“And me too. Or, at least, you used to need to.”
“Are you convinced?”
He closed the book and set it on the floor. “I am.” He pursed his lips while he thought. “I need to tell you more. I think my father knew who that intruder was. Knew that it was the son of the last baron.”
“I don’t believe there is anything—”
“It was why he told the steward not to lay down information. And later, why he sent Rutherford away with that pension. The groom knew something had been removed. If your grandfather claimed he had some proof from the house—don’t you see how it looks?”
She did, but she made light of it so as not to insult his father. “We do not know that. Nor should we assume it. And even if you are right, it does not signify today.” She patted the book. “This, however, does. To me, at least. Was this one of the gifts? If so, I think it was the best one.”
He reached for the paper he had set aside and placed it under her nose. “There is one more.”
She unfolded the paper. Then again and again, until a large drawing made on several combined sheets spread on the bed. It was a drawing of Teyhill, only with a new wing where the burned one had been.
She examined the new chambers. In the end, near the gardens, she saw large ones labeledDispensaryandInfirmary.
“You will direct the architect on how to plan those chambers and that space. There can be beds on the second floor, or this one here, if you choose to take it that far,” he said. “I only ask that you allow me to bring in physicians. That you not try to do this yourself.”
“Of course there need to be physicians.” Her eyes misted at the drawing. It would have taken her years, half her life, to achieve even half of this.
“If you—” He hesitated. “If you must continue, so you can be who you say you are, I pray that you will indulge me by trying to avoid danger.”
She nodded. She would not need to continue all the time. There would be situations when she wanted to, however. She would try not to put herself in danger, as best she could.
“I think perhaps this is the best gift, Eric.” She folded the paper again. “It is a wonderful plan.”
He brushed back her hair with the backs of his fingertips. “I thought the last one was the best one.”
“Oh, that was quite fine too.” She raised her chin so she could show off the necklace. She flipped the end of the shawl. “They were all wonderful.”
He leaned down and kissed the back of her neck. “None of them compare to the gift you gave me when you gave yourself, Davina.”
“I’m glad you are pleased. Contented.”
He embraced her, then rolled so she sat on his hips, looking down on him. She enjoyed the sight from this position, of his hard chest and astonishing face. Of his arms and the little line of hair going down his stomach to where she sat.
His gaze captured hers. “I am both pleased and contented, but also happy. Joyful.” He fussed with the shawl, drawing its edges down over her body, then toying with the long ends. “I have sensed a sadness in you since I told you about the fire. About Jeannette. Did that old story disappoint you in some way? In me?”
The spot of emptiness she nursed widened and ached. It grew until it twisted against her heart. “Not in you. Not at all in you.”
“In some other way, then.” His hands smoothed down her shoulders and arms, until they took hers in firm holds. “Langford thinks it was a mistake to tell you about that. About her. He says you will believe the memory forever compromises what you and I share. That in my heart, she will be my first, best love.”
Her throat burned. “Perhaps he should mind his own affairs and not offer advice so freely.”
“I told him about it. And Stratton. That first night after dinner, while we drank port, I shared it. Langford always offers his opinion, and always minds others’ affairs, so this won’t be the last time.” He looked right into her eyes. “Is he right?”
“A little,” she managed to say. “It is not like those men pursuing me at the theater, though. I did not have expectations that have been denied.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then joined their gazes again. “Sometimes the best things are least expected. You are so wrong about my memories. About my feelings for you. I told you early on that I was deranged by desire for you. My hunger for you was greater than I ever knew with anyone. When we embrace, I am freer than ever before. The contentment I know fills my soul. Do you not feel some of that too?”
Her eyes burned. The emptiness disappeared with his words, filled now with such joy, she could hardly hold it. His expression while he waited for her response touched her. So earnest he looked. So unsure what she would say.
She nodded. “Yes. Oh yes.”
He pulled her forward, down into his arms. “I thank God for that. To love you and not have you experience at least some of the same things—”
“All of it. I have lost my heart, Eric. Hopelessly so.”
