward. Being the responsible parent." I got his cravat undone, moved to the buttons of his waistcoat. "I don't want to be patient anymore."
"What do you want?"
"You. Now. On this desk."
He laughed, the sound dark and pleased. "Your wish, my love."
He made quick work of his own clothing, then returned his attention to mine. His hands, his mouth, the solid weight of him against me—after twelve years, he knew exactly how to touch me, exactly what I needed.
"Lucas," I gasped as his hand slid between my thighs. "Please?—"
"I have you." He kissed me deeply, his fingers moving with purpose. "Always, Juliet. I have you."
I came apart in his arms, biting down on his shoulder to muffle my cries. And then he was lifting me, positioning himself, sliding home with a groan that vibrated through both of us.
"Still good?" he asked, his voice strained.
"Better than good." I wrapped my legs around his waist, my hands gripping his shoulders. "Move. Lucas, please move."
He did. Slow at first, then faster, his hands on my hips, guiding me to meet each thrust. The desk creaked beneath us, and I didn't care. All I cared about was this—Lucas and me, coming together the way we had for years, building something that had started from necessity and become essential.
"I love you," he breathed against my neck. "God, Juliet, I love you so much."
"I love you too. Always. Even when you're infuriating."
He laughed and kissed me again, swallowing the sounds I was making, the way we'd learned to be quiet even in passion after years of sharing a house with children.
When we finished—together, the way we'd learned to time it—we stayed wrapped around each other, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together.
"That was—" I started.
"Overdue," Lucas finished. "We've been too focused on Charlotte and Edward. Forgotten to focus on us."
"We're parents. That's what happens."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it." He kissed me softly. "We should do this more often. Remind ourselves why we're still together after twelve years."
"I don't need reminding."
"Neither do I. But I enjoy the reminder anyway." He helped me down from the desk, both of us laughing at the state of our clothes, the disaster we'd made of his study.
"We have to make ourselves presentable," I said, trying to repair my hair. "The children will notice if we come back looking?—"
"Thoroughly compromised?" Lucas grinned. "Let them wonder. We're married. We're allowed."
"You're incorrigible."
"You love it."
I did. God help me, I did.
We made ourselves as presentable as possible—Lucas straightening his clothes, me repairing my hair with the pins we could find. We probably still looked suspicious, but at least we didn't look like we'd just made love on a desk.
"Tonight," Lucas said as we prepared to leave the study. "After we talk to Charlotte and Edward. I want you in our bed. Properly. With time to do this right."
"We just did this."
"That was fast and desperate. Tonight I want slow and thorough." He kissed me once more. "Deal?"
"Deal."
We returned to the drawing room to find Charlotte and Edward still at the pianoforte, Eleanor still reading in the corner, everything exactly as we'd left it.
Except everything had changed. Because Lucas and I had made a decision.
We would support this. Charlotte and Edward. Let them court. Let them build something real.
The way we had.
After dinner, I found Edward in the library.
He looked up when I entered, his expression wary. "Juliet."
"Edward." I closed the door behind me. "I need to talk to you."
"If this is about Charlotte?—"
"It is. But not the way you think." I moved to sit across from him. "Edward, I owe you an apology."
He blinked. "What?"
"I made you doubt. I questioned whether what you feel for Charlotte is real. I asked Lucas to challenge you, to make you prove something that shouldn't need proving." I paused. "I was wrong."
"Juliet—"
"Let me finish. Please." I took a breath.
"I was scared. I looked at you and Charlotte, and I saw Lucas and me.
Forced to marry at eighteen and forty-five.
Starting from scandal and need. And I was terrified that Charlotte was making the same mistakes I made.
That she'd spend years wondering if this was real. "
"But you and Lucas are happy."
"We are. Now. But it took some time.” I met his eyes. "I didn't want that for Charlotte. I wanted her to be certain from the start. To not have to wonder."
"And now?"
"Now I realise that's impossible. That no one is certain from the start. That love is always a risk, always a leap of faith." I smiled slightly. "Lucas pointed out that we're holding you to a standard we never held ourselves to. Asking you to separate need from love when we never could."
Edward leaned forward. "So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying I believe you. I believe you love Charlotte for who she is, not just because she rescued you from guilt. I believe she loves you for who you are, not just because you make her feel safe." I paused. "And I'll support this. The courtship. The marriage. All of it."
"You mean it?"
"I mean it. But Edward—" My voice turned serious. "If you hurt her, I will make your life a misery. Understood?"
He laughed, the sound relieved. "Understood."
"Good. Now go find my husband. He has something to tell you."
Edward stood, then hesitated. "Juliet—thank you. For caring enough to question. For making us examine what we feel. We needed that."
"You're welcome. Now go. Before I change my mind."
He gave me a quick hug and left. I sat alone in the library and let myself feel the weight of what I'd just done.
I'd given my blessing. To my brother. To marry my daughter.
And somehow, it felt right.
Later that night, Charlotte came to my room.
"Mama? You wanted to talk to me?"
"Yes. Come in. Sit." I patted the bed beside me.
She sat, her expression cautious. "Is this about Edward?"
"It is. Charlotte, I owe you an apology."
"You don't?—"
"I do. I questioned whether you loved Edward for the right reasons. I made you doubt yourself. I projected my own fears onto you." I took her hand. "I was wrong to do that."
"You were trying to protect me."
"I was. But I went about it the wrong way. Instead of trusting you to know your own heart, I made you question it. And I'm sorry for that."
Charlotte was quiet for a moment. Then: "Did you really wonder? With Papa? Whether it was real?"
"Yes. For years. We married because we had to, and for a long time, I didn't know if what I felt was love or just acceptance. Making the best of a bad situation."
"When did you know?"
I thought about it. "There wasn't one moment. It was gradual. But I remember thinking, one day, I would choose this. Even if I had the choice to leave, to start over, I would choose Lucas. Choose this life. And that's when I knew it was real."
"I would choose Edward," Charlotte said simply. "Even if Dunmore weren't pursuing me. Even if there weren't any crisis. I would still choose Edward."
"I know you would." I squeezed her hand. "And that's why your father and I have decided—we'll allow the courtship. Officially. With our blessing."
Charlotte's eyes went wide. "You mean it?"
"We mean it. You and Edward have proven this is real. You've questioned yourselves, examined your motives, tried to separate rescue from love. That's more than most couples do." I smiled. "So yes. We'll support this. All the way to the altar, if that's what you both want."
"Mama." Charlotte threw her arms around me. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
I held my daughter and tried not to cry. "Just promise me something."
"Anything."
"Promise me you'll keep questioning. Keep examining. Keep making sure this is what you want. Not just when things are hard, but when they're easy too."
"I promise."
"Good. Now go to bed. You have a busy day tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Because Edward is going to ask your father for formal permission to court you. And knowing Lucas, he's going to make it appropriately dramatic." I smiled. "Sleep well, darling."
Charlotte left, practically floating.
I changed into my nightgown and waited for Lucas to come to bed.
When he did, I pulled him close.
"We did the right thing," I said. "Didn't we?"
"We did. They love each other. Really love each other. The rest will work itself out."
"I hope you're right."
"I'm always right." He kissed me. "Now, about that promise I made earlier. Slow and thorough?"
"Please."
He made good on his promise. And much later, wrapped in his arms, I thought: This. This is what I want for Charlotte. Not perfection. Not certainty. Just this. Someone who sees her. Someone who chooses her. Every day.
The way Lucas chooses me.
Every day for twelve years.
And every day for the rest of our lives.