“Is there anything you wish we had done differently?”
He turned to look at her. “Running?”
She nodded.
Johnathan tilted his head slightly, as if weighing the question. “I regret that it was necessary. That you had to ask for my help in the middle of the night. That you were afraid. But I do not regret where it brought us.”
A tightness coiled in Frances’s throat, and she lowered her gaze, blinking as she drew a slow breath to steady herself.
“I am still angry at my father,” she admitted. “And Cranford. And the whole structure that made them believe they had the right to trade me like a coin purse.”
Johnathan’s grip tightened. “You do not have to forgive them. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
“I know,” she said quietly. “But I do not want to let that anger eat at my future, either.”
He smiled faintly. “You are stronger than I ever was.”
Frances sat up straighter, meeting his gaze. “That is not true. You gave me the choice. You did not try to claim me. You gave me the chance to walk away.”
“I almost did not,” he said, his voice low. “That morning at the church—when I took your hand—I did not know if I was rescuing you… or stealing you.”
“You were saving both of us.”
They leaned into each other again, the space between them warm, solid, real.
A moment later, Frances gave a small laugh. “You know what is odd?”
“What?”
“I am not afraid of London anymore.”
He blinked. “No?”
“No,” she said. “Let them wrinkle their noses and gossip over tea. Let them exclude us. I have a husband who knows me. I have a name I chose. And I have something most if them will never understand.”
Johnathan grinned. “A sharp tongue and no patience for fools?”
“That too,” she said, elbowing him gently. “But also… freedom. Love.”
She glanced down at her lap, brushing a finger along the sapphire ring. “In truth, I pity them.”
“Indeed,” Johnathan said, then pressed a kiss to her hand.
They left the chapel just before noon, the sun high above and the sky a wide expanse of unblemished blue. The villagers outside offered nods and smiles, and the vicar—still standing at the corner of the building—gave them a small salute.
“No more weddings today, I hope?” Johnathan asked him with a wink.
The man chuckled. “Not unless one of the goats seeks a match.”
They laughed and wandered back toward the inn, but Johnathan tugged her gently off the path, toward the edge of the fields behind the stables.
“Come with me,” he said. “There is something I want to show you.”
“Johnathan, we have to pack.”
“You will thank me.”
He led her through the tall grass and past a half-crumbling stone wall, and there, just beyond, was a wide field opening up into a ridge overlooking the hills they had crossed to reach Scotland. The breeze carried the scent of lavender and wild mint. Bees hovered lazily over the brush.
