“Oh. She was probably shocked?”
“Excessively so. She considered me to be ungentlemanly and vulgar.” He paused to consider. “She’s right, of course. But I found I didn’t care a tuppence about her opinion.”
Lucy chuckled.
“Miss Edgewood.” Their eyes met.
“It’s incredible, I know,” Lucy babbled on. “I was afraid thatyou’d accuse me of dissembling again. You know. My history of acting. But the truth is thatmy parents turned up at Miss Hilversham’sone afternoon.” Lucy shook her head. She still didn’t grasp how things had turned out.
“And you never asked why?”
“They say an anonymous letter—I thought that maybe Phips from the Jollyphuses—” she looked at Henry, who smirked. Lucy gasped. “It was you! But how? But why?”
He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket. “You kept so many of my handkerchiefs, I thought it was my turn to keep one of yours.” He handed it to her.
“You have it! I thought I’d lost it! But when…” her voice trailed away as she remembered the painful last meeting they had, where she’d shown him the box—with the handkerchief. He’d taken it along.
“The monogram. Why didn’t it occur to you to investigate it, silly girl? I gave it to Brown, and he discovered the family within two days. I daresay I knew you were Miss Catherine Edgewood long before you did.”
She shook her head, dazed. “I was convincedJoris just happened tocome by the handkerchief, that it had nothing to do with my identity. It would’ve been too disappointing otherwise, you see.”
“I wrote the Sullivans a letter, telling them about you. Three days later, Lord Sullivan knocked on my door.”
“It wasn’t an anonymous letter, like my parents say?” Lucy said.
“Not at all. I blackmailed him rather badly, poor man.”
“Blackmail?”
“Hm. Yes. I told him I’d tell him of his daughter’s whereabouts only if he gave me his permission to marry her. It was a tough negotiation. He wanted three years alone with his daughter before he’d see her married. I bargained it down to a year. That year is up now.”
He took a step closer. He was so close; she could smell his cologne. Lucy pricked herself on a rose. A drop of blood formed on her forefinger. She pulled her hand away, but Henry took it.
He wiped her finger with the handkerchief and kissed it. Then he kissed her palm.
Heat sparked from where his lips touched her skin, spreading throughout her body, consuming her.
“But—after all the terrible things I said to you?” Lucy had difficulty keeping her voice steady.
“After our argument, I went out gardening, to work off my frustration. It occurred to me, far too late, for you were long gone, that maybe you were trying to give me a disgust on purpose, to drive me away. And, fool that I was, I’d believed it. I realised that that’d be something so like my Lucy to do. Stubborn, big-hearted, generous to a fault, my Lucy sacrificing her own happiness because she felt she wasn’t good enough to deserve it. To put herself down for those she loves most. Am I right? Tell me I am right?”
His eyes burned into hers. Hopeful and fearful at the same time.
Lucy teared up. “I’m afraid you are entirely right,” she whispered.
As Henry broke into a smile, she felt a million suns rise.
“Miss Catherine Edgewood. Lucibelle Bellini. Lucy Bell.” His laughing eyes grew tender. “My one and only Lucy. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
“Oh yes,” her voice wobbled. “Yes. Please.” She laughed through her tears.
Hekissed her, tenderly and slowly, as if he knew they had all the time in the world.
Lucy melted in his arms.
I’m at home,she thought.Finally.
An insistent yippingby their feet caused them to break apart, laughing.
