Marry me, Mae.
The low words turned her from breathless to disbelieving. “Marry you?”
“When I get back from the war.”
Ifhe got back.Ifthe war was won. A hundred ifs threaded her swirling thoughts.
“I’m yours,” he told her. “I’ve made it clear. All that I have is yours, including the stone house built with my own hands in western Virginia. My father and sister live nearby. They’d like nothing better than to see me return with a bride.”
“You have a sister?”
“Bronwyn, aye.”
She let that fact settle. He continued to surprise her with how little she knew about him. Bronwyn—a lovely name. Welsh, perhaps. “Is she wed?”
“Nay. The man she was betrothed to died early in the war.”
The pain in his voice bespoke much. Was that why he was so cautious with her? With their future? “A terrible loss to bear.”
“He was like a brother to me.”
“Oh, Rhys...”
“That’s always in mind in regard to you—us.”
All his reluctance regarding her became clear. Yet all he offered went deep. He loved her and would wed her upon war’s end if it went in their favor. If it didn’t, he’d face a traitor’s death. Their life together in the house he’d built, its rooms waiting to be filled with children and a thousand heartfelt memories, brought unspeakable longing. And surely he felt it too, for he said, “I keep seeing you there, bringing beauty and peace to the passing seasons, always by my side. Or, when I’m away, waiting to welcome me home.”
“Never doubt that I want to be that for you. Be there for you.”
Slowly he released her and stepped back. “For now, needs be we consider how to emerge from this linen closet with our reputations intact.” He straightened his stock, and their eyes met again. “You first, then I’ll follow.”
She hesitated. He was so handsome in his fine garments she felt half melted—and just as determined to have a final memory. “Not till you kiss me again, because I’ve no idea how long it’ll be before the next time.”
But he simply kissed her hands before taking hold of the doorknob. “The next time I kiss you I don’t intend to stop.”
nineteen
New lords, new laws. The strictest government is taking place and great distinction is made between officers and men. Everyone is made to know his place and keep it, or be immediately tied up and receive not one but 30 or 40 lashes.
A chaplain on discipline in the Continental Army
Coralie, from all appearances, had completely forgotten her British lieutenant. Nor did she seem to notice Mae’s absence amid so many attentive rebel officers. The rest of the evening flew past, and then James escorted a yawning Coralie and Mae across the street to Aunt Verity’s well after midnight. Once he’d left them at the door, Coralie wasted no words as they entered the house.
“I spied you dancing with the general more than once. What does that signify, I wonder?”
“Mind your own business.” Mae was half tempted to remain in Morristown since Coralie so vexed her. “You best hurry upstairs.”
“I’m quite worn out, but from the look of Auntie, we shan’t go straight to bed,” Coralie said with a hysterical little laugh. Clearly she’d drunk too much punch. “She’s been at watch by the parlor window since we left, I’m willing to wager.”
Their aunt called to them as soon as the front door closed. “I’m still quite put out that Coralie defied my order to stay home,” she said. “Who is this general mentioned?”
“Mae’s beau, General Harlow,” Coralie answered, already at the bottom step.
Stifling a yawn and her dismay, Mae dutifully entered the parlor as her sister snuck upstairs, knowing she’d get no sleep without elaborating.
“Is this true, my dear?”
Mae began removing her white kid gloves. “General Harlow is the finest man I’ve ever met. A rifleman from Virginia.”
