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“We may choose one together,” she said, lifting her head to smile at him.

“I should like that.” The words warmed him all the way through. He had imagined presenting her with something from a velvet box, and found that this was better.

“And we must decide when to tell everyone,” she said.

“Before Eleanor notices I am incapable of discussing anything else,” he said gravely.

Charlotte laughed, a warm, rich sound that filled the quiet room, and tipped her head back so that the lamplight caught her throat. “My friends will be dreadful,” she said, shaking her head in happy dismay. “They brought us together. I am prepared to forgive a great deal.”

“I shall remind you of that when Amelia begins taking credit,” she said, arching one brow.

He smiled and followed her gaze toward the desk, where the lamplight pooled over the polished wood. The map lay where she had placed it earlier, its corners curling, a faint thread of pencil marking a route across the page. Seeing it made his chest swell with something fond and unguarded.

“And Venice?” he asked.

Charlotte turned back to him, her head tilting as a flicker of hope and caution crossed her face. “Would you truly like to come?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “I want to be with you always.”

“We shall have to consider when,” she said, though her fingers had curled tighter against his shoulder.

“We shall.” He grinned. “It can be a wedding trip.”

Charlotte slipped her arms around his neck, her bare fingers resting at his nape, warm in his hair, and leaned into him until he felt every point where her body met his. “That would be lovely.” She had spent years setting wishes aside, folding them away like old letters. He wanted to be beside her as she began to pursue them again. He knew, now, that his part was to offer his company and hear her answer, and the knowledge settled in him like a quiet vow. “I should like that very much,” she said, softly.

“So would I,” he answered, and kissed the corner of her mouth.

Her fingers returned to his cravat, finishing what she had begun, working the last fold loose with unhurried care. He stood very still beneath her hands, his breath slowing, and watched her face, the small crease of concentration between her brows and the faint, satisfied curve of her lips.

“There,” she murmured, drawing the linen free; its soft hiss loud in the quiet. “I have been meaning to do that since you arrived.”

“Even upon the library steps?” he asked, a smile tugging at him.

“Especially then. You were very distracting.”

“I had hoped to be,” he said, smiling slowly.

She laid his cravat upon the table, beside the map, smoothing it once with her palm, and took his hand, her fingers warm and sure around his. “Come upstairs,” she said.

He followed her to the library door. She paused at the threshold and turned back toward him, the lamplight warm along her cheek. He saw the faint flush there and the steadiness in her eyes. “So you are certain,” Charlotte said, her cheeks warm and her gaze steady, “I want you to stay.”

Alexander drew her closer, his hands settling at her waist, and felt her lean into him as though she had been waiting years to be held. “Until sunrise?” he asked, low.

She smiled, a soft, shy curve of her lips. “I should like to have breakfast with you.”

“Then I shall stay for breakfast,” he said, and the simple promise filled his chest.

“And afterward, we may begin making plans.”

“For our future?”

Charlotte kissed him slowly, her hand rising to cradle his jaw as her thumb brushed the edge of his mouth. “Yes,” she said, against his lips. “Because I finally know exactly where I belong.” She wanted to wake beside him each sunrise and kiss him good morning. He was hers, and she was never letting him go again.

Epilogue

Charlotte had never seen Alexander so apprehensive over a book. He had carried it into his mother’s drawing room himself, refused to leave it with the other birthday gifts piled on the side table, and spent the past quarter of an hour watching the parcel tied in cream ribbon and resting on his knee, as though it might escape. It lay on his knee, tied with cream ribbon, as though it might escape.

“If you look at it again,” Charlotte murmured, leaning toward him, “your mother will begin to suspect you have wrapped something alive.”