Page 113 of The Unknown Birds

“I believe I made it clear I’d marry you in trousers,” he said, tugging at the shoulder strap of her overalls.

“I’m not wearing trousers. I’d never hear the end of it from the lads,” she argued, but the fact that he was willing had her slamming the wardrobe closed and showering him with kisses.

“What made you change your mind?”

“I spent the whole day telling children and parents to pretend they were brave if they had to, and I realized I was making the same stupid mistake all over again—keeping you at arm’s length for fear of losing you.”

“I would have waited.”

“I know. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

“There are more?” he murmured in her ear, making her shiver.

“Hundreds more. An infinite number of reasons. And then I found this.”

She took Frau Wintter’s medallion from her pocket and placed it reverently in his palm, his initials staring up at them both: AR.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A sign,” she said. “Frau Wintter gave it to me in 1916. Somehow, I think it led me straight to you.”

The next morning, September the third, Temple Church was adorned with a sea of fresh hydrangeas when Ash entered wearing a simple, pale-green frock.

“You look lovely,” Davies greeted, kissing her on the cheek. “This is Reverend Haley,” he added, introducing the freckled rector, no longer TomTom’s double in his priestly robes.

“Miss Ashley, I quite enjoyed your lecture at the University of London last winter.”

“I should thank you, I think,” Ash said, shaking his hand warmly. “If not for you, we might never have been reunited.”

The reverend grinned, adjusting his glasses. “Love always finds a way. I’ll see you down there,” he added before heading to the front of the church.

“Ready?” Davies asked her.

Ash took a breath and nodded. She wished she’d come to her senses sooner so her mother and Frau Wintter could have been there, but having Stew and Dusty was perfect too.

“I never thanked you!” she realized. “For what you did—bringing my mother and Frau Wintter to Collingwood for the duration.”

Davies grinned. “Win-win-win,” he said, turning towards the altar and offering his elbow.

Rook played Bach on the organ as they walked, then stepped up to meet her the moment she arrived.

All the rest was a blur from The Book of Common Prayer. Memories past and present flicked through her mind like a moving picture—standing next to him inside a barn in France, target practice in the sunshine, every moment like a dotted line to this.

They’d not had time to sort out wedding bands, so Rook used the ruby ring—the only one Ash would ever need, if truth be told. For him, she should have fashioned something simple from thread or wire, but they’d spent their evening wrapped up in other things. Cheeks flushing, she took his hand in hers, looking deep into his dancing grey eyes, and she knew that she had never been more seen.

Then Davies took one step forward, a gold band upon his palm, and when Ashley glanced at him in question he merely shrugged. Whether it appeared in his hand by magic or once belonged to a baronet, she was happy to accept the gift for what it was.

Sliding the ring down Rook’s third finger, she repeated the words like a solemn prayer. “I, Charlotte Elizabeth Ashley, take you, Alexander Roland Rook, to be my husband, for better, for worse, to love and to cherish and always be true⁠—”

“True as steel?” he murmured.

“True as Troilus,” she agreed with a grin. “From henceforth, every day—and twice on Sundays,” she added.

Ash couldn’t take her eyes off Rook’s crooked smile, but she could hear Davies huff with delight, while Dusty and Stewart snickered.

“For as long as we both shall live.”

She had sworn to herself she wouldn’t choke up, but the love beaming down from his eyes was overwhelming.