Chapter Twelve

"H ow are you feeling?"

Philippa touched her hand to her still-bandaged forehead. "It's nothing. It was a minor injury and did not require that degree of fuss."

Devon shook his head. "You were knocked unconscious by a supposedly dead woman, dragged through tunnels and up flights of stairs by her and her vicious aunt, only to be locked in a trunk. Not to mention that you quite literally had to run for your life afterwards. I think the amount of fuss has been minimal under the circumstances."

Philippa sighed. "I suppose when you put it like that, it does sound a bit dramatic."

"Just a bit... but I didn't come to visit you in your sickbed to talk about Miss Regina Hawley or Mrs. Baynard. I came because I have something for you."

Philippa wanted to protest. It had been three days since the incident , and every single day he'd come to visit her with some gift or trinket. "You do too much."

"I could never do enough," he countered, as he produced a small box from the pocket of his coat. "But I will have a lifetime to try."

Philippa gasped when he opened the box. Inside was a delicately wrought ring fashioned in gold and set with a single diamond encircled by sapphires. "Devon, it's lovely. But I... am afraid to wear something so fine. What if I lose it? What if a stone comes loose?"

"Stones can be replaced. So can rings. You, Philippa Thomas, cannot." With that, he plucked the ring from its bed of silk and then placed it on her finger. "Do you feel up to getting married in the morning? You are still recuperating, after all."

Philippa sighed. "I think I could run to the church if need be. Right now."

He leaned in toward her and captured her lips in a soft and gentle kiss. It was full of tenderness coupled with a hint of heat. But it also held promise. It held the hope of a future she'd never dreamed possible for herself.

*

The carriage halted before the doors, and one of the footmen opened it immediately. Elizabeth clambered out with the servant's assistance. Devon followed her out and then offered his hand to help Philippa down. The servants were all lined up to greet them. No, he thought, to greet her. Their new mistress.

"This is terribly uncomfortable," she said. "This morning, I numbered amongst their ranks."

"Well, you may continue your duties. We do not yet have a replacement governess. Perhaps that will aid in your transition from governess to mistress of Peregrine Hall," he offered.

She laughed. "You tease, but I am quite serious. This isn't merely a step up on the social ladder. I've ascended to an entirely different plane! Not that I ever aspired to such. Indeed, the prospect of this... of running this house for you—"

"For us," he corrected gently. "For us, Philippa... Mrs. Falconer."

She was quiet for just a second. "Yes. For us."

"This house will be our home. It will be run the way that you are most comfortable with. It is yours to do with as you please."

A smile curved her lips. "I like that. Having my own home. My own husband. For a woman who came here with nothing, I have certainly done very well for myself."

As he ushered her inside, Devon wondered if she would ever understand that he was the one who was lucky.