Page 39 of A Question of Worth

"And you have become more to me than I ever expected," she responded, emotion thickening her voice as she held his gaze. "You have fought for me, defended me in a way that I did not think anyone would. You stood as a wall between theton's accusations and myself, protecting me and shielding me in a way that cost you." Her lips curved gently. "I think it was when you stood and spoke to Lady Ravenshill that day in the park that I came to see just how much I loved you."

For a moment he could not speak. He had not known, until she said it, how much he had needed to hear it.

"I love you," he said. "I have for some time. I did not know how to name it at first."

He touched her cheek. Her curls fell against the back of his hand.

"You have changed me, Eliza. I am not the man who sat across from you at Braithwaite's. I cannot be without you."

Her eyes shone, unshed tears bright in the sunlight. "Then do not go," she whispered. "Stay with me. Never again will I want distance between us."

Nathaniel did not hesitate. His hands found her waist, and he drew her into his arms.

The world went quiet.

His lips met hers, and everything else fell away — the birdsong that had been threading through the garden, the distant rattle of a carriage beyond the garden wall, the faint rustle of air moving through the roses. All of it receded until there was nothing but the warmth of her mouth against his and the slight pressure of her hands where they found his arms and held. The kiss was unhurried. Neither of them was afraid anymore, and this was the first time that had been true — the first time there was no wound between them requiring navigation, no caution, no careful positioning of hands or words. He tasted the salt of her tears at the corner of her lips. He felt the steadiness of her breathing against his chest. He was aware, with a clarity that left no room for anything else, that she was not going to pull away.

When they separated, the world came back slowly — the garden returning first as scent, the roses heavy and sweet in the warm air, then as light, the afternoon sun finding them through the leaves. He did not immediately speak. She did not immediately speak. A breath. Then his eyes opened and found hers, and there was nothing left between them that required explanation.

"I was going to ask you to begin a courtship," he whispered against her lips, unwilling to pull back, unwilling to step away. "Now that we are here, however, now that I have you so close to me, might we not think of a future where we are joined as man and wife?"

Her sharp intake of breath widened her eyes, pulling her back from him, and Nathaniel went still, his fingers tightening on hers, afraid that he had spoken too quickly or been too hasty.

"Marriage?"

He nodded slowly. "If you do not think that it is the right time, then — "

"Oh, Ashcombe!"

She threw her arms about his neck, tears of joy on her cheeks as Nathaniel caught his breath, relief pushing into his veins. "You accept me, then?"

"Accept you?" Leaning back, she framed his face with her hands. "My love, I could not think of anything more fitting. Yes, of course I shall marry you, for I can think of nothing more wonderful than becoming your wife."

The warmth of her against him was so complete, so unhurried, that he pressed another light kiss to her lips before he could think of anything else to say. "Then husband and wife we shall soon be," he murmured, as she closed her eyes and leaned into him. "I love you, Eliza."

Her eyes opened. "And I love you."

EPILOGUE

The church bells rang just as Eliza entered the churchyard, as if announcing her arrival. Making her way inside, she paused in the vestibule, aware that through the next large, wooden door, her betrothed was waiting.

"Are you anxious, my dear?"

Eliza took the bouquet of roses from her aunt's hand and smiled back at her. "I am not anxious in the least," she said honestly. "Somewhat nervous, I will admit, but I have been eagerly anticipating this day for the last few weeks."

Lady Newark returned her smile, elegant in dove-grey silk. "I am glad to hear it. I am truly delighted for you, Eliza." There was a quiet satisfaction in her smile, a look of joy in her eyes. "I know that your future is happy and secure."

"It is," Eliza agreed softly. "Thank you, Aunt, for all that you have done to secure my happiness." Lady Newark had overseen every detail of this day with precision and care, ensuring that nothing — not society, nor family, nor past difficulty — could cast a shadow upon it. "It is appreciated by both myself and by Ashcombe."

"It was a joy." Leaning forward, she kissed Eliza's cheek, then settled the veil so that it fell lightly over Eliza's features. "I think, my dearest, that you are quite ready. All we need now is Lady Sarah."

A knot came into Eliza's throat, tears of happiness threatening. This moment held such significance, such weight; it was difficult to take it all in. Looking down at her ivory satin gown, she smoothed her gloved hands over it, spreading out invisible wrinkles. She wore no jewels beyond a single pearl pendant resting just above her heart. That had been a gift from Lady Newark, given without ceremony but with deep affection — and perhaps with it the awareness that Eliza had no jewels of her own of which to speak, given that her father had spent all of his wealth on gambling and paying debts. She touched it lightly, then turned her head, just as Lady Sarah stepped in, her pale blue muslin gown matching the color of her eyes.

"My dear Eliza! Forgive my tardiness; the horse lost a shoe." She smiled, came forward and took Eliza's hand in her own. "You are beyond beautiful, my friend. I am truly delighted for you."

"I thank you," Eliza answered, just as the door to the chapel itself opened. "If you are quite ready, then I think it is time."

Sarah nodded and stepped forward, ready to go ahead of her. From beyond the chapel door came the low murmur of voices as the congregation slowly settled to quiet. Among them, Eliza knew, would be her father.