She cleared her throat. “My answer will be biased.”
“As it should be.” His lips twisted. “I valued my sterling reputation above all other concerns. I thought society’s definition of the perfect bride, the perfect marriage, should be my definition, too. But people change. Look at you, for example.”
She tensed, expecting the sudden turnabout of his words to cause her neck and face to turn mottled. Look at Chloe, a carousel of colors, a hotchpotch of styles all rolled into one.
But she did not blush. She was proud of herself. She’dchosento come here, chosen to do this.
And he was choosing her back. Here, now, where everyone could see.
“We wouldn’t have met if you hadn’t tried to steal that painting and accidentally abducted me instead.” He stepped closer. “Your ulterior motive was the best thing that could have happened to me.”
“The best thing that could have happened tous,” she corrected. “You were trying so hard to fit someone else’s ideals that you didn’t realize you were already perfect just as you are. You don’t need to fit some ancestral mold to be worthy. You have always been that, right from the start.”
“I want to be a duke I can be proud of. To do that, I need to be the sort of father my children would want. And that means choosing love first.”
Perhaps her cheeks would flush after all. “Love?”
He sank to one knee. “I love you, Chloe Wynchester.” He held out his hand. “I don’t need something you can give me. I needyou. Marry me. You already have my heart. Will you take the rest of me for the rest of our lives, too?”
Chloe dropped to her knees as well and placed her hands in his. “Only if you take all of me, too.”
“It would be my pleasure.” She could feel him grin wickedly as he pulled her into his arms. “I love you so much. Let me spend the rest of our lives proving how ardently.”
“And I love you, which is why I feel I should warn you”—she tilted her mouth to his ear—“our heads are below the barrier. No one can see us. They’ll think you’re stealing a kiss.”
“Then they’ll be right,” he said, and covered her mouth with his.
They didn’t glimpse the stage again until intermission.
37
The following morning, Lawrence reclined on a chaise longue with Chloe in what the Wynchester family aptly referred to as the Sibling Salon. There was a Wynchester sibling draped across every surface. He wished he counted as part of the family and tried to console himself with the victory of them being willing to share Chloe.
At the moment, his bride-to-be was nestled against his chest with her eyes rapidly devouring the book in her hands. It was to be her chosen title for next month’s reading circle meeting—maybe. There was a small mountain of bound volumes next to the chaise longue, vying for the honor. Lawrence suspected there were many more nights before the fire just like this in their future.
Graham was also reading on the sofa opposite. Instead of novels, his cushions were piled high with broadsheets. Every now and again, his throat would make a sound very close to a giggle, and he would jerk up from his newspaper, eyes sparkling, only for Chloe to warn, “Donottell me,” without looking up from the book in her hand.
Marjorie had filled every table with random objects for her still lifes but apparently had not decided their final form. She flitted from table to table, adding fruit, removing flowers, rearranging ceramic vessels. There was no easel in sight, although she wore a smock over her gown and a tiny smudge of aquamarine paint on one cheek.
Jacob sat in the center of a large carpet, surrounded by five slinky ferrets and a thick parapet made of rolled blankets. He had successfully convinced one of the ferrets to leap through a wooden hoop in exchange for a bit of cabbage, although Lawrence could not fathom what nefarious purpose acrobatic ferrets might serve.
Elizabeth sat at the pianoforte, idly plinking familiar melodies and reproducing uncanny imitations of other siblings’ voices, both male and female. Occasionally a rousing chorus would come not from Elizabeth’s mouth but rather from one of Jacob’s ferrets or a clump of Marjorie’s grapes.
Tommy perched on the edge of a striped armchair, decked out in something she referred to as Early Yorkshire Governess. Every now and then she would say a phrase and Elizabeth would correct the accent until Tommy tired of repeating, “And now on to lesson two, if you please, children,” and would dash off only to return in another costume entirely. So far tonight, she had also been a sailor, a dockworker, and a fishwife—“fish spinster,” according to Chloe.
Lawrence supposed the Wynchesters must have a thousand such private jests. He couldn’t wait to learn them all.
Jacob had offered to loan him a wooden hoop and a spare ferret, but Lawrence had courteously declined. He had no idea what to do with a circus-trained weasel, but he did know what he wanted to do with Chloe: hold her close for the rest of their lives.
It was likely the only thing they would ever be able to do. Lawrence did not have the funds to shower her with the expensive jewels and exotic holidays that he wished he could give her.
He kissed the top of her head.
She tilted her face up toward him with a smile. “How am I so lucky to win the handsome prince?”
“I’mthe fortunate one,” he reminded her. “You’re the one saddled with an extraordinarily dashing prince with appallingly light pockets. I might not be able to offer the life you deserve, but I can promise one thing: we might be poor, but we’ll be happy.”
Graham glanced up from his newspapers.
