Chapter 25
Late autumn had always been Emme’s favorite time of year. The leaves still blazed in glorious colors, the air carried a crisp
promise of winter, and the scent of hearth fires lingered on the breeze. Christmas lay just ahead—a season of light and joy
she usually faced with unbridled anticipation. Yet tonight her heart felt as heavy as the leaden clouds that had threatened
rain all day.
She wrapped her cape tighter around her neck, stepping away from the house and its ever-present bustle of conversation and
laughter. Aunt Meredith’s dinner party had been a roaring success, but even the warmth of her family’s company could not banish
the ache that had taken root within her.
Uncle John and Aunt Meredith had welcomed her into their home, offering solitude or company, as needed, and her cousins—all
younger than she—provided ample entertainment.
Time would help. Comfort certainly did.
And she’d survived heartbreak before.
Only this time, she’d broken her own heart.
Thomas’s letter from a few days before praised her newest manuscript, offering his confidence in the publisher acquiring it
without hesitation. And writing such a story, so real to her everyday life, kindled another, of which she’d only penned a
few pages, but she already adored the travel-loving heroine.
Oh, how she hoped her sister’s road to romance led her down much easier and more fulfilling paths.
She settled onto the small stone bench in the garden, letting her gaze drift skyward. The stars shone bright, their pinpricks of light a silent reminder of the vastness of the world—and perhaps a much greater Storyteller’s work.
It had been a week since they had parted. Seven days, and yet the ache had not lessened. Every knock at the door still sent
her heart racing. Every creak of carriage wheels made her foolishly hopeful. But Simon had not come, and she could not fault
him.
At some point, she would stop crying.
And at some point, the deep laughter of someone nearby wouldn’t immediately make her think of him.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to stop this nonsensical pining. Simon was bound by duty—he had honorable obligations
that she could not resent, even if they kept him from her.
Despite Emme’s internal fortitude to be like Elinor Dashwood in her acceptance of her situation, she’d spent a few quiet evenings
crying in her room as she’d read over the three letters Simon had sent her two years before. Of course he shouldn’t have written
her until they were engaged. And she shouldn’t have kept them for the same reason, but somehow—she laughed at the absurdity—in
a tortured sort of way, they comforted her. His writing, his words, his affection had all been real and genuine . . . and
lasting. There was such comfort in the knowledge that he had loved . . . did love her, and much like the tenderhearted Edward Ferrars caught in a web of his own making, Simon’s desires had been for
her, but social expectations and the power of money changed everything. No, Simon had never been Willoughby. Perhaps in a
cursory look from the outside, but never at heart. He’d been faithful to his first love. Her.
Her smile peaked. Perhaps he was a Colonel Brandon after all.
She stood from the bench and approached a few lasting roses intermingled in the hedgerow. Red roses. Her lips tipped. Passionate
love.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke the stillness, their measured pace soft against the gravel path.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit cold to be studying roses out here by yourself?”
Emme startled, her eyes snapping wide. That voice—it couldn’t be. She turned, and her heart seized as the familiar silhouette
stepped into view. The light from the house framed him, casting his face in shadow, but she knew him.
Knew his stature. His gait.
She attempted to respond, but all the words in her head disappeared. Nothing but a puff of translucent air emerged from her
open mouth, creating a tiny cloud in the night. She pinched the collar of her cape, just to have something to hold on to,
as he stepped nearer.
“Speechless, are we?” His teasing tone carried warmth that wrapped around her like a second cloak. “I must say, I’m honored
to have rendered an author incapable of words.”
His next step brought him close enough for the moonlight to reveal the unmistakable curve of his smile. Her breath caught.
He was here. In Yorkshire. Smiling?
She blinked, struggling to reconcile the man before her with their last encounter.
“How—” But words proved as intangible as breath.
“By the fastest carriage ride in recorded history.” His grin tipped wider.
A voiceless laugh broke from her—was it relief or disbelief?—before she managed to say, “I hope you rewarded the horses and
driver handsomely.”
“I was rather preoccupied with finding the woman I mean to marry.” His gaze held hers. “But if you’ll remind me later, I shall
see to it that the horses receive their due praise and the driver a generous tip.”
“Marry me?” she repeated faintly, the words shaking as they left her lips. “How can—”
“You’re proposing?” His teasing tone softened, but the glint of mischief lingered in his eyes. “Then I accept. I will marry you.”
Another laugh shook free from her. “Simon, this—how is this even possible?”
“It’s quite simple.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to an intimate timbre. “If you don’t marry me, my family may revolt
and lock me out of Ravenscross for the rest of my life. Believe me, Lottie and even Will are not to be underestimated.”
The slightest crook in his grin pulled her attention to his lips, and her throat went dry. When her eyes met his again, his
expression had shifted, the teasing giving way to something deeper, rawer.
He breached the distance between them and slid one palm across her cheek, the pad of his thumb trailing over her lips. “Will
you let me love you for all the days of our lives, Emmeline Lockhart?”
The heat building in her eyes liquified, and in one swift movement, he captured her mouth with his. She melted against him
as his arms pulled her nearer, encapsulating her. Oh, she’d dreamed of another kiss. Another opportunity to relish the feel
of his lips against hers.
And this time, she was ready—ready to embrace the moment and all that came with it. Her hand fisted the front of his coat
while the other ventured upward, tracing the firm plane of his chest to the strong line of his jaw. His breath caught as her
fingers brushed the curve of his ear, and a deliciously deep sound escaped him when her hand slid into the soft waves of his
hair.
No fantasy could compare to this—the reality of his lips, his strength, his scent. The romance of paper and ink, no matter
how eloquent, held no candle to the fiery truth of him.
