They stood like that beside the fountain as the afternoon faded to evening. As stars began to appear. As their guests slowly departed, leaving them alone in the gardens. Two people who'd made a promise as children and kept it as adults. Against all odds. Against all reason. Against everything the world told them was possible.
They'd kept their promise. And now they had forever to discover what came next.
December 31st, 1857. One year after the New Year's ball. Emma stood in the Winterborne Hall ballroom, Charles's arm around her waist, watching couples dance. The clock approached midnight. A new year was about to begin.
So much had changed in 12 months. The scandal had faded slowly, painfully, but faded nonetheless. A few doors had reopened. A few friends had returned. London society was beginning, just beginning, to accept the Duchess of Winterborne who'd once been nothing but an exile.
Emma didn't particularly care. She had everything she needed right here. Charles leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. What are you thinking about? How different this year was from last year. Better. Infinitely.
Emma turned in his arms. Last year I was terrified. Alone. Convinced I'd lost you forever. And now, now I'm home. Charles smiled. The real smile. The one reserved only for her. So am I.
The clock began to chime. Midnight. The ballroom erupted in celebration. Champagne. Cheers. The traditional Auld Lang Syne. But Charles and Emma barely noticed. They were too busy kissing. Soft and sweet and full of promise.
As 1858 began. A new year. A new chapter. A life built on truth and love and promises kept. And in the gardens beyond, the fountain burbled quietly. Waiting for the next seven-year-old. The next promise. The next love story that would change everything.