“Having a wife isn’t as much fun as I thought it would be,” he grumbled.
“I heard that.”
*~~*~~*
I will not let him leave without me.
Willow’s mind revolved around that thought as she began to organise clothing and search for bags. Practical matters needed to be taken care of—things like the house itself, a message to her parents, and above all, where and how to procure a carriage.
That one would be the most difficult, and something she’d be happy to leave to Harry.
The journey itself wouldn’t be too terrible. She’d arrived at Little Witham in a carriage with no problems, and since it was a small port, there would be occasional conveyances coming and going, transporting passengers to and from boats in the harbour. Perhaps they could prevail upon one of the drivers to take them north to London.
But it was a long trip, and as she’d already realised, an overnight stay would be necessary. Did Madame have a map amongst her papers, she wondered?
“Harry…”
“Yes?”
“Could you check in the bureau and see if there’s a map there? It would help us choose our quickest route to London…”
A sort of snarling mumble was the response, and Willow chuckled to herself. If he thought he was going to drop her off anywhere, like a parcel to be delivered, he had better disabuse himself of that notion immediately.
He was hers.
Her hands stilled as the unexpected realisation popped into her head.
He was hers, and had been for so long she had no idea when it might have begun. But there it was. The hero-worship she’d experienced as a child had given way to a much deeper emotion as she’d grown into womanhood.
Harry’s occasional visits to Forest Grange had become times of delight for her, and she vaguely accepted that she had a strong fondness for his company. But it wasn’t until he’d arrived here, in Madame’s little house, that the sense of possession had grown from a tiny seed to a full-blown commitment.
She’d nursed him. Cared for his injuries and eased his fevers. She’d seen his body, a necessary part of nursing a sick man. And she’d seen his heart in his eyes as he’d come to accept her ministrations.
Then he’d kissed her.
And that put the seal on the entire business. They belonged together without question. Whether he knew it or not, didn’t concern her, because there was time yet for him to come to the same conclusion. And a little knowing smile curved her lips as she folded her nightgown. Perhaps there might be chance for more kisses. And maybe she would touch his bare skin again, but this time he’d be awake and perhaps returning the favour…
Her pulse raced at the thought, and she had to pause for a moment to catch her breath.
“Are you all right?” Harry was in the doorway with a paper.
“Uh, yes, of course.” She put the folded nightgown into a valise. “Almost done with my things. I’ll start on yours next. You have very little, so it won’t take long.”
“My boots, Willow. Where are my boots? I’m going to need at least one of them, and hopefully both, if I can squeeze my ankle into it.” He looked down. “It really seems to be much recovered. Hardly any swelling at all.”
“Under the bed,” she replied. “When the room is this small, one has to make practical decisions.”
He smiled, nodded, and bent down, leaning on the bed, and grunting a bit as he extricated his footwear from the darkness beneath the mattress.
“Got ‘em.”
“It should only take me another twenty minutes or so in here.” She thought for a moment. “You know, I think I’ll put our foodstuffs into a basket and give them to Mrs Smithers. I won’t leave food here, since we don’t know what will happen to this house, and with nobody residing here for a while, whatever was here would go off.”
Harry nodded. “Why don’t you do that while I finish up here? I can fold the few things I have, and most everything I’m going to be wearing, anyway.”
“All right. The nightshirt is there, and there are some spare socks in the top drawer of the bureau.”
Harry looked at her, his eyebrow raised in question.
