He did not know what made him speak such truth so suddenly. Yet as his next words left his lips, Marcus found no remorse in any of them. Her eyes met his, wide and steady.
“Catherine,” he said. “You have become so much more than I ever expected.”
Her lips parted, but she said nothing.
“When we agreed to this marriage,” he continued, “I thought only of propriety, of suitability. But you have become essential. To the house. To the work. To me.”
Catherine’s breath caught once more. He knew he ought to stop, yet the words pressed on, insistent, until they were spoken.
“Your presence steadies me. Your mind sharpens mine. I have never worked so well beside anyone. And every day, I find myself watching you, wanting to speak and not knowing whether I have the right.”
She lifted her hand to his wrist; her fingers cool and trembling.
“You always have the right,” she said softly. “And perhaps, I wish to hear what you have to say.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. He still could not tell if she knew what he was thinking. But now, he was sure he wanted her to know.
The silence between them filled, not with tension, but with what, to Marcus, felt like the blossoming of mutual feelings.
“You are everything I did not know I needed,” he said, whispering.
Her eyes shimmered in the lamplight.
“Then you are not alone,” she said just as breathlessly.
He lowered his hands slowly, but the warmth of her remained with him.
They stood close, neither moving, the flicker of firelight the only motion in the room.
Tomorrow, the world would demand their vigilance. But tonight, in this quiet space between fear and resolve, they had found something more. Not safety or certainty, but truth. And for now, it was enough.
They stood inches apart, the room around them suspended in silence, the flickering lamplight gilding the air between them.
Marcus heard only the sound of his wife’s breath—quickened, uneven—so like his own. His heart beat with the same intensity he had felt the first time she had looked up from his papers and, without pretence, offered a thoughtful suggestion. Yet this moment carried something deeper still, a truth he could neither deny nor name.
His hands lifted slowly, reverently, to frame her face; her skin feeling impossibly soft beneath his fingertips.
He traced the delicate angle of her cheekbone with his thumbs, brushing lightly as though committing the shape of her to memory.
“You have given me something I thought existed only in dreams,” she said softly. “This partnership, this companionship has become more than I knew to hope for. More than I dared to imagine.”
He leaned forward, slowly and deliberately.
The space between them vanished by degrees, his every movement a silent question. And when she made no move to step away, when her gaze held his with quiet certainty, he let hislips meet hers in a kiss that spoke every unvoiced word they had shared in late-night silences and unguarded glances.
Her mouth was warm, yielding, the kiss gentle but full of the tenderness that had grown between them.
There was no rush, no urgency. Only the reverent acknowledgement of a truth that had long been waiting to be claimed.
When at last they parted, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling.
“This marriage has become something beautiful,” he said.
Catherine did not move away. Her hand remained on his, her fingers brushing lightly against his knuckles.
“Whatever tomorrow may bring, I feel ready,” she said, her voice low. “And I am grateful for this, and for you.”
Marcus exhaled slowly, the tension of days lifted by the balm of her nearness.