He broke the kiss first, his forehead resting gently against hers as their breaths mingled in the air.
It was all too . . . much.
Her fingers trailed from his hair to his cheek. A smile she’d kept locked away for too long finally bloomed, accompanied by a quiet, almost disbelieving chuckle. “What happened to change things? I’m still an author, and your aunt . . .”
“She’s reevaluated her priorities and found them misdirected.” He brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering.
“And once I was free to act, I went directly to your father. Not only did he give his blessing, but he also supplied explicit
directions to the Spencers’ house. I must say, he was remarkably efficient.”
A laugh bubbled up from her, lighter than she’d felt in weeks. “Efficient, was he?”
“Indeed. As we shall have to be as well, given the need for frugality. But if you’re willing—”
“I’m willing,” she interrupted, rocking up on tiptoe to touch her lips to his. “Happily willing.”
Her brief touch must not have been enough for him, for his arms pulled her in once again to indulge in another lingering taste
of her lips. Her hold on his coat likely prolonged the delightful embrace longer than he’d originally intended, but he didn’t
seem to mind.
“And Simon,” she began, her fingers smoothing over the fabric of his lapel, as his mouth breathed another kiss against her
temple. “I do have some funds of my own, other than my dowry. It’s not much compared to an estate, but it may help.”
His lips took a gentle detour to her cheek, then her ear. “Do you?”
Her eyes flickered closed at the blissful caresses, his whisper so close to her neck, it shot a fire of tingles over her skin.
She’d never known such delightful flutterings. Her fingers fisted his coat again, more to stay upright than anything else.
She waded through her blurry thoughts to rediscover what she’d said. “Yes,” she breathed, as his lips found her jawline. “I . . .
I have almost three thousand pounds in the funds.”
He jerked back, his eyes wide. “Did you say you have three thousand pounds in the funds?”
“And I’m assured of more with a fourth book,” she admitted, her uncertain smile gaining more confidence in the light of his appreciation. Perhaps three thousand proved impressive, even for a viscount? “And continued royalties from the first three.”
“Three thousand . . .” He gave his head a shake before reexamining her. “Why on earth didn’t you mention this sooner?”
“Because to reveal the funds, I would have had to reveal my writing. Without assurance of a future with you, I . . . I never
thought of them as a solution.”
“It’s extraordinary, Emme. What a testament to your brilliance.” His palms rose to cradle her shoulders and his expression
sobered. “But we can’t use that money for Ravenscross. It’s yours, and I want it to remain yours. You earned it.”
“But if it is mine,” she countered, her own hint of mischief curving her smile, “then I may do with it as I please. And I choose us. If Ravenscross is to become my home, then I want to be a part of its restoration.”
His laughter was warm as he rested his forehead against hers once more. “You have been reforming Ravenscross—and me—long before
tonight.”
“Then let us finish the work together.” She tugged on his coat, drawing him closer. “As man and wife?”
“My new favorite phrase,” he murmured, capturing her lips again, lingering with caresses both gentle and searching. Heaven and earth, she loved him!
As they began the walk back to the house, her hand tucked securely in his, he glanced at her, his lips curving into a crooked
grin. “I feel as though we’ve come full circle.”
“Do you?”
“Indeed. I had intended to propose to you in a garden two years ago.” He waved toward the space of flowers and hedgerows.
“And now, you’ve proposed to me in one.”
“I did not propo—”
“Shhh.” He raised a finger to her lips, his expression playfully severe. “Let us not ruin the moment.” He resumed their walk
at a slower pace. “I shall regale our children with the story of the time their mother broke all propriety to propose to their
father.”
“Simon!” She laughed, swatting at his arm, but he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, his gaze catching in hers.
She could drown in that admiration.
“You know, this scene is almost an exact replica of the ending in a recent book I read from a new favorite author of mine.”
He raised his brows, tucking her arm within his and taking his time guiding them back to the house. “Only the man proposed
to the woman in that story, but I’m willing to overlook the difference.”
He was wonderfully ridiculous, and she’d missed this lighthearted side of him. Could it be that their shared love lightened
his burdens a little, enough to allow the carefree and teasing Simon back to the light again? But his gravity of character
suited him well too, his deep and abiding love for those under his protection. For her.
“But Elinor and Edward don’t reunite in a garden.”
“Ah, no.” He looked up at the sky as if in thought, but the slightest twitch to his lips gave away his humor. “I was referring
to a brand-new novel I read where the hero proposes to the heroine in a garden at night after their possibility of marriage
seemed all but lost.”
“You read a story with that ending?” She searched her thoughts for the title of such a story.
“And the hero had two younger siblings instead of five.”
What was he talking about? “But you—”
“And the worthless hero had to grow into his status as hero after fumbling around like an idiot for a good half of the book.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, pausing their approach to the house just within the shadows of the doorway. “I really do feel
you were basing this character on someone you know.”
Her breath caught as his meaning became clear. “You . . . you read my book?”
“Devoured it,” he corrected. “It was marvelous, so much like its creator.” He captured her chin with his finger and thumb,
his look so filled with adoration that it took her breath away. “I’m so proud of you, Emme. And even prouder to be the man
you’ve chosen.”
She basked in the knowledge of his love for her, of his appreciation of her gifts. Of the fact that after all this time, they’d
finally found each other again and were both better people than they’d been before. “Our romance does make a very good story.”
“Indeed, it does.” He took another quick kiss, his fingers still lingering on her chin. “But I’d much rather live this one
than read about it.”
“Oh yes,” she said, sighing against his lips, embracing him, his love, her stories, and this beautiful ending to a very long
journey to find each other again. “I look forward to the adventure.”