Page 37

She smiled, then grew thoughtful again, her brows drawing together. They were still upon the sofa, though she had drawn her feet beneath her skirts and turned toward him. Her knee rested against his thigh. The lamplight caught the red in her hair, which had loosened at one temple and curled against her cheek. He resisted the temptation to tuck it back simply to give himself something to do while she considered their future, and flexed his fingers against his knee.

“I do not expect us never to quarrel,” she said, slowly.

“Neither do I.” That would be a foolish thing to attempt.

“But I must be able to tell you when I am unhappy,” she said.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I would want to know.”

She tilted her head. “Even when you think I ought not to be.”

Alexander nodded again, holding her gaze. “I cannot promise always to understand, but I can promise to listen.”

Charlotte glanced down at the cravat she had half untied, then back at him, her expression tender and wry. “And I will listen, too,” she said. “I have become so accustomed to protecting myself that I sometimes forget another person might have concerns of their own.”

He touched her cheek, his bare fingers warm against her skin. “I should like the chance.”

She leaned into his hand, her eyes closing for a moment, and he felt the small, trusting weight of her face against his palm. For a while, they remained quiet. He could hear the clock upon the mantel, its patient ticking, and the faint movement of servants elsewhere in the house, a door closing and footsteps fading. The fire murmured in the grate. Charlotte looked comfortable beside him, yet a seriousness in her expression made him wait as his thumb traced the edge of her jaw.

At last, she met his eyes. “I need one promise from you.”

“Tell me.”

“Faithfulness,” she said.

He answered without hesitation, the word rising from the deepest part of him. “You shall have it.” He wanted no one but her. It was an easy concession to make.

“I know you are not Sylvan,” she said, her voice low and steady, though he saw her fingers tremble. “But I need to hear you say it.”

Alexander took her hand from his cravat and held it between his own, warming it. Her fingers were cool and slender, and he rubbed them gently, as though he could warm the old hurt out of her. “I will be faithful to you, Charlotte,” he said. “You will never have a reason to doubt me or be embarrassed because I strayed.” Her eyes filled, and a sudden, fierce anger rose in him toward the man who had taught her to be so careful in asking for something she should never have needed to defend. His jaw tightened, and he felt his heartbeat in his temples. He kept that anger from his voice, softening it into something steady and warm. “I love you. I want the life we can have together.”

Charlotte nodded, blinking once before she smiled, a small, luminous smile that made his chest ache. “I want it, too.”

His heart began to beat harder, thudding against his ribs. “Then may I ask you again?”

“Yes,” she said.

He moved from the sofa and knelt before her, one knee pressed into the soft carpet. She gave a startled laugh and reached for him, her hand sliding over his shoulder. “Alexander, you need not...”

“I know. I should like to.”

He took her hands, her bare fingers cool and slender in his, and looked up into the face he had loved in memory and learned to love anew, with its small lines of laughter and its steady green eyes. “Will you marry me?”

Charlotte’s smile widened, spreading across her face like sunrise. “Yes. I will marry you.”

Relief and happiness left him speechless for a moment. His throat closed, and he pressed his forehead to her knuckles, breathing deeply, until he trusted himself to lift his head. She leaned toward him, her eyes shining. “You may kiss me now.”

Alexander rose and gathered her into his arms, lifting her to her feet. She laughed against his mouth, holding him so close he could feel her heart beating against his chest, a quick, bright flutter that matched his own.

When he finally drew back, she touched his face, her thumb tracing his cheekbone.

“You look surprised,” Charlotte said, her palm warm against his cheek.

“I have hoped for this rather more than I allowed myself to admit,” he said, his voice rough, scraped thin by feeling.

“So have I,” she said quietly, and her thumb moved once along his cheekbone, as if she were learning it.

He kissed her forehead, lingering there, then rested his against hers. Their breath mingled in the small, warm space between them, and for a moment neither of them spoke. He could feel her heartbeat where his hands met her back, quick and light as a bird’s. “I have no ring,” he said at last, almost apologetically.