Tears stung her eyes again.
“You make it sound simple.”
“It is simple—not easy, but simple. I love you. You love me. We choose to build a life together. Everything else may be arranged.”
“‘Everything else’ includes the fact that I have no fortune, no position, and no family who will support this match.”
“Those are matters to be managed,” he said calmly. “And we shall manage them together.”
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to let go of the anxiety and fear that had been her constant companions for so long. But five years of survival had taught her caution, and caution was not easily abandoned.
“My aunt may not surrender easily,” she said. “She was furious last night. I could see it in her face, even though she could not speak openly against me.”
“Lady Ashwood can do nothing to us. She has no authority here.”
“She may still attempt to wound me—with rumours, with implication —”
“Then she will find herself very swiftly corrected.” There was unmistakable steel beneath his composure. “My motherhas signalled her approval. Anyone who moves against you places themselves in opposition to the house of Ashworth. Lady Ashwood would be wise to consider that carefully.”
The firmness in his tone did not alarm her. It steadied her.
“I do not wish you to fight battles on my behalf,” she said softly.
“Why not? You are to be my wife. Your battles are mine.”
“Because I have spent five years powerless—dependent upon the whims of others. I do not want marriage to become another form of dependence.”
He was silent for a moment, thoughtful.
“I understand,” he said at last. “And you are right to value independence. But accepting support is not submission, nor is partnership the same as helplessness.” His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles. “We shall be equals. You will not stand behind me, you will stand beside me.”
“Was it so in your parents’ marriage?”
“No.” The word came quietly, unembellished. “Their lives ran in parallel, not together.”
“And you want something different.”
“I want something shared,” he said. “I want a wife who will challenge me—who will argue, question, think with me. Someone who cares for the work that matters.” His gaze held hers. “I want you. Just as you are.”
Something inside her yielded at last; a wall that had held too long.
“I want it too,” she whispered. “But I am afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of not being enough. Of failing you. Of finding, one day, that the life I inhabit does not truly belong to me.”
He shifted from his chair and knelt before her, taking both her hands.
“Then let me make you a promise,” he said gently. “I will spend every day of our marriage proving to you that you belong. That you are not a visitor in your own life, but its rightful occupant. That you are wanted, valued, seen; not for what you can do for me, but for who you are.”
Her breath caught.
“Sebastian—”
“I know trust is not given lightly. You have been failed before. Let me earn it—patiently, and as long as it takes.”
She looked at him—this man who had upended her world, and steadied it, all at once.
