“And I never have.”
Olivia looked across the room at Augustus. Whenever she let herself contemplate him in this way, she was always struck by her good fortune. To have such a handsome, kind, considerate man who loved her so ardently as her own exclusive property—what woman got so lucky? Why was she, out of all women, blessed with him?
That evening, she and Augustus were in bed, having just finished a very satisfying erotic interlude that involved experimenting, once more, with that beguiling toy phallus to which he had introduced her. Just as she began to drift off to sleep, Augustus roused her.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said, moving from beside her and crossing the room.
She opened her eyes and could not keep the smile from her face, despite her drowsiness.
“I am not sure what to expect. The last time you had a surprise for me, it was a house.”
And she had grown, in a very short time, to love this last gift. She could not imagine, in fact, a more perfect dwelling. It was a simple structure of three stories, with rooms for a small staff on the highest level, and four bedrooms, none of them particularly large, on the second floor. Many might look at the townhouse and think it unremarkable or—she suspected in the case of theton—hopelessly middling. For her, however, it was all she had ever wanted for herself. It was the perfect place, she had often begun to think, for a family.
“This surprise is hardly worthy of my last,” he said, approaching the bed and sitting back down upon it, his large hand clutched around something that it concealed. “In fact, it is hardly a gift at all.”
He brought forth a small box. She took it from him and opened it. When she saw what lay inside, she gasped. For a moment, she couldn’t speak.
“You kept it.”
His eyes twinkled. “Of course I did, Olivia.”
“I was sure you would have gotten rid of it long ago.”
“I thought of it. For a long time, I couldn’t even look at it. The thing filled me with bitterness. And yet I never could part with it. I thought, for a time, of giving it to one of the servant girls, so they could pawn it. But I never could.”
Her vision blurred with tears. It was strange to see the necklace again after so many years. It brought back the sweetness of when he had acquired it for her in the first place. Once, during that summer, they had been walking past a jewelry shop window and Augustus had seen her stop, just for a moment, to look at this necklace. He had asked her if she admired the piece and she had demurred. But, somehow, he had known. He had bought it for her, not long before she had received his last, horrible note, but she had insisted he keep it in his rooms. She had been afraid she would lose it or that it would be stolen. It had seemed unimaginably fine to her then. The fact that he had saved the necklace, that he had held onto it even when he thought her a jade who had left him without a word, seemed physical proof of his enduring love. Not that she needed it. By now, of course, she believed that he had loved her all this time. But seeing the necklace made it even more tangible. She felt a lump form in her throat.
“It is just as beautiful as I remember.”
And it was true—it was, even though she could see now how simple it was, almost austerely so. It was a coral pendant, small and smooth, practically a pebble. She wasn’t sure why she had been so attracted to it when she had seen it in the shop window. She had admired it for weeks, stopping to stare at it, wondering what it would be like to wear something so lovely. It moved her now how luxurious the piece had seemed to her then. She had seen many rare baubles up close now. She had worn a few, even, borrowed from Eloisa. She knew that this necklace would hardly be regarded as anything of note among most of the rich people—never mind theton—of London or Paris. And yet it remained as exquisite to her as ever.
Just like him.
She looked at him as she had this thought. He was smiling at her sheepishly, somewhere between bashful and roguish. He appeared proud of himself but also a little embarrassed.
“I love it still,” she said, her voice going grave as she realized what she was going to say, “But I’d love it even more if it was set differently.”
He looked at her, a quizzical expression crossing his face.
“How would you like it set?”
“I want it set as a ring,” she said, closing her eyes for a beat longer than necessary, feeling as if she were throwing herself from a great precipice. She opened them again. “An engagement ring, to be precise.”
For a second, he looked at her without blinking, seemingly unable to absorb her words.
“You are serious?” he croaked, finally.
She put her hands over his. She had begun to cry, she knew, no longer able to contain the emotion that had stirred in her at the sight of the necklace.
“I am. I can’t imagine being happier than I have been the last few weeks. It seems so foolish to not embrace what we have. To not commit to it fully. I am not promising to be a countess—there will be much to figure out, much to discuss. But these last few weeks here, with you, have made a life with you seem possible, in a way that I felt so uncertain of before. I always loved you, Augustus, but now I believe in us. That, together, no matter what, we’ll always find a way to be happy—together.”
And then he was kissing her, and she realized, which made her laugh, just a little, that he was weeping, too. Both of their faces were wet from their tears, but they kept kissing and, when they weren’t, he was murmuring into her ear that she had made him the happiest man alive, that he would do anything for her, as long as he lived, she would be protected and cherished and adored.
Soon, between the kissing and emotion, the heat between them grew. She was already unclothed, as was he, and the only thing between them was the bedsheet. He peeled that away and she could feel him, hard and heavy, against her.
“Yes,” she panted, as he entered her, the feel of him exquisite, their intimacy an ecstasy she couldn’t believe she had found and then lost and then found again in one lifetime.
*
