Chapter Eight
The rain hadn’t entirely stopped, and the ground was a muddy quagmire when Burke and Enid arrived back at the Pryce estate and rushed headlong into the garden.
She held tightly to his hand, unwilling to release him for even a moment.
What a risk she’d taken, hying after him in the storm, laying bare her heart.
But having the reassurance that his regard was hers to claim made every moment of uncertainty worth it.
“Where could he be?” Burke asked, glancing around at the empty garden. “Surely he must be anxious to move on.”
“We have to steal something.” She was certain that much was necessary this time. “And we must choose something he cannot ignore.”
“Enid. Look just over there.” He pointed with his free hand toward a shaded corner of the garden.
“Good heavens. A daffodil.” She had never in all her life seen one this late in the season. Not ever.
“That is what we must take,” he said. “I know it is.”
They carefully made their way over the soggy earth to the bright yellow bloom. They each wrapped a hand around its green stem and pulled, uprooting it, mud clinging to its roots.
A sudden, cold wind picked up, and there he was, their ghost. He didn’t speak this time. He simply watched them, hope in his eyes.
“We know who you are,” Enid said. “We do not know your name, but we know that you loved Mairwen. We know she loved you but was promised to another, that you could not take what was not yours. We know who you are, and we know that you have suffered long enough.”
She heard the sigh he emitted, watched as it shuddered through him. Sunlight burst through the clouds, illuminating him. He looked up toward the source. A smile slowly spread across his face.
Inch by tiny inch, another form appeared. A woman with flowing black hair. She stood directly in front of the long-trapped squire, reaching a hand out in invitation. He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.
For the first time, likely in his entire sojourn as a lost and wandering soul, the nameless squire spoke a new phrase. “My love,” he said. “My Mairwen.”
Burke’s arms wrapped around Enid as they watched the scene play out. She leaned her head against him.
“Come, my dear,” Mairwen told the squire. “We have been apart too long.”
But he hesitated. “I must not take what is not mine.”
She raised her free hand and gently touched his face. “My love, I have always been yours.”
As quickly as it had come, the ray of light disappeared and, with it, the reunited couple. The garden ghost was free at last.
“We’ve done it, Enid,” Burke said. “We’ve done it.”
“We should tell my parents.”
He kissed the top of her head. “That is likely not all we should tell them.”
She did not fight her smile. “May I ask one thing of you before we tell my parents?”
He turned to face her directly. “Of course, dearest. You may ask me anything.”
“My parents will insist on a very staid and proper and terribly boring courtship, which means this is my last opportunity.”
He looked intrigued.
“I’d very much like you to kiss me again.”
That was, it seemed, invitation enough. There, in the no-longer-haunted garden, as the rain began to fall once more, Burke held her tenderly and kissed her deeply, pausing only long enough to whisper against her lips the most beautiful words she could imagine in that moment. “Take my heart. It is yours. Forever.”