“I could hardly miss it.” He turned his face so he could press a kiss into her palm. “It was the nicest love declaration anyone ever made me. You said that despite my looks, you fell for me because I was scared and angry and didn’t know what to do.”
He was looking at her as if nothing else in the world existed.
“I think you need to say it again. Properly. I deserve a proper—”
“I am in love with you,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t know when I fell for you, but it feels as if you were always meant to be in my life. And you are the only thing that made me feel hope again. The only reason I want to stay here. Or go anywhere. You are what matters. More than anything in the world.” He drew in a long breath. “But the issue of the marriage is still—”
“Shut up,” she whispered. “I don’t want marriage. I want you to choosemeand wantme. I don’t give a damn about…” She waved at the church. “About the rest of it.”
“Do you think…” He glanced around then back at her. “Are we allowed to kiss in a graveyard, so close to…” He inspected a crumbling headstone. “Gwendolyn Inez Cobler 1722 – 1789?”
She smirked. “I think Mistress Cobler is cheering us on—”
The rest of the sentence was lost when his mouth covered hers. And by the time he let her go, Mistress Cobler had been completely forgotten.
Epilogue
Standingat the railing of the ferry watching La Canette, Adam took Laura’s hand and laced his fingers through hers. They were about to dock and a few other travellers were getting ready to disembark.
“Last time I stood here, you pulled your hand away from me,” she teased, pressing a quick hiss on his jaw.
“Don’t remind me.” He grimaced. “What an arse I was.”
“Three months have changed you from an arse into Prince Charming.” She giggled dodging his mock cuff to her shoulder.
They’d both spent a week in England. She in Brighton, staying with Joanie while setting up a new bank account for the La Canette Silks. She’d also met a lot of people, representatives of exporter companies, suppliers of silk thread, and a few journalists. The women from the Casemate – La Canette Silks, she corrected herself – must have handed out a hundred leaflets and a lot of woven sample swatches. Some had found their way to Lord M. He had taken advantage of his son’s wedding and dropped a few comments into the right ears. Laura found herself in demand from several trade magazines and a few upmarket Sunday supplements.
Adam on the other hand, had spent the week in London meeting with charitable fund managers and going to inspect medical equipment. He’d also interviewed potential medical staff for the clinic.
“Did you manage to see your ex-father-in-law?”
He shook his head. “What would be the point? Nothing I could say would make him feel better about losing his daughter. All I would be doing is tarnishing his memory of her by telling him things he would rather not know.” He smiled down at Laura. “Sometimes, you have to accept things can’t be fixed. Just make your peace with the past and move on.”
“What happened to you? Is this the tortured, haunted man I fell in love with?”
He laughed, a deep belly laugh. “I’m about to open a health centre on a shoestring, I’m poor and have a house that can’t be lived in. Believe me, there’s plenty of torture to come.”
At the ferry terminal, Evans was waiting for them in the horse cart to take them back to Du Montfort hall where. Lord M had made it very clear that he would not hear of anyone moving out to a derelict cottage when his house had more rooms than anyone knew what to do with.
Evans flicked the reins and the horse moved along the winding country lanes. Spring had hit the island like an explosion. Adam and Laura craned their necks trying to catch all the changes. The place was a riot of colour.
Evans seemed to be taking them the long scenic route to let them take it all in.
She was dimly aware of the rolling motion of the cart, the clip-clop of the horses hooves, and the gentle breeze that lifted Adam’s fair hair and dropped it over his forehead. She desperately wanted to brush it away from his face but they were acutely aware of the driver not three feet away on his seat behind the horse.
He called something to the horse and pulled on the reins to slow down then stopped. They were nowhere near Du Montfort hall.
A cliff, jutted slightly into the sea with a cove and beach at the base. A lonely house stood at the top.
Adam had shown her Orange Peel house. But she could have sworn the outer walls were a drab discoloured grey and the garden a mess of overgrown bushes. Someone had cut it all back and the house had a clean whitewash.
Adam jumped down even before the cart had fully stopped. He went to talk to a young man up a ladder hammering something on the guttering under the roof.
“What’s going on? Who did all this?” she asked no one in particular.
Evans turned around in his seat. “They made a start, but there’s plenty to do,” he said, as if that made any sense.
She climbed down and walked up to the dark blue front door; it stood ajar and she went inside. There was a newly waxed wooden floor, freshly painted walls, a new kitchen with a small Aga and a fridge freezer. A basket with tea, coffee, a kettle, and a set of two plates, forks, knives, spoons, cups and glasses. Next to it was a box of groceries, jars which Laura was almost sure had Cook’s distinctive labels, orange preserve, plum in port, wild berry jam, piccalilli…Laura left the rest in the box and went search of Adam.
