He rose and pulled her into his arms, and the kiss that followed was everything she had ever wanted; tender and fierce, desperate and gentle, a promise made with lips and breath and the press of bodies that had waited too long to be together.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, she saw that he was crying. Not tears of anguish, but tears of relief, of joy so overwhelming that it could not be contained.
"I love you," he said, the words tumbling out as though they had been dammed up for years and were finally breaking free. "I love you more than I have ever loved anything. More than I thought myself capable of loving."
"I know." She reached up to wipe the tears from his cheeks, her own face wet with matching moisture. "I have always known. Even when you were running from it. Even when you were hurting me. I knew."
"How? How could you possibly know, when I refused to show it, refused to speak it, refused to admit it even to myself?"
"Because I saw you, Daniel. The real you, beneath all the walls and masks and defences." She pressed her palm against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "And what I saw was a man who loved me so much that it terrified him. Who would rather suffer alone than risk becoming a source of pain for someone he cared about. That is not cruelty. That is love; misguided, perhaps, but love nonetheless."
He covered her hand with his, holding it against his heart. "I do not know what I did to deserve you."
"You do not have to deserve me. That is not how love works." She smiled up at him, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. "You only have to choose me. Every day, for the rest of our lives. Can you do that?"
"I can." His voice was certain now, all traces of doubt burned away. "I will. I choose you, Lillian. Today, tomorrow, and every day after that until I draw my last breath."
"Then that is enough." She rose on her toes and kissed him again, softer this time, a seal on the promise they had made. "That is more than enough."
***
They announced their betrothal at breakfast the following morning.
Lady Smith received the news with a slight smile that suggested she had known all along. "I suppose congratulations are in order, Your Grace. You have secured yourself a remarkable bride."
"I am aware of my good fortune, Lady Smith."
"See that you remain aware of it." But there was warmth beneath her tartness, and when she turned to Lillian, her expression softened further. "I wish you every happiness, Miss Whitcombe. You have chosen a difficult path, dukes are not easy men to manage, but I suspect you are equal to the challenge."
"Thank you, Lady Smith. Your hospitality has been most educational."
But the older woman's eyes twinkled, and Lillian thought she detected something like approval in her expression.
Rosanne, predictably, burst into tears of joy and had to be led away to compose herself. The other guests offered congratulations of varying sincerity. The Hartwell twins whispered behind their fans, Sir William Drake looked vaguely scandalized, and Mr. Theodore Crane appeared utterly baffled that a woman who understood agricultural improvement had chosen a duke over his poetic self.
Edward was not at breakfast. Lillian learned later that he had departed early that morning, pleading urgent business in London. She felt a momentary pang of guilt, she had not intended to hurt him, and his abrupt departure suggested that she had, but the guilt faded quickly. Edward would recover. He was young, wealthy, and handsome; there would be other young women eager to accept what he offered.
She only hoped that someday he would learn to offer something more.
***
The remaining days of the house gathering passed in a blur of activity.
There were letters to write—to Lillian's parents, to Daniel's solicitors, to the various family members and connections who had to be informed before the gossip reached them through other channels. There were arrangements to discuss, plans to make, a future to construct together.
But what Lillian treasured most was not the business of engagement but it was the quiet moments between. The conversations that ranged from philosophical speculation to household management to comfortable silence. The way Daniel reached for her hand whenever they were together, as though he could not quite believe she was real. The way his face lit up when she entered a room, all his careful control abandoned in the face of simple joy.
He was different. Not transformed overnight, the wounds of years did not heal in a matter of days, but genuinely, visibly different. The walls were still there, she knew, but they had doors now. Windows. Places where light and warmth could enter.
And she had helped open them. That was perhaps the greatest gift of all.
On their last evening at the gathering, Lillian found Daniel in the garden where they had first spoken after his arrival. The sky was darkening and stars were beginning to emerge.
"It seems a lifetime ago that you stood here and demanded that I prove myself," he said, his voice soft.
"It feels that way to me as well." Lillian moved to stand beside him, looking out at the grounds she had come to know well during her stay. "Have you? Proven yourself, I mean?"
"I do not know. You would have to tell me."
