He drew back, but only to touch her forehead with his own. “That boy loved the girl you were, but this man loves the woman you are yet more.”
“I feared you considered me no more than a friend,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “And I had the same fear.”
And then, right there, on the snow, he kneeled.
“M-Marcus?”
“Friends, yes, always, but also lovers and confidants. I want it all.” He clasped her hand, eyes steady and clear as he stared up at her. “Charlotte, will you marry me? Be my duchess? Let us not wait. For time is so fleet, I’ve learned.”
A duchess would doubtless conduct herself with decorum and restraint but at this moment, Charlotte was still a governess, so she flung herself into his arms, knees hitting the trampled snow.
“Yes, yes and yes,” she cried. “I love you so, Marcus. Always.”
He kissed her, fierce and tender, within the fells and lakes that had reared them, shaped them, words of love exchanged, breaths cold but hearts warm, the years they’d been apart melting like snow on the high fells come spring.
“I love you, my Charlotte,” Marcus whispered. “Past, present and… Eternity.”
The fells hushed, silent, waiting for Christmas Eve on the morrow, the last day of advent.
And no one was going anywhere.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“We may hear people say. I wonder how she learned such a thing. Probably from one of those books.”
PRIVATEEDUCATION:APRACTICALPLAN FOR THESTUDIES OFYOUNGLADIES.
ELIZABETHAPPLETON. 1815.
Clank.
Thump.
Thud.
Charlotte peered to the ceiling and frowned.
Whatwasthat noise?
Shaking her head, she endeavoured to read her book, but…
Thump.
She placed her book to the sofa and sipped her wine instead.
Today had been one of utter joy – walking the fells with Marcus to discuss their future. Sitting by the fire and sharing kisses.
Some two hours ago, after a dinner of laughter and memories, Marcus had given his apologies and said he had somematters to attend to in his secondary study. Charlotte had kissed the apology from his lips. After all, he was a duke and had to–
Thud.
But what was he doing? Digging a canal to Carlisle himself?
Placing her glass of wine to the side table, she rose, wandered from the library and up the stairs.
A grunt.
