He dipped his head until his forehead rested against hers. "Marry me."
It was not a question. More like a declaration.
"Marry me, Estella. I'll spend the rest of my life making you happy, and spoiling Charlotte rotten, and looking after your father, and funding whatever experiments your friend Miss Evermore devises, and I will never, as long as I live, let you skip a meal or mend your own gloves again."
From behind them, a small voice whispered, "Say yes, Estella."
They both turned. Charlotte was standing in the doorway, her nightgown trailing on the floor, her eyes wide and bright with excitement. "Say yes, say yes!"
The laugh that escaped Estella was wet and bright and real. Sebastian's face, when she looked back at him, was transformed. He was smiling. A real, full, devastating smile that she'd never seen before, and— He was so beautiful it hurt.
"Yes," she said. "Yes, I'll marry you."
He kissed her again. Charlotte cheered. Annie burst into tears in the kitchen doorway.
And in a townhouse four streets away, the Duchess of Ashworth was pouring her morning tea, and waiting, and smiling to herself. Because the truth about the fire could wait one more hour.
Some other truths needed to come first.
25
They arrived at half past eleven, and Philippa knew precisely what had occurred before they'd even crossed the threshold.
It was in the way Sebastian held the door for Estella—not the stiff, dutiful courtesy he'd been performing all Season, but something warm and…proprietary. His hand hovered at the small of her back as she stepped inside, and when she glanced up at him, he looked down at her with an expression so nakedly tender that Philippa had to press her lips together very firmly to hold back a grin.
Well. That was settled, then.
She received them in the drawing room. Estella was glowing with happiness in a simple muslin day dress, her hair freshly pinned. Sebastian had managed to tame his hair, though the shadows under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept in quite some time.
They sat on the settee, close enough that their shoulders touched. Sebastian's left hand rested on his thigh, and as Philippa watched, Estella's fingers found it and laced through his, casual and certain, as though they'd been doing this for years.
His hand stopped trembling.
It was impossible to hold back a smirk. Philippa had been right about them. She'd known it from the first night, when she'd watched a scarred marquess track a shy girl across a ballroom with such single-minded focus.
But being right didn't make what came next any easier.
"I take it congratulations are in order," she said.
Estella's cheeks turned pink, but her smile was beaming. "He asked and I said yes."
"After her sister interrogated me on the doorstep," Sebastian added. His mouth did something extraordinary—it curved upward. An actual smile.
Philippa catalogued it with quiet amazement. She wasn't certain she'd ever seen the man smile before. It transformed his face entirely, softening the severity.
"Charlotte is a force of nature," Philippa said. "She'll make an excellent marchioness's sister."
"She'll be unbearable," Sebastian said, and his tone held such warmth that Philippa had to look away.
She poured tea, and the ritual steadied her. Milk for Estella, nothing for Sebastian, sugar and lemon for herself.
"You said there was something you needed to tell us." Sebastian’s tone was more guarded now.
She only imagined how much it pained him to come here and speak of this topic. She was doing him no favors by prevaricating.
Philippa folded her hands in her lap. She'd rehearsed this conversation a hundred times since Estella had first told her the full scope of Sebastian's guilt. She'd composed and discarded a dozen different approaches, searching for the right words.
There were no right words. Only the truth.
