“Is that... yes you will marry me?”
“Yes I will give you a chance to prove you mean what you say,” she said, her voice soft but steady, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Even as she spoke, she felt the trembling edge of vulnerability beneath the words. It wasn’t easy—offering her heart to someone. But somehow, with him, it didn’t feel like surrender. It felt like choosing her own adventure.
“I’ll take it.”
A rush of emotion surged through Magnus’s gaze—relief, disbelief, something perilously close to joy.
Alexandra pretended nonchalance. “Good. Because I am not saying yes in front of the entire ton unless you grovel,” she said.
He grinned. “I was planning a soliloquy.”
“I’d prefer something with fewer flourishes and more feeling.”
* * *
From a distant hedge, Louisa turned to Lord Redford. “Did she just agree to marry him or not?” Louisa asked, blinking rapidly. Relief washed over her features, though her tone carried a touch of disbelief and giddy amusement.
James sipped his brandy. “It’s Alexandra. That was a proposal.”
“And a grand gesture,” Louisa added, misty-eyed.
James offered her a handkerchief. “You hopeless romantic.”
* * *
The next day, the ton was abuzz once more.
Lady Worthington nearly choked on her tea, spluttering so violently that Lady Fernsworth had to thump her on the back. "It’s simply indecent," Honoria gasped, fanning herself with yesterday’s scandal sheet. "Next she’ll be dancing barefoot in Hyde Park. She refused him?” she gasped, clutching her teacup so tightly her knuckles turned white, nearly sloshing the contents over the rim. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and she looked as though someone had suggested she dance a reel in her chemise.
“No,” corrected Lady Sutton, who had better connections. “She delayed. Apparently, she wants more groveling.”
Honoria sniffed. “As if he’s worth it.”
Lord Hargrove sulked over his tea. “I was planning to propose.”
Everyone ignored him.
* * *
Back at the Peregrine townhouse, Alexandra was sitting in the library, reading The History of English Gardens, marveling at the quiet that wrapped around her. After the whirlwind of gossip, proposals, and moonlit confessions, the stillness felt almost surreal. For once, she wasn't running—from suitors, from scandal, from her own feelings. She was simply here, grounded, and perhaps... content. Content in a way she hadn’t known she was searching for until now. She thought of the girl who had escaped into a hedge maze and collided with a rogue, and smiled. How far she'd come—and how unexpected the journey had been.
Sophia entered, her skirts swooshing and smile bright. “You look entirely too serene for a woman who just turned the entire social order on its head.”
“I feel serene.” Alexandra closed her book.
“You told him yes, did you not?”
Alexandra hesitated, the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips. "Not in so many words," she said at last, her tone teasing, though a blush crept up her neck that gave her away.
Sophia sat beside her. “Do you love him?”
The question gave her pause. A dozen answers rose to her lips—witty deflections, evasive shrugs, even a dramatic sigh—but none felt quite right. Not anymore.
She thought of the kiss in the rain—the press of his lips against hers, warm and sure despite the cold droplets sliding down her cheeks. The way he looked at her when she was laughing, like she was something rare and wild. The quiet moment beneath the wisteria, where time had seemed to slow, wrapped in scent and moonlight and the promise of something more.
“Yes,” she said finally. “I believe I do.”
“Good,” said Sophia. “Because he’s halfway to being a reformed rake, and I suspect that’s your doing.”
