“I wanted to protect you-”
“From what?” Emmaline cried, stepping towards him.
“From me,” cried Benedict, his eyes fierce.
They stared at each other, chests heaving, as Emmaline slowly gained control of her emotions.
This was not who she was, she did not want to hold on to this hurt anymore.
“And what of my feelings, my wants?” she asked softly, wrapping her arms around herself in distress. “I have a mind of my own, I can make my own decisions. But you took them away from me.”
“Yes. you are right,” nodded Benedict, stepping close and wrapping his arms around her, holding her even though she stayed rigid in his embrace.
“And I am hoping you will make one of them right now. I am hoping you will choose me, as flawed as I am, knowing that of all the things that have happened, the one certainty is that I have loved you, I still love you, and I have never had anything but honourable intentions towards you.”
“You love me?” asked Emmaline softly, worrying her lip with her teeth. “But how can you love me, I am nobody.”
“I love everything about you,” said Benedict softly, kissing the top of her head and pulling back to look earnestly into her eyes. “I love your sweet voice, your sharp mind, your talent, your beauty, the way you nibble on the end of a paintbrush when you are concentrating. The way you look at me.”
Emmaline looked down, embarrassed by this speech.
“I want to marry you, sweet Emmaline.”
“But what will they say about me?” she sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
Benedict frowned, pulling her hand away and holding it tight. “They will say nothing, they will dare not once you are my viscountess, they will have to deal with me.”
He looked back at the room, then dropped to one knee at her feet, looking up at her as he fumbled in his pocket and drew out a sheet of paper, holding it out to her.
“Look, I have posted the notice of our marriage, the priest waits in the carriage with the special license. I am sorry it took so long to arrange. There is a wedding breakfast planned at the house and the staff eagerly wait for you to come home.”
He gestured to the room, to himself.
“I am here on my knees begging you to let me prove my intentions have always been honest, please marry me.”
“And what if I say no?”
“That is your right, no one will deny that you broke it off, that I was sincere. We will squash the remnants of any rumours with our happiness. Please, let me make you happy, Emmaline. I will do anything.”
The ridiculous sight of him waiting on her decision, the room full of flowers, the thought that he might truly love her - all those things, it was too much for her heart.
Emmaline knew she had never truly been able to say no to him. She had wanted him too, from that very first day.
“Yes, I will be your wife,” she said softly, and Benedict closed his eyes in relief, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her tight, before rising and dragging her into his arms for a kiss that made her insides melt with relief.
He searched his pocket and drew out the emerald ring, slipping it onto her finger where it belonged.
She never wanted them to fight again, it had almost torn her apart.
EPILOGUE
It was midmorningwhen Benedict found his wife arranged with an easel in front of the lake, painting, of course.
Emmaline had made quite a name for herself in the drawing rooms of the ton over the last year and although she would never have to work for a living again, she had more commissions than she could keep up with. No matter the demand, Emmaline always made time for her own projects. A passion for painting was the only thing that mattered now, and Benedict enjoyed seeing his wife blossom as an artist in her own right.
She glanced up as he walked towards her, then rolled her eyes meaningfully at the veritable pavilion that had been set up around her.
The staff of Oak Ridge House doted on their new Viscountess, and the butler seemed determined to outdo every expectation of comfort for her. Even now, no less than three tables were groaning under the weight of every delicacy she might want, as well as an iced bottle of sweet summer wine, all set out on the thick rugs that had been laid down, with pillows and throws scattered thoughtfully just so to recline upon.
