“I haven’t the foggiest.You’ll have to speak to my mother.I’m sure there are dreadfully boring social functions, and you must pretend at all times to enjoy my father’s lengthy discourses on crop rotation.”
She laughed.It was a wonderful, musical sound, one scarcely heard when they were in Eutin.He hoped he would hear it every day from then on.
“I cannot wait to show you my house on Bedford Square.”Planning their future was a wondrous delight after believing he had no future worth having.“If you don’t like it, we’ll find something else.I’ll buy you a house anywhere in London you prefer.Mayfair, if that suits you.Or we could look in —”
“Hush.”Lise turned in his arms and put her fingers to his lips.“I don’t care about houses.I only care about being with you.”
“You say that now,” he teased.“Wait until you see our country estate.Hearthstone Manor in Derbyshire.It’s beautiful, Lise.Rolling hills and ancient oak trees and gardens that go on forever.I cannot wait to show you.I believe you’ll love it there.We can spend summers away from the noise and crowds of London and go again during the Twelfthtide.”
He stopped, suddenly aware he was babbling like an excited schoolboy.But Lise was smiling at him with such tenderness it made his chest ache.
“In any case, I want you to do over the entire townhouse, top to bottom,” he said, and she nodded, resting her head on his chest.When she yawned again, he realized he, too, was exhausted.
“First, we must marry,” she said, her voice getting slower with sleepiness.
“Indeed,” he agreed.“At the earliest possible opportunity.I want you legally bound to me, before you come to your senses and realize you could do much better.”
Another of her sweet laughs rewarded him.
“We must marry,” she repeated, “because ...”She gestured at the bed, and her charming blush bloomed once more.
“That you’re currently compromising yourself?”Jonathan supplied helpfully.
She swatted at his arm.“You’re compromising me, I believe.”Then she bit her lip.“Or we’re compromising each other.”
“Neither your father nor Henrik would see it that way.It would be pistols immediately.Neither would wait until dawn.”
“Quite the contrary,” she said.“My brother told me while we spent seemingly endless days crossing the Channel, that if any man deserved his sister, it was you.Come to think of it, though, he did say he’d call you out himself if you didn’t make me happy.”
Jonathan stroked her shoulder.“Then I shall spend every day of my life ensuring I never give him reason to draw his pistol against me.”
As they quietened and let sleep start to pull them under, Jonathan realized for the first time in twenty-four hours, he wasn’t hearing torrential rain nor wind rattling the windows.The storm had maintained its fury long enough to keep him there in Harwich and for Lise to reach him.
Pressing a kiss to her temple, he thanked God.
He’d been prepared to risk everything for love.
Instead, love had found him first.
Epilogue
Eutin, 1815
Lise had almost forgotten how much she loved the dining room at her family’s home.It wasn’t the lace tablecloth.It wasn’t the glassware and porcelain dishes.It wasn’t even the colorful rug or the glittering brass chandelier with its cut crystal pendants and eight arms that held the tall candles.
She used to think it to be the most magical lamp when she was a child.The two in her London townhouse, above their long dining table, had twelve arms each.This one was better.
In this room, with her parents at either end of the table, familiar staff bringing in food made from beloved recipes, using fresh ingredients from her mother’s garden, this was perfect.
Even more so because she was sharing it for the first time with her children, who probably wouldn’t stay past the soup.When her parents suggested the three little ones appear at the dinner table, Lise had been more than willing.
Strangely, her mother was the one voicing her gratitude.“Thank you for letting them join us,” she said, watching while her eldest grandson, Henry, ate his soup.
The six-year-old had his knees curled under him while leaning upon one elbow, so he could keep his chin over the bowl.When Lise and Henrik had eaten at the same table, they would never have been allowed such a posture, but then, they weren’t allowed to eat there until each one reached the age of ten.
Four-year-old Charlotte leaned back in her chair.Only her head of light-brown hair and her slender shoulders in a blue dress were visible above the table.With no interest in the soup, she was on her second slice of butteredRoggenbrot.
“Delicious,” she lisped.
