“Yes.” She drew a steadying breath, visibly composing herself. “And so we observe them. We endure the Cranes’ visit. And then—” She hesitated, uncertainty clouding her expression. “What happens then, Nathaniel? When Lady Crane has gone—when the danger has passed—what are we to do?”
It was the question he had been avoiding. The one for which there was no easy answer.
“I do not know,” he admitted. “I know only what I want. I want to marry you, Serena. I want you as my wife, whatever the cost. But I do not know whether it is possible—or whether you would wish it, even if it were.”
“You would marry me?” Her voice was scarcely more than a breath. “A governess?”
“I would marryyou,” he said steadily. “The woman I love. The woman who gave my family back to itself.” He held her gaze, willing her to see the truth there. “Your position signifies nothing to me. Nor your birth, nor your fortune—or lack of it. What matters is who you are. What you have given. What we might yet build, if we were brave enough to attempt it.”
Tears slid silently down her cheeks, unheeded.
“You would face the scandal?” she whispered. “The whispers, the closed doors, the acquaintances lost?”
“I would face anything—foryou.”
“And the children?” she asked quietly. “What of them, if society judges you disgraced for choosing a wife outside your station?”
That was the heart of it. The question that haunted him, that stripped him of certainty.
“I cannot know,” he said honestly. “I cannot predict what society may do, nor how far its disapproval might reach. But I know this: they love you. They thrive with you. And I believe ahousehold founded on affection—even unconventional affection—is better than one upheld by propriety and emptiness.”
Serena was silent for a long moment. The fire murmured softly; somewhere outside, an owl called into the night.
At last, she spoke.
“We cannot decide this now. Not with Lady Crane’s visit so near. Not while so much remains uncertain.”
“I know.”
“But when this is over—if we endure it, if the children are safe—I want to speak of it again. Properly. Without haste or fear. I want to understand what such a marriage would mean—for me, for the children, for us all.”
“Is that a yes?” he asked quietly.
“It is… not a no.” A faint, tremulous smile touched her lips. “It is a promise to consider—to weigh what you offer against what it would cost, and to decide whether the reward is worth the risk.”
Hope stirred in his chest—fragile, tentative, but unmistakably real.
“That is enough,” he said. “For now, it is enough.”
They stood in the dim hush of the library, separated by only a few feet—and by a multitude of obstacles—while thelove between them pressed insistently against restraint and circumstance.
“I should go,” Serena said softly. “Before anyone wakes and begins to wonder.”
“Yes.”
“And tomorrow—”
“Tomorrow, we resume our proper roles,” he said. “Employer and governess. Courteous. Distant. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more,” she echoed.
Yet neither moved.
“Serena.”
“Yes?”
“Whatever comes of the Cranes’ visit—whatever trials lie ahead—know that I am fighting. For you. For us. For the future I hope to claim.”
