She rested her face against his neckcloth again. It was only then that she realized they still had theirarms about each other, that their bodies were stillpressed together. But he did not feel like a stranger.He was not a stranger. He was Justin—Andrew. Hewas her love. He had been her love for a hundredyears and would always be her love.
“Are we the same people?” she asked him.
“Yes and no,” he said. “You are Daphne. I am Andrew. We are living in a different century. I amthe Earl of Everett rather than a younger son. Youare the owner of Roscoe rather than a daughter ofthe house. We both have short hair.” He chuckledand set a cheek against her curls. “But I think thatafter just a few minutes of acquaintance in this centurywe already love each other deeply. Because we haveloved for a long time. We are continuing the love ofJustin and Margaret. We are, aren’t we?”
“You always said we would be free to be together and to love one day,” she said.
“I remember you asking me if it would be in this century or the next,” he said. “I don’t believe yourealized what a serious question it was.”
Daphne sighed. “I was so dreading this meeting,” she said.
“Me, too,” he said. “I have been hating you, sight unseen.”
Daphne sighed again.
“Will you marry me, then?” he asked. “That, after all, is why I came here, is it not?”
She raised her head and smiled up at him again. “But we are married already,” she said.
“I believe there is an obscure rule in canon law,” he said, “that after each one hundred years marriagevows must be renewed.”
They both laughed. And kissed. And rubbed noses. And murmured nonsense to each other.
They were caught in each other’s arms when the countess tapped on the door and opened it almostsimultaneously. Miss Tweedsmuir was peering overher shoulder.
“Oh, my,” Miss Tweedsmuir said, and turned an interesting shade of mottled pink.
“Splendid!” the countess said. “The suspense is over. Daphne must have said yes.”
Daphne flushed. But the earl would not release her. He turned her to face the new arrivals, but kept herat his side with an arm about her waist.
“You might say it was love at first sight, Mama,” he said. “Was it not, Daphne?”
“Oh, my,” Miss Tweedsmuir muttered again. His lordship was already addressing dear Miss Borlandwith great familiarity.
“Yes,” Daphne said, smiling and blushing and breathless.
“In fact,” the Earl of Everett said, his blue eyes laughing down into hers while his mother clasped herhands to her bosom and Miss Tweedsmuir fumbled ina pocket for a handkerchief with which to dab at moisteyes, “we have just been agreeing that it feels as ifwe have known each other for a hundred years.Haven’t we, Daphne?”
“Yes, Andrew,” she said. “Or at least that we have been waiting that long to meet.”
“Miss Tweedsmuir,” the Countess of Everett said firmly, “we have a wedding to plan, my dear ma’am.”
The earl lowered his head to kiss his betrothed as the two older ladies bustled from the room.
