Ambrose climbed down, covered in soot and looking sheepish.
Victoria stood in the middle of the chaos, burning gazebo, scattered roses, traumatized calf, screaming Polish grandmother, and felt her perfect proposal crumble into ash around her.
IN THE AFTERMATH, everyone scattered into crisis mode.
Sir Archibald was inspecting the gazebo damage with the grim efficiency of someone calculating repair costs. Ambrose had climbed down completely now, trying to brush soot off his clothes while Pani Kaminska fussed over him in Polish. Sophie was chasing Fromage around the garden, the calf having decided that chaos was the perfect time for freedom. Cathy had finally stopped sneezing and was leaning against Archie, both of them looking exhausted.
Lady Charlotte was directing people, calling for blankets and tea and someone to please check if the gazebo was structurally sound.
No one was paying any attention to Victoria at all.
She stood there in the garden, surrounded by ash and scattered roses and the smoking remains of her perfect proposal, and started laughing.
She couldn't help it. The absurdity of it all, the meticulous planning, the family involvement, the burning gazebo, the sneezing sister-in-law, the bolting calf with the ring box still attached to her collar. Every single element had gone spectacularly, magnificently wrong.
"Are you alright?" Sasha asked, looking concerned.
"I'm perfect." Victoria was still laughing, that slightly unhinged laugh that came from equal parts stress and relief. "This is perfect. All of it."
"The gazebo's on fire."
"Was on fire. Past tense. We're very efficient at disaster management."
Sasha reached out, brushed some ash off Victoria's shoulder. "You were trying to propose."
"I was. I had a whole speech prepared. It was very romantic. Very moving. You would have cried."
"Would I?"
"Possibly. There was a bit about how you make me want to be less perfect and more human. Very touching."
"Sounds lovely."
"It was. I practiced." Victoria took a breath, felt something settle in her chest. All the planning, all the perfection she'd been chasing, none of it mattered. Not really.
She dropped to one knee, right there in the muddy, ash-covered grass.
Sasha's eyes went wide. "Victoria…"
"Marry me," Victoria said. No speech, no flowers, no perfect timing. Just the truth. "I love you. Marry me."
For a moment, Sasha just stared at her. Then her face broke into the most beautiful smile Victoria had ever seen.
"Yes," Sasha said. "Obviously, yes."
Victoria stood up, pulled Sasha into a kiss that tasted like smoke and laughter and everything good in the world. When they broke apart, both of them were grinning like idiots.
"Your ring's over there, by the way," Victoria said, pointing to where Fromage was now rolling enthusiastically in a muddy patch near the stables, the ring box still dangling from her collar.
"Of course it is."
"Sophie will get it. Eventually."
Sasha laughed, wrapped her arms around Victoria's waist. "I should probably tell you something, too."
"If it's that you're secretly allergic to Christmas roses, I'm going to be very upset."
"No. Though that would be on-brand for today." Sasha took a breath. "Lukas offered me a job. Here. In the gardens. Cathy's going on maternity leave and they need someone to help with the spring planting, and he thought, well, he asked if I'd be interested."
