Chapter 32
Maria barely had time to register the strange stillness in the room before Samson crossed it, closing the distance between them in a few quick strides, and kissed her.
It wasn't the careful, tentative kiss he'd given her at the guest house gate those past two evenings.
This one left no room for doubt, firm and certain, his hand coming up to rest against her cheek as though he meant to make sure she felt every bit of what he couldn't seem to say fast enough in words.
Maria's confusion fell away somewhere in the middle of it, replaced by something warmer, and when he finally drew back, she found herself a little breathless, and not entirely sure what had just happened, only that she was glad of it.
"Samson—"
"Whatever I've said this week, whatever impression I might have given you," he said, still close, his hand not yet leaving her face, "I want you to know I never once doubted us.
Not for a moment. If I made it seem otherwise, if my patience with Ella made you feel like anything was uncertain between you and me, that's a fault of mine, and I'm sorry for it. "
"I didn't know what to think," Maria admitted. "I still don't know what's happened here."
"I'll explain all of it, I promise you that. But first." He took her hand, steady, sure of himself in a way she hadn't seen from him before. "I want to marry you, Maria. Soon as it can be arranged, if you'll still have me. I don't want to wait on it any longer than we have to."
Maria felt something rise in her chest, bright and sudden, chasing out the last of the week's confusion and hurt. "Yes," she said, before he'd even finished the thought properly. "Yes, of course."
Billy let out a whoop that seemed entirely too large for the room, and Meg's careful composure finally broke into something like a smile. For a moment the store felt full of nothing but relief and gladness, four people who'd found their way, at last, to solid ground.
Samson turned then, and the warmth in his face cooled considerably as his attention settled on Ella. She stood by the counter with the folder still visible behind her, the whole shape of her scheme laid bare in front of everyone who mattered most.
"Ella."
"Samson, please." Her composure had cracked entirely now, something raw and pleading in its place. "I know how it looks. I know. But I only?—“
Maria wondered what had just happened. She had a lot of questions, and wasn’t sure who to ask them to.
"I forgive you," Samson said, and something in his voice, though not unkind, left no room for argument. "I do. You're Livvy's sister, and whatever you've done this week, I won't carry hate for you over it, not when your sister loved you as much as she did.”
Now Maria had more questions.
Ella's face lifted slightly at that, some small hope returning to it.
"But I think it's best," Samson went on, "if I practice that forgiveness from a good distance.
Back in Wheatrow, maybe, would be a good place for you.
Where you've still got a home waiting, and a life that doesn't involve pretending to be somebody's wife for the sake of a fortune that was never going to be yours to claim.”
A fortune? What?
"Samson—"
"There's a train through tomorrow morning," he said. "I'll see you've got fare enough for it. But I think it's time you went home, Ella."
Ella looked around the room once more. The children watched her, no sympathy left in their faces. Maria stood close beside Samson, his hand still holding hers. For the first time since she'd arrived in Mason's Clear, Ella seemed to understand there was nothing left here for her to win.
Ella gathered what dignity she had left and turned toward the door without another word, and Maria watched her go, feeling something almost like pity beneath the relief.
Then Samson's hand tightened around hers, and the pity fell away, replaced by the plain, solid certainty of what she'd come all this way to find.
Not a copy of anyone. Not a life borrowed from someone else's memory.
Just this, hers alone, a man who'd chosen her in front of everyone, and a family that was only just beginning to become the one she'd imagined on the train.