“Oh, if he owns Hartbury Hall then he’s good enough for me.”
He laughed and turned to Liv, who mouthed a “Sorry” at him.
He tugged Liv near. “No more apologies, okay? I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how much”—he smiled—“how ardently I admire and love you.”
Liv’s eyes lit, as her mother fanned herself. “Oh, I don’t care about Colin Firth or Theo Thomas or Matthew Macfadyen now. This is so much better than any film.”
And the way Liv pushed to her toes and kissed him, uncaring about their audience, he was inclined to agree.
Epilogue
Here went nothing, then.
England’s February skies held none of the hot blue depths of summer back home. But it was funny how in recent weeks her heart had shifted. Home didn’t feel like home these days. Unlike the heart pinch of gladness she felt now when looking at the Hall.
Would he be there? She was several days early. Gran had assured her he would be, saying now that the audit was accepted and the grant had been approved, the trust had been wound up, so there was no need for Liam to spend so much time in London. God bless the Wheaton-Smythes, who had realized that Liam and the Hartbury Hall committee had no need to be held hostage by unreasonable demands, their barrister son’s legal expertise snuffing out further protest from Sir Humphrey and the Atwoods.
So, Liamshouldbe at home, even if he wasn’t expecting her. She hadn’t expected to come as soon as this, but Dad had assured her he was fine, with his new diet of salad and less red meat, and The Silver Teapot’s menu adjusted to reflect less of the pastries he was famed for. Thank goodness these past few weeks’ break from university meant Elinor and Katie had been able to help at the café, before they too joined EJ and their mother in insisting Liv return to her real-life Mr. Darcy.
“You don’t want to let another woman drop the handkerchief, as it were,” Mum had warned.
And while Liv had no real fear on that score, this yearning to see him had only grown. Which was why she stood here. Wondering if she should knock on the front door or try to find him in the gardens. Wait—was that the front door opening?
Ecstatic barking accompanied a brown-and-white furry cannonball, and she laughed and clicked her fingers and pointed, before rubbing CeeCee’s head and ears.
“Liv!”
She jumped and looked up to see him running towards her. Her smile broadened as he snatched her up in a huge hug, cradling her to himself.
“You’re back!”
“I’m back.”
Oh, it was good to be held by him. Oh, it was good to feel his arms around her like this. Like she really was back where she belonged. At Hartbury Hall. Nestled close to Liam’s heart.
“I missed you,” he murmured, his lips against her face.
“I missed you too.” After his return to England in the new year—the day after they learned the grant had been approved—they might have been video calling most days, but it wasn’t the same as this. Holding him, feeling his heart thud, his lips on her skin … Oh, kissing him.
His lips were hungry for hers, and she enjoyed kissing him back equally enthusiastically. Then, as she became aware of soft snickers around her, and a little boy’s horrified voice—“Mummy, look!”—she remembered they had an audience of visitors.
So she pulled away, drawing a hand down his bristly cheek. “Is this part of your disguise? You need a shave.”
“I planned to when I knew you were coming. I just hadn’t dreamed you’d surprise me by coming early.” He pressed a kiss into her palm.
“I missed you,” she said simply. It was true. Being without him was like something didn’t quite fit. Something that was only made right by her return. “Besides, I missed the house too. A woman would be prepared to put up with quite a lot to live here,” she teased.
His eyes darkened, and she realized the implications of her words. “Liam …”
“Olivia …”
How she loved it when his voice held that edge of rasp. “I meant—”
“You meant you’d be happy to live here one day, with a not-very-well-behaved dog, married to a man who is occasionally grumpy”—he pressed another kiss to her hand—“who is not exactly Mr. Darcy”—another kiss—“but who loves and adores you, and promises to do that all the days of your life?”
Her heart shimmered with what felt like a hundred tiny rainbows. There was only one thing for it. So she flung her arms around him and kissed him, uncaring of those around who might judge and point fingers or consider this most un-English behaviour. Who cared? This was what love did.
Her lips felt swollen by the time she leaned back into the cradle of his arms. “Yes.”
His eyes lit, and he looked like he might swoop in for another kiss. But she held him back. He needed to hear this. “I love you. You, Liam Browne.” She tapped his chest. “Or William Fitzbrowne, or whoever you are. I don’t need Mr. Darcy. I just want you.”
“Forever?” he asked, hope in his voice.
“Forever.”
She held his face and smiled, looking deep into his eyes, then tenderly, gently, promised herself to him with her lips. And knew she’d be forever grateful towards the people who, by bringing her to England, had been the means of uniting them.
