The air was still, sweet with the scent of early spring blossoms and the faint tang of the tide. She wandered the path slowly, her hands bare now, the ache in her chest finally quiet. The roses had not yet bloomed, but new shoots were pushing through the soil, stubborn and sure.
A month ago, she would have doubted everything, her instincts, her courage, her worth. Now, she moved withcertainty. Not because the danger had passed, but because she hadendured it.
Footsteps approached behind her, soft but deliberate. She smiled, knowing it was Quinton.
He said nothing at first. He simply joined her, his coat unbuttoned, his expression open. The fading light softened the lines at his brow and warmed the curve of his jaw.
“How is your father?” he asked quietly.
“He’s recovering,” she replied. “He is a proud man. Rodney really fooled him about the business and about me. He knows the truth now. And he sees me. Really sees me. I’m even getting better at asking for help. Even Professor Tresham was helpful in the end,” she added with a soft laugh. “Though I’m not certain he meant to be.”
He nodded. “And Lydia?”
“She’s gone. To some extent, she was just as much a tool of the Order as I was,” she said. “Lydia left a few bruises, but no scars I can’t live with.”
They stood together, the hush between them no longer filled with uncertainty.
“I’ve been wondering something. The folio, why was it left behind? It seems too valuable for carelessness.”
Mary-Ann reached into her pocket and drew out a folded scrap of paper. She didn’t hand it to him. She read it aloud with a steady voice.
“I knew you would find this. Keep it safe.—H.”
Quinton’s breath caught. “Hamish.”
She nodded. “I think he was trying to tell me on the docks. I didn’t understand at the time.”
Quinton closed his eyes for a moment. “He saved your life twice, didn’t he? Once when he pulled you out of the way. And again with that folio.”
She looked down at the note, a whisper of a tear slipping free. “He would always hide sweets for me in the old warehouse when I was a girl.” He used to say, ‘ink on your nose’when I got close to finding it, just to tease me.” She smiled faintly. “That day…” she hesitated, her voice catching slightly. Then she went on. “I thought he said ‘pity London.’ But it was ‘PT London.’ He was trying to lead me to it.”
Quinton took her hand, his fingers folding gently around hers. “He trusted you to finish what he couldn’t.”
“I was angry,” she said softly. “At you. For not telling me what you knew. But I’m more angry at myself… for thinking you didn’t believe in me.”
“I believed in you,” he said. “I always did.”
She looked up, her gaze fierce and shining. “Then let’s never let anyone do that to us again. Let’s never let the world come between us.”
He cupped her face with one hand, reverent. “I vow to never doubt you again. Never stand to stand beside you in silence when I should stand with truth. I vow to love you fiercely, and without condition.”
She reached for him, pressing her hand over his heart. “And I vow to love you. Not as I once did. But as I do now, fully, and with eyes wide open.”
Their kiss was quiet. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just two souls meeting where the wounds had once been and finding something stronger in their place.
When they pulled apart, Mary-Ann rested her forehead against his. “You came back changed,” she said softly. “But so did I.”
He smiled. “Then we’ll learn each other again.”
They stood like that for a long moment, wrapped in stillness. No audience. No vows witnessed. Just the truth.
He took her hand once more, his fingers strong and steady. Not anchoring her. Standing beside her.
And when they turned back toward the house, it wasn’t the past they carried.
It was the future they had reclaimed, together.
The End
