“Yes, you did,” he said, taking the seat beside her. Rosanna shifted to rest her head against his shoulder, and he pressed a kiss to her hair. In a low voice, he added, “That was miserable. He spent the entire time speaking of himself, and what little he did say concerning you was only concerning the marriage settlements.”
Rosanna’s arm came around and rested against his stomach, though her gaze drifted to the door. Her eyes narrowed, and she murmured, “You do realize they are listening outside the door? If we are going through this farce for their sake, you’d best make a good show of it.”
“Oh my dear Miss Leigh,” said Malcolm, raising his voice so that it would easily carry to the farthest reaches of the house. “You are the finest creature in all of creation! A goddess among men! An angel, fallen from heaven to walk amongst us poor mortals!”
Stifling a laugh, Rosanna poked him in the ribs.
“I cannot believe I have been honored to know you!” he added. “Oh, dearest love, wilt thou do me the honor of granting me thy hand in the blessed and holy bond of matrimony?”
Snuggling closer, Rosanna leaned her head up to whisper into his ear, “You are incorrigible.”
Malcolm turned his head to meet her gaze, his lips brushing hers, and in a low voice he murmured, “Yes, but you love that about me.”
She sat pressed against him with her eyes trained on him, and Malcolm’s heart thumped as he watched her. As much as he did love to tease her, it was impossible to deny just how much of his happiness was wrapped up in this dear lady. It was as though he’d been only a faint shadow of himself before she’d stumbled into his life. Complete but lacking substance.
“That I do, my love,” she whispered, not bothering to lean closer, though her eyes challenged him to do so.
Malcolm leaned in, but just as her eyes drew shut, he raised his voice again. “What is thy answer, dear maiden? Do not keep me waiting. I cannot bear it any longer. I must know. Canst thou love me?”
Rosanna covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, her eyes torn between glaring and dancing. Drawing in a deep breath, she let out a heavy sigh before speaking up so her parents would hear, “You do me the greatest honor, dear Mr. Tate. Yes—”
But the library door snapped open before she could finish, and Mrs. Leigh rushed in.
“Oh, my dear boy!”
Malcolm leapt from the sofa as though scalded but, thankfully, did so without dumping Rosanna to the ground. He reached out to help her to her feet, but Mrs. Leigh was there, fluttering about and bussing his cheek whilst Mr. Leigh gave him hearty handshakes.
“You won’t regret this,” said Mr. Leigh. “She’s a fine girl and will be a suitable wife for you.”
“And such a kind, steady sort,” added Mrs. Leigh.
There were only two of them, but it was as though an entire swarm of Leighs had beset him, and soon the ruckus drew the younger siblings and Grandmother Leigh, and Malcolm kept trying to get back to Rosanna, but the tide of people drew him away again and again.
Wasn’t being allowed privacy with one’s sweetheart one of the blessings of an engagement? Yet Rosanna was not at his side as the wine was called for and the toasts flowed. Mr. Leigh raised a glass, rambling on about the blessed event that was to come, and Malcolm struggled not to frown as he scanned the gathered group and found his bride-to-be was not there.
“Please excuse me,” he murmured, shoving the glass aside and making vague excuses before slipping out as the Leighs continued to toast their good fortune.
Weaving through the halls, Malcolm went to the one place where Rosanna might find solitude away from the agitated horde; or at least he hoped she was there, for the only other place was her bedchamber, and even a husband-to-be was not allowed to trespass there. Malcolm slipped out a side door and stepped into the small patch of earth behind Whitley Court.
Matching the tastes of the generations before, there was a paved courtyard in which the master and mistress could strut about in their powdered wigs and high-heeled shoes, but just beyond it was a garden, which matched the more modern sensibilities when fashion was wise enough to allow for footwear that did not require perfectly even ground.
The air was brisk, but with winter late in arriving, the outdoors was still tenable, despite his having no greatcoat. Following the bend in the path, he discovered his dear Rosanna seated on what was quickly coming to feel like “their” bench. An ivy-covered trellis arched over the spot, blocking much of it from the view of the house, but it was easy enough to see his approach, though Rosanna seemed not to notice.
“You disappeared,” he said, drawing her gaze from the dirt path at her feet. Malcolm’s heart twisted at the sight of her bright soul dimming, and the sad little twist of a smile on her lips.
“They didn’t care if I was there or not,” she murmured. “Not now that they have their golden prince.”
Malcolm took the seat beside her, and without hesitating, Rosanna leaned into him once more, and he rested his arm about her shoulders. He wished he knew what to say in such moments, but the Leighs were a mystery to him.
“I told you we ought to have eloped,” she whispered.
“And I told you that our love is not some dirty secret to be hidden away.”
Rosanna sighed and leaned back to meet his gaze. “You do realize my parents will find ways to make the entire wedding about themselves, don’t you?”
But Malcolm shrugged. “Give them the wedding. As long as I have your heart, I don’t require anything else.”
With raised brows, she stared at him for a long moment. So long that Malcolm nearly feared he’d said something wrong. Without saying a word, she turned towards him, taking his face in her hands, and pressed her lips to his.
