Page 86 of The Governess and the Rogue

Jack’s eyes blazed. “Then⁠—”

“But not if you don’t love me as I love you.”

“I do love you, Bea,” Jack said. “What do you think all this has been about?” And bending his head, his mouth captured hers.

Bea’s eyes fell closed as her lips yielded to his. She brought her hands to his chest. They slid up to his shoulders as she kissed him back. Her pulse was surging, and her heart was as full as it had ever been. Full of hope and possibility. And love.

Never in her life had she dared to let herself feel so much. It hadn’t been safe, during those long years on her own. To yearn for something—for someone—so specifically. Even her wishes had been general. All those lonely entreaties made on various evening stars. She’d only ever asked for something more.

But the stars had known the desires of her heart.

Someone up there had known.

Because here it was.

Here he was.

At length, Jack pulled back to look at her, his color high. He was smiling. “Shall I take that as a yes?” he asked.

She nodded, smiling back at him, even as her vision blurred with another prickle of joyful tears. “Yes.”

Jack kissed her once more. “You will marry me?”

“Yes,” she said again, laughing. “I will.”

Epilogue

Eight months later…

Christmases at Beasley Park had always been celebrated to the utmost, and this year was no exception. All of Jack’s siblings and their families had come to stay. So had his parents. Hannah and Charles’s parents, Arthur and Phyllida Heywood, were there too, having made the journey up from their Somerset estate a week early in order to spend more time with their children and grandchildren.

A towering Christmas tree dominated the drawing room. It was decorated with gilded fruit and nuts, and illuminated by dozens of small wax candles. Most of the children were on the carpeted floor around it, amid a pack of dozing dogs and a profusion of discarded wrapping paper and ribbons. They chattered and laughed with each other as they played with their new dolls, toy trains, and the hand-painted, eerily lifelike battalions of miniature soldiers that Jack had commissioned for each of them on a recent trip to London.

“The girls too?” Bea had questioned when he’d placed the order.

“Especially the girls,” Jack had replied. “Beresfords enjoy strategy. And we’re none of us afraid of a fight.”

Bea had only laughed. She wasn’t afraid of a fight either, he knew. Not if the cause was just.

But it wasn’t her courage that had most impressed Jack since their marriage. It was her softness. She’d already been revealing it to him by degrees before they’d wed. But since they had set up house at the Priory, since their days—and their nights—had proven so blissful, so fulfilling, the starchy façade Bea had hidden behind when first they’d met had all but vanished.

Jack understood why.

She was safe with him. Secure in her home, and in her happiness. And she trusted him absolutely.

A humbling fact.

Every day, Jack endeavored to deserve it. To be worthy of her friendship, her trust, her love. Given the glow in Bea’s face and the lightness of her step as she moved through their new life together, he flattered himself that he was, in some small measure, succeeding.

“Your gifts to the children are always a success,” she remarked from her place beside him on the overstuffed drawing-room sofa. Dressed in a green velvet gown, she held a glass of mulled wine in one hand. Her other hand was firmly in Jack’s.

“Indeed,” Kate agreed. “Jack’s presents put the rest of us in the shade.” She was seated near the crackling fire with her husband, holding her new baby in her arms—a little boy who had been christened George.

Jack idly moved his thumb over the back of Bea’s knuckles as he replied to his sister. “You’re not honestly comparing the effect of my humble wooden soldiers with that of a new pony?”

The cream-colored Shetland that Captain and Mrs. Heywood had bought their youngest granddaughter had arrived earlier that morning, with a red satin ribbon on its little arched neck and an engraved silver plate on its halter proclaiming its name: Sugar Plum. Charlotte had been ecstatic. So had the other children. It had taken a Herculean effort to get them all back to the house. Jack had ended up carrying two of his nephews in over his shoulders, thanking God that his leg had healed well enough that he could now get around tolerably well without his cane.

Kate pulled a face. “Point taken.” She directed a look of mock severity at her in-laws. “It was the pony that eclipsed everything else.”