“Why is that?”
“Because Artemis happens to love you.”
“I’ve never been worthy of her.”
“Perhaps.”
“Thanks.”
“But that’s not how love works, is it? It’s a meeting of hearts—and your hearts found each other.” Gwyneth’s smile brightened, and a glint of mischief flickered within her eyes. “We are going to Sir Abstrupus’s autumn ball.”
Bran snorted. “Yes, I suppose we are.”
“And what shall you be, brother?”
Bran stared at his sister, blankly. “Be?”
“The ball is fancy dress, lest you conveniently forget.”
Bran groaned, but it lacked force of feeling. The fact was he would attend a thousand fancy-dress parties if it meant winning Artemis.
“Oh, I know,” exclaimed Gwyneth. That was most definitely mischief shining in her eyes. “You can attend as a horse’s bottom.”
Another groan rumbled through him, even as he chuckled. He’d earned that.
Gwyneth sprang to her feet and dusted herself off. “Shall we get on with preparations?”
“Aye,” he said, rising with slower deliberation, but just as much determination.
The clouds had closed around the sun again, but he realized something.
The sun still shone—and ever did, no matter the circumstances.
What were a few clouds to a celestial entity?
There would ever be clouds in one’s life, but that didn’t mean one should stop shining.
The woman he loved understood that.
She was his sun.
She was his light.
And she deserved the same.
That was what he understood now.
If he couldn’t be a light for her, then he wasn’t worthy of her.
And he understood one thing more.
If she would have him, he would spend the rest of his days striving toward that end.
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHÂTEAU BOTTOM’S ROOST, A WEEK LATER
Typically, when a attending a ball—even a fancy-dress one—one naturally would have formed a preconceived set of expectations before one set foot inside the ballroom. One would expect chandeliers blazing with dazzling platinum light; a frothy abundance of roses in perfect, full bloom; laughing couples waltzing to the lively strings of violin and cello.
