So, yes. She had considered. And the answer was no. Theo could not risk asking until he’d developed an argument capable of convincing her.
A feat, he realized with a suddenly heavy heart, that might be impossible. Virginia’s greatest fear was being discarded. Which was, in effect, what Theo would be forced to do with his current, “perfect” intended in order to be with Virginia. The very act of choosing her over Lady Beatrice could make Virginia believe Theo would one day reject her, too.
Therehadto be a way to prove this was different. That what they shared was real and valuable.
Virginia shivered in his arms and Theo tightened his embrace. Their sleigh ride could not last forever. The sun was setting.
“To the cottage,” Theo called to the footman.
The driver took the next break from the trees.
Theo’s eyes widened in surprise. They were closer to the cottage than Theo had realized. He looked down at Virginia.
“Have dinner with me,” he said urgently. “Not just tonight. Every day for as long as I’m here.”
And every day after. Just as soon as he figured out the best way to propose.
Virginia made no such promise, but accompanied him into the cottage.
Inside the dining room, Theo paused before they took their seats.
“Here.” He slid the small book of poetry from its secret home next to his heart. “You loaned me a book. Allow me to do the same.”
It wasn’t just a book, of course. This tiny volume was part of his soul. The part that protected him. That gave him words when he had none.
“This is…” Virginia’s eyes were wide and searching.
She did understand.
Theo crossed his arms. He already felt naked without the book of poetry to protect him. Although he no longer needed to fear enemy fire, he’d never left his heart more vulnerable.
A footman strode into the dining room, bearing not a food platter but a newspaper. “Swinton says you’ll want to see this.”
Frowning, Theo accepted the paper.
His first fortnight in Christmas, Theo had scoured its pages eagerly, hoping for news of home. Of course there was none. No one in his family had ever comported themselves in such a manner as to cause their name to appear in a scandal column. Theo had stopped paying attention.
But there, on the front page, was Theo’s own likeness. Right beneath a heading that read:
Presumed dead.
He sat down hard in the closest chair.
Virginia took the one beside him. “What happened?”
He pointed. “Gossip.”
According to the article—if, indeed, fiction this outrageous could be considered an “article”—Major Viscount Ormondton had been mortally wounded in France. Reports that he had still been alive when removed from the battlefield could not be substantiated. His corpse had not been returned to his family, who could not properly grieve without knowing the truth.
Bollocks, all of it.
He lifted his head. “Swinton!”
The butler materialized with the portable writing desk Theo had been planning to request.
“My ‘grieving’ parents already know I’m alive,” he told Virginia as he dragged foolscap and ink from the desk to the table. “To the rest, this twaddle will come as a shock. I’ll have to ensure everyone I can think of that there is no need for mourning.”
“Can I help?” Virginia asked. “I can post letters in the morning.”
