Chapter 28
Rosalind made her way home in a blur of exhaustion. She was sure of only one thing—the feeling of Adrian’s strong arms around her as they rode together towards her home. She sat in front of him in the saddle, and the steadiness of his broad chest gave her comfort.
When they reached Thornefield Hall, everything was in an uproar. Rosalind glimpsed the Ashcombes, Honoria, Mrs. Hollis, the magistrate—she looked past them all and all their questions to find her brother’s face. He looked pale and worried beyond his years.
“I am alright,” she said softly to him. “I just need to lie down.”
She heard Oliver behind her, speaking to the magistrate about the three prisoners outside, but Adrian did not stay to direct the chaos.
Instead he picked Rosalind up in his arms and carried her carefully upstairs to her chambers, laying her gently on the bed.
A servant hurried in with a pitcher of water and a warm compress, and Adrian stepped back, ceding the space.
“I will return tomorrow,” he said quietly, and then he was gone.
Rosalind knew she would be needed downstairs to sort everything out. She wanted to rally, wash up, and tend to business as she always did, but instead she rolled quietly onto her side and let a wave of sleep ease her headache at last. Blissful darkness descended.
When she woke, the angle of the sun hinted that she had slept into the late morning. She sat up groggily and looked around at her surroundings. There was a fresh grey dress laying across the back of a chair, along with petticoats and a small bell to ring for service.
She sat up, wincing at the abrasions on her arms and wrists. There was a purple bruise where Drake had jerked her roughly around, and her wrists still bore the burns of ropes. It was strange, seeing the marks of everything she had lived through now in the safety of her own room.
She climbed quietly out of bed and dressed in the plain grey gown. It had short sleeves, so she wrapped a shawl around her arms to hide the bruises and pinned her hair up simply.
She finished, nearly as worn out from this activity as she had been the night before when she fell asleep. She gathered herself, took a deep breath, and walked downstairs. There were things to tend to that would not be mended without her present.
When she entered the parlor, however, she was surprised to see it already occupied. Adrian was sitting by one of the windows, a small book open in his lap, reading. He looked up at the sound of her step and stood quickly, bowing in greeting.
“Have you been waiting here all morning?” she said, looking at the clock on the wall. “It is nearly time for the noonday meal.”
“Not all morning,” he said with a small smile. “I arrived at a proper time, Miss Thorne. It has only been a few hours, but Mrs. Hollis lent me a bit of poetry to pass the time.”
Rosalind stepped into the room, looking at the book in his hand. “Donne,” she said, smiling.
“A favorite, as you well know.” He set the book aside and examined her with that searching gaze that left nothing hidden. “Are you well, Miss Thorne?”
“Tired, but well.” She took a deep breath. “I confess the events of yesterday seem like a bad dream. Has everything been managed in my absence? I fear I have been remiss in my duties.”
“Oliver and I tended to Drake and his henchmen,” Adrian said, his voice twisting at even the name of the villains, “and Mrs. Hollis managed the household well in your absence. I think Harry was quite frightened by your abduction. He sat outside your room for much of the night, according to Mrs. Hollis, and did not go to bed until she shooed him there in the wee hours of the morning.”
“I should go to him,” Rosalind said, turning.
“He is out riding presently,” Adrian said, adding quickly, “the cob, at a slow pace, with a groom at his side.”
Rosalind smiled. “You know me well, my lord.”
“Yes,” he said softly. “I think I do.” He took a small step towards her.
“Rosalind—” it was the first time he had spoken her given name, and it nearly made her heart stop to hear it.
“—I need to tell you something. I promised myself I would not let one more day pass without you knowing the truth, because I will not find myself again a foolish man who has waited too long and let the moment slip.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. “What are you saying?”
“I am saying that I love you,” he said, the simplicity and beauty of the truth blossoming before her like music.
“I have loved you ever since the afternoon of the lame pony, though I would not have been courageous enough to tell you, or myself, at the time. I have been a coward, and I know that I have no right asking anything of you… especially not today, when you need think only of your family and your recovery.”
His eyes held hers. “But I had to tell you, you know? Just once, so you need never wonder.”
Rosalind felt hot tears filling her eyes as she looked back at him. She wondered if he knew what a remarkable man he was, with those deep eyes and that beautiful soul—he had hidden himself away from the world, and in so doing had deprived the world of a truly stunning gift.
She stepped forward too, until they were only an arm’s length away. “You are, perhaps, a bit ahead of me in your journey,” she murmured.
“Ah,” he lowered his head, his shoulders slumping.
“For,” she hurried to add, “I have only loved you since the day you told me I was wrong about Harry and the horses—since the day you stood up to me in your drawing room and advocated for my little brother.”
She watched understanding dawn on his features, and reached out to put a gentle hand on his arm.
“I have been a coward too, Adrian. In all the same ways as you.” A tear ran down her cheek. “So, if you are not going to ask anything of me today, then I will ask it of you instead. Please, Adrian, will you marry me?”
She stepped up to him quickly, before she could change her mind or he could think better of the impropriety, and, touching the lapel of his coat, stepped up on tiptoe to kiss him gently on the lips. He reached up his hand, cupping her jaw, and bent his head to the kiss, slow and sweet and certain.
After what felt like an eternity, he pulled away and looked down at her with love and amusement sparkling in his eyes.
“I came in here with a speech, and no expectation of an answer,” he said, light-hearted.
“And now you are withholding an answer from me,” she teased in response.
“Oh, I thought that kiss would be answer enough,” he said, pulling her gently towards him. “But in case it is not, allow me to be utterly clear—I will marry you, Rosalind, with all my heart.”