Jacob was hardly aware of Blake entering once he concluded his business. Rather, he had rested his head back against his chair, closed his eyes, and tried to remain calm. Level minded when he felt anything but.
“It looks like you could use a drink, old chap.”
He opened his eyes, grateful when Blake poured him a whisky and sat across from him. Well aware of how far Jacob and Prudence had come and what this night meant, his friend held up his glass. “Here is to receiving the answer you long for this eve, my friend.”
“God willing.” Jacob toasted him back. “Because I dread what might become of things if I do not.”
His time apart from Prudence had become unbearable, so he had no choice but to push her to the edge. Make her see that their pain would only grow worse. The weeks they spent apart last month made that clear. They simply could not bear to be separated. Letters were not nearly enough anymore.
“I cannot think Lady Barrington would say anything but yes,” Blake said, drawing him back to the present. “Maude is convinced of it. She is already whispering of her plans for your wedding.” He winked. “You might have your own plans but know my Maude is bound to offer all sorts of advice.”
Jacob forced himself to smile because Maude deserved nothing less. “And she would be welcome to help her sister in every way possible.”
“Here, here.” Blake’s toast was more reserved this time as he considered Jacob. “You have found true love again, friend. Trust that. Know she will say yes because it is clear she loves you just as deeply.”
While appreciative of Blake’s reassurance, it did not ease his discomfort. Rather, he continued to feel on edge. Desperate in a way he had not quite felt up until this point. What if she said no? If they spent the rest of their lives seeing each other when he could get away? Forever hiding their love?
An emotion only punctuated when she drifted down the stairs hours later wearing the same golden dress she had worn the night they fell in love. While she was every bit as beautiful, she once again had a new radiance about her. One that made all heads turn her way. How could they not when she seemed aglow?
Any thought of being discreet vanished when he met her at the bottom of the stairs. Their gazes connected just as they had before, only this time with certain, undeniable love between them. He offered his arm. “Lady Barrington?”
“Your Grace.”
Prudence’s gaze never left his face as she curtsied and accepted his arm. Neither said a word as he led her through the crowd and entered the ballroom. Just like before, he swirled her onto the dance floor into a waltz. When he pulled her into his arms, it yet again felt like they had been dancing together their whole lives. As lost on the dance floor as they were when they made love, they swirled round and round without taking their eyes off of each other.
When the music eventually switched to a more lively country dance, they retired to enjoy the festivities. As this was primarily a fire festival, a great deal of the celebrations were out back, where a sizeable bonfire burned, so they headed that way.
“Do tell, what are they doing?” She took in those walking animals around the flames once they arrived outside. “I am unfamiliar with this tradition.”
“They are blessing both the beasts and crops,” he said. “Further into the highlands, you might come upon people jumping over the fire. Folklore suggests the height reached by the most athletic jumper will be the height of that year’s harvest.”
“That sounds rather dangerous.” She considered the flames and winced. “I do hope the fires they jump are smaller.”
“They are.” He chuckled. “As most wait until the flames die down before jumping, then head home at sunrise.”
“Ah, much safer.”
He tried to steer clear of the topic but could not seem to help himself. “Did you know June is the most popular time for weddings here in Scotland?”
“I did not.” A promising twinkle lit her eyes. “Do tell.”
“Well, this time of year falls between the planting and harvesting of crops, leaving those who work the land time to relax, therefore time for a wedding.”
“That makes sense.” Naturally, she had her own tidbit of knowledge. “I do know that the first moon of June is called the ‘honey moon’ because many believed it was the best time to take honey from beehives.”
“It is.” He bit back a smile. Had that been her way of hinting they would soon be enjoying a honeymoon? She did have a clever way with words, after all.
“Did you know that lasses traditionally gather herbs and flowers on summer solstice day and place them under a pillow in the hopes of important dreams?” He looked at her in a way she could not mistake. “Especially dreams about future lovers.”
“Do they?” she said softly. Her gaze lingered on his face. “I suppose that is one tradition I must pass on then, for I suspect flowers have been under my pillow since last November.”
“I can only hope.” He longed to pull her into his arms so the world might know she was his. “Suffice it to say, love is a common theme at gatherings such as this. Paired sweethearts leap over fires hand in hand or throw flowers across the flames to each other.”
“Dear me.” Her eyes rounded. “You Scots do like your fire jumping.”
“So it seems.” He chuckled again. “Rest assured, that is one tradition I will not ask of you.”
“Most kind of you, Your Grace.” She smiled warmly as they strolled arm in arm past merry goers. “Tell me more of this eve. What I might expect.”
