Chapter 21 #3
"And if I promise it's real? If I swear that tomorrow you'll still be my brilliant, impossible betrothed with a major research project and a future full of translations?"
"Then I'll believe you." She turned in his arms. "But you'll have to remind me daily. Possibly hourly."
"I'll write it into the contracts," he promised solemnly. "Daily affirmations of reality. Hourly if needed."
"Speaking of contracts, we never discussed the wedding itself."
"Whatever you want. St. George's with a thousand guests, or a quiet ceremony with just witnesses. Your choice."
"What would you prefer?"
"Honestly? Something small. Family, close friends, no need for grand display." He traced her cheekbone with his thumb. "I want to marry you, not perform for society."
"Small it is, then. Though your family..."
"Will adjust. My sister will be thrilled as she's been haranguing me about marriage for years. My mother might take more convincing, but she values intelligence. Once she knows you properly, she'll adore you."
"Your mother. The Dowager Duchess." Eveline felt a fresh wave of nerves. "Adrian, what if..."
"What if we take each challenge as it comes?" he interrupted gently. "We've negotiated contracts, secured your positions, planned joint research. Surely we can handle one dowager duchess."
"You make it sound simple."
"Nothing about us is simple. But that's what makes it interesting." He stood, drawing her up with him. "Dance with me."
"Again? You know what happened last time."
"I'm counting on it." But his hold was gentle, swaying more than dancing. "I want to tell you something."
"If it's another secret academic identity, I may need more champagne."
"No more secrets. Just truth." He pulled her closer. "I've been alone a long time, Eveline. Not physically because there's always someone wanting the duke's attention. But intellectually, emotionally... I'd resigned myself to isolation."
"Adrian..."
"Let me finish. You crashed into my life arguing about book organization and Latin etymology. You challenged everything I thought I knew about myself, my world, my future. You made me want more than resignation."
"You did the same for me," she admitted. "I was so focused on proving my worth through work that I'd forgotten there were other forms of value. You reminded me that the heart matters too."
"Look at us being mutually life-changing. Morrison would be composing odes."
"Please don't give him ideas. His poetry is enthusiastic but terrible."
They swayed together in the gathering dusk, the library that had witnessed so much of their story wrapping them in familiar comfort.
"I love you," Adrian said simply. "Have I mentioned that today?"
"Only a dozen times."
"Shamefully negligent. I shall do better tomorrow."
"See that you do." She rose on her toes to kiss him. "I have standards now. Revolutionary standards."
"The best kind," he agreed, and kissed her back until thoughts of standards, revolutions, and tomorrow dissolved entirely.
When they finally parted, breathless and disheveled, the library was dark save for the dying fire.
"I should go," Eveline said without moving.
"You should," Adrian agreed, making no effort to release her.
"This is becoming a pattern."
"The best kind of pattern. Though perhaps we should set a wedding date soon, before Morrison's knocking loses all effectiveness."
"Six months?" she suggested. "Time to establish the Byzantine project, complete my Ovid translations, let the initial scandal die down?"
"Six months of this careful distance? We'll go mad."
"Then we'll have to find ways to stay sane. Joint research trips, perhaps. Purely professional, of course."
"Of course. Nothing improper about examining manuscripts together in remote libraries." His smile was wicked. "I'm particularly looking forward to Oxford. Excellent manuscripts and terrible weather so we'll be forced to work closely together for warmth."
"You're incorrigible."
"I'm in love. It has a similar effect."
Eventually, propriety and practicality won. Adrian summoned his carriage, escorting her home with all proper ceremony despite the improper ideas clearly occupying both their minds.
"Tomorrow," he said at her door, "we sign contracts that remake marriage itself. Are you ready?"
"I've been ready since you stole my translations," she replied. "It just took me a while to realise it."
"Then tomorrow we make it official. Partnership in all things."
"In all things," she agreed, and watched him disappear into the night.
Inside, she found Harriet waiting with tea and expectations.
"Well?" her friend demanded. "Are you revolutionarily betrothed yet?"
"We've drafted contracts that would make Mary Wollstonecraft proud," Eveline confirmed. "I keep my name, my income, my positions. He's even deeding me a house."
"A house! Eveline, that's extraordinary."
"Everything about this is extraordinary. He's joining my Byzantine project, did I mention? Turns out he's been secretly publishing scholarly work for years."
"Of course he has." Harriet laughed. "You've found the one man in England who can match your mind. How irritatingly perfect."
"It is, rather. Irritating and perfect both." Eveline accepted the tea gratefully. "Six months until the wedding. Time to establish everything properly."
"Time to go slowly mad with unconsummated passion, you mean."
"Harriet!"