With his other hand, he dug in his pocket, withdrawing a small object which he kept concealed in his palm. “When I first asked you to marry me, I didn’t have a ring for you. You should probably be glad for that, as you would have no doubt ended up with some gaudy, ostentatious thing.Thiswas purchased for you, exactly as you are now. It wasn’t terribly expensive, nor is it likely to earn you the envy of other ladies—but I thought you would like it best.” He opened his hand to reveal a small circle of gold, adorned with a single garnet contained within a setting in the shape of a heart.
She had never seen anything more beautiful, had never expected him to offer her something so completely suited to her. It had not been chosen to impress, nor to display his wealth—it had simply been chosen for her, by the man who knew her better than anyone else, the man who loved her beyond reason.
“This is my promise to you,” he said. “It’s seven years late, but—”
“It’s perfect.” She reached for him, and in her haste to cast herself into his arms, she knocked his hand with hers, sending the ring flying. It pinged off the wall and went bouncing across the floor, rolling somewhere beneath the bed.
“Claire,” he murmured against her lips as his arms closed around her. “This had better meanyes.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed the curve of her cheek, her chin—anywhere, everywhere. “I’m not scrounging around beneath the bed for the ring if you’re only going to reject me once again.”
“Yes,” she said, rising onto her toes to kiss him again. And again—she had missed seven years of kisses. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips. “So long as you’re sure.”
What lingering tension he had carried dissolved like sugar in tea. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. Claire, we’re going to be so happy.” His fingers drifted down her back, adroitly working at divesting her of her gown.
“Oh,” she murmured. “The ring—” But his lips smothered the words, and she capitulated with a sigh. The ring had waited seven years already. It could wait just a bit longer.
Epilogue
London, England
December, 1824
“Mum!”
The shout echoed through the foyer, sailing up the staircase and into the nursery, where Claire had been ensconced with her two youngest children, carefully constructing a tower of wooden blocks. The baby, Elizabeth, did little more than chew on them with her newly-acquired teeth—but Violet, nearly five now, stacked them with a precision that bordered on elegance.
“In the nursery,” she called back.
Elizabeth babbled, grinning as she thrust a drool-covered block into Claire’s hand.
“That’s right, darling,” Claire cooed. “Your brother’s home from school.” Matthew’s first term at Eton had just concluded, but he had considered himself much too grown to be retrieved by his parents, and so they had sent the carriage for him instead. It had been harder than she had expected to see her little boy off to school at the start of the term, but she had begrudgingly admitted that the experience would be good for him.
Thunderous footsteps resounded on the stairs, and as Matthew careened into the room at last, she was forced to admit that he wasn’t her little boy anymore. In his smart coat and trousers, with his hair neatly slicked back, he looked like a miniature man—more and more like Gabriel every day. His last asthma attack had been more than three years ago. And while Dr. Barnes remained their personal physician, neither of the girls had yet shown any sign of being predisposed to any delicacy of the lungs.
She unfolded herself from the floor, nodding to the nanny to keep an eye on the children. “Welcome home, darling,” she said, enfolding him in her arms.
“Aw, mum,” he said, as if she had embarrassed him with her affection. But he returned it at last, and she supposed she might have another year or so until he was at last too grown to bear the humiliation of his mother’s love. “Is father around?”
As if on cue, Gabriel poked his head into the nursery. “I thought I heard—” He clapped eyes on their oldest son and grinned. “Look at you,” he said. “You must have grown a full inch since the start of the term. I suppose we’ll have to take you the tailor over the holiday.”
“Richard grew at least two,” Matthew said. “But I got higher marks than he did.” Anne’s son had entered Eton the previous year, his education funded by the annuity that Gabriel had insisted upon providing for Claire’s sister and her husband. It had allowed them to live comfortably in a lovely Mayfair townhouse, with funds enough to finance schooling for Richard and eventually a dowry for Judith, who would next year begin her education in ladylike pursuits at a prestigious girls’ seminary.
Gabriel slung his arm over Matthew’s shoulders, ruffling his hair affectionately. “What say you to a ride, hm?” Casting a grin at Claire, he said, “A quick one. We’ll be back before tea. Promise.”
“Please, mum.” Matthew clasped his hands together in entreaty.
Her boys, pleading with identical expressions, to be allowed to go off and bementogether, doing whatever it was that mendid. It simply wasn’t fair.
And yet she found herself heaving a longsuffering sigh and casting her hands into the air in surrender. “Avery shortride,” she said. “And youmustbe back by tea—”
But they were already dashing off, laughing with delight.
Claire rolled her eyes and strode to the door. “Or there will be no gingerbread for either of you!” she shouted down after them. But she didn’t expect either of them had paid her any mind.
∞∞∞
As she had expected, Gabriel and Matthew were late for tea. By the time they returned, Westwood had been fit to climb the walls. Absent male companionship, he had been forced to suffer through a purely feminine affair.
His wife, Poppy, had become a dear friend of Claire’s in the years that had passed, and Westwood himself had become Gabriel’s closest friend, though hardly his only one. Poppy had once confessed that it was at her insistence that Westwood had foisted his presence upon Gabriel, but Claire suspected that neither of them would ever fully understand just how much Gabriel had needed a friend then—even one he hadn’t particularly wanted at the time.
