Page 91 of The Fortune Hunter’s Gamble

Sophronia’s laughter mingled with tears, great sobs of relief. She had not been able to face how deep the fear ran that Rowden would stop wanting her. But the way his eyes never left her, the way he made his way directly to her, forcing through the crowd on the bridge, told her the truth. He had returned for her.

He looked larger than she remembered, looming in the greatcoat he had worn for the voyage from Newbury. Perhaps the crowd parted for them, perhaps not. Sophronia could see nothing but him.

“Is it the sun?” He raised his voice above the noise of the crowd. “Is it my lady? O, it is my love, my Juliet!”

Laughter won over her tears. “In that case what shall my line be? O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, my Romeo?”

He pulled off his top hat and held out his arms. “I am here. I survived that boat ride, barely.”

She ran to him and pressed her face into the curve of his shoulder to abandon herself a moment to emotion. He cradled her in his arms and the world receded, nothing existing but his scent, his strength, his solid warmth.

“You are back?” she said, her voice muffled against the wool of his coat. “You are back for certain?”

“I am here, and nothing will make me leave you again.”

“You cannot promise that.” She pulled back and looked into his face, holding his shoulder with one hand, using the other to wipe tears from her cheeks. “You left so easily the last time.” Belatedly, she swatted his cheek, delivering the promised slap, but not hard enough to sting.

He grinned and pressed her close to him. “I’ve done my duty, and I’ve told Foster I won’t be any further use to him as I’ll be a happily married man who never goes anywhere without his wife and engages in only the most respectable pursuits.” A shadow crossed his face and he scrutinized every part of her features. “I did leave you at a terrible time. I could think of nothing but my own loss, and not yours. I am sorry.”

“You need not apologize, my love. I know you. I know you must hide to lick your wounds.” She clasped his arms. “But if I am to marry you, I hope you will see me as a partner and helpmeet, and a prop in the dark times.”

He pushed away a silk ribbon that slapped against her cheek, his expression growing sober. “You still wish to marry me? After you have had time to reflect? I…” He fell silent.

“You are all I want, Rowden. You always were. And if it takes my entire life, I will persuade you that you are worthy of love and esteem. Mine and everyone else’s.”

He pressed his mouth to her cheek. “And I will show you that you need not fear losing me. I know that is why you held back, and I proved you right by leaving. I saw that as soon as I arrived in Geneva. The mountains cleared my head, I think.”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “I think we needed the time apart. Both times. We know ourselves better, both of us. And we know what we want.”

He squeezed her waist and lifted her against him. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“And I want the same.”

He bent his head and kissed her, heedless of the crowds around them. Sophronia’s entire body was a flood of joy, one ringing chord of happiness. When she lifted her head she caught the stillness from the corner of her eyes, and she turned to find the solemn faces of her pupils, all lined up and staring at her.

“He’s coming to the Bear to have cakes with us, then?” asked the littlest, giving Rowden a dubious regard that clearly expressed her concern that he would consume more than his fair share and leave none for the rest.

“What does this mean for the school if you marry, Mrs. Hinton?” asked Selene, her eyes as wide as the others, but her smile was pleased, as if she shared in their happiness.

Sophronia linked her arm through Rowden’s as they began the walk up High Street toward the Bear. “I hope it means that we will be able to begin construction on a dairy, where we might keep cows for fresh milk and agricultural observation,” she said. “Mr. Rowden is quite skilled at building things. He once made me a grotto at Foxleigh which I pretended was a dragon’s lair, and I the captured princess planning to steal the dragon’s treasure.”

“I want to hear every detail about the new school,” Rowden said, sparing a smile for Selene. “Is Mrs. Hinton a stern headmistress?”

“She is proper in every respect,” said Horatia, with a glance of warning, but one of the younger ones disclaimed this immediately.

“Oh, no, sir, she’s the nicest of all the headmistresses I’ve had, and my mum tried me at near half a dozen places,” said another girl, around the age of eleven. “But can a headmistress marry?”

“This one shall, and we will take the rest as it comes,” Rowden assured her.

Another little girl pushed forward. “Is it true you run a gambling hell, Mr. Rowden? A nest of vice and sin?”

“I own a stake in the Albion, which is a respectable club for gentlemen as well as ladies,” Rowden replied, and demands for further explanations about the Albion, as well as what he had seen in his travels in the former Swiss Confederacy, occupied them until they reached their destination.

Sophronia led them to the private room they had reserved and there found the aunts sitting at one end of the table, heads bent together in gossip, and her father sitting beside Baron Denford, who occupied the head of the table. Everyone fell silent as his lordship turned toward the door when Rowden entered.

Sophronia’s heart caught in her chest. This poor organ was taking quite a beating today. The Baron’s face was gaunt with the weight he had lost in recent months, and dark circles ringed his eyes. But his gaze was wary, not baleful, as he regarded his nephew.

“Sir,” Rowden said quietly. “I know the sight of me can only cause you pain. Nevertheless I am glad you bid me return.”