“You were an utter cake when you were in denial over your wife, so forgive me if I’m actually delighting in the idea of being married. Words I never thought I’d utter.” He shook his head astoundingly.
“I know how it feels.” Lucas gave a knowing grin. “But it pleases me that you’ve come full circle. If you love her half as much as you are distracted by her, you’ll have a good marriage indeed.”
Heathcliff nodded distractedly. It was a solid point, and he hadn’t quite considered that aspect of love. Was he in love with her? He wasn’t sure; he honestly didn’t know what love felt like. He’d imagined himself in love long ago, but it clearly had not been love. Would he know the feeling when or if it happened? He wasn’t sure.
“We should assemble in the parlor downstairs. My wife will be arriving shortly, if she isn’t already here.” Lucas stood, twisting his neck. “I’m sure she will have much to say to me.”
“Scold you, you mean,” Heathcliff added helpfully.
Lucas arched a brow. “Your time will come soon enough.” He headed toward the door and placed his hand on the handle, pausing. “Just in case you were wondering, I’m glad it’s you.”
Heathcliff adjusted his shirtsleeves and tugged on them. “Oh?”
“Yes.” Lucas gave a curt nod. “After all, she’s wanted it to be you all along. And I think the feeling is more than mutual, is it not? That’s far more than most couples start out with.”
Heathcliff’s heart soared at the implication that Lady Samantha had wanted him, had wanted to choose him all along. It was a desperate type of hope, the kind that he wasn’t sure was utterly true; it was simply too good, too lofty. Heathcliff didn’t trust himself to respond and not make a cake of himself, so he just nodded.
“Don’t screw it up,” Lucas finished, then left.
