He laughed.
“I am trying very hard.”
“I can see that.”
Julian grew serious.
He took both her hands.
“Clara Langley, will you marry me?”
She looked into his eyes.
For a moment, she remembered the morning at Alderwick House.
The coal scuttle.
The letter.
The duke declaring her unbearable.
She remembered Mrs. Beale's leaking roof.
The cold schoolhouse.
The forged signatures.
The rising river.
The orchard disappearing beneath the flood.
And the man who had stood beside her through it all, struggling with his pride, admitting his failures, and choosing to become better.
Clara smiled.
“Yes.”
Julian stared.
“Yes?”
“Yes, Julian.”
His face changed.
A joy so open and unguarded appeared upon it that Clara felt her heart ache.
“Are you certain?”
“Perfectly.”
“You understand what you are accepting?”
“I do.”
“The estate is still in difficulty.”
“I know.”
“I can be impatient.”
“I have observed it.”
“And stubborn.”
“Frequently.”
“And I have been told that my temper is—”
“Julian.”
He stopped.
Clara smiled.
“You are beginning to sound unbearable.”
He laughed.
Then, with a tenderness that made her eyes close, he bent and kissed her.
It was not the hurried, uncertain gesture of a gentleman overcome by a passing fancy.
It was a kiss full of all the things they had discovered about one another.
Forgiveness.
Admiration.
Trust.
And the quiet certainty that whatever difficulties awaited them, they would face them together.
When they drew apart, Julian rested his forehead lightly against hers.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Clara smiled.
“I love you too.”
From the doorway came Lady Honoria's voice.
“Thank heaven. I was beginning to wonder whether I should have to propose on his behalf.”
They turned.
The older woman stood beside Clara's aunt, both looking extraordinarily pleased.
Julian groaned.
“Aunt.”
Lady Honoria waved a hand.
“Do not concern yourself with me. I have spent the greater part of my life watching gentlemen misunderstand perfectly sensible women. It is refreshing to see one finally recover his wits.”
Clara laughed.
Julian looked at his future wife.
Then at his aunt.
For once, he did not argue.
They were married in April.
The wedding took place at the church in Mereford, according to Clara's wish.
It was not the grand society event Lady Honoria had initially imagined.
There were no hundreds of fashionable guests.
No elaborate procession of carriages.
No extraordinary display of wealth.
Instead, the church filled with the people who had become important to them.
Mrs. Beale attended with Lucy and Annie, both wearing freshly pressed gowns.
Mrs. Calder sat beside the schoolchildren.
Mr. Grady arrived leaning upon his polished walking stick.
Bess Finch stood near the front, her hair neatly arranged beneath a pretty bonnet Clara had given her.
Mrs. Hartley occupied a place of honor among the household servants.