Chapter 11

It was dizzying. The way his lips moved over hers, the feeling of his large hand cupping her cheek so tenderly while his other arm had moved about her waist, pulling her closer to him—it was thrilling and so very telling. Perhaps she lacked the knowledge of what passion and desire might be, but she understood love, even if she had not yet experienced it. And the care that he took with her was so evident that she could not imagine it was prompted by anything less.

Somehow, he had maneuvered them to the small bench that she had occupied earlier with Mrs. Whitlow. He simply pulled her down with him until she was sprawled across his lap, his arms wrapped about her, cradling her. And all the while, the kiss never stopped. His lips never left hers. The whole of it left her breathless. And eager. Eager for more kisses, eager for his touch.

He pulled his lips away from hers at last, both of them breathing raggedly. “I will kiss you whenever you require—Likely more than you require because I do not think I will ever grow tired of the wonder of it.”

Charlotte’s heartbeat, already much faster than it typically was, seemed to skip erratically for a moment. “You say such things to me… and for seven years you barely spoke to anyone unless it was to growl at them. One or two words for everything! Now you say things that make my heart pound faster and dizzy my mind!”

He shook his head. “I never trusted myself to say more… If I said too much, and revealed my feelings for you, while still you chose Cranford? It would have wounded me to the core, Charlotte. So long as I kept my feelings a secret, I could hope they might one day be returned.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she admitted. “I think, if you’d like to propose, I’d very much like to say yes.”

“I’m very glad of that because we have other issues to contend with. Mrs. Cranford is scheming to drive a wedge between us. Luckily for us, the young lady whom she intended to be your rival has more character than that.”

“I don’t care. If you ask me to be your wife, it should only be about us and not about Georgianna Cranford and her scheming.”

Ethan reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a small velvet covered box. Flipping the latch on it, he revealed the ring inside which instantly made Charlotte’s eyes sting with tears.

“It’s so beautiful. I could not have imagined a more beautiful ring,” she whispered. The delicate gold band was etched with a wreath of forget-me-nots and in the center was a single sapphire surrounded with small, perfectly shaped pearls. “Where on earth would you find such a thing?”

“I had it made… several years back. I heard you once tell Mrs. Whitlow at some fair or other that forget-me-nots were your favorite flower. Simple and lovely, often overlooked, but beautiful nonetheless. I think that is what you said,” he explained.

She blinked in surprise. “You commissioned the ring for me on the mere hope that you might someday have an opportunity to propose?”

“Yes. Mad as that must seem, yes.”

It might have been a little mad, but it was also the most terribly romantic thing she’d ever heard. It was certainly the most romantic thing she had ever experienced personally. Arliss had not given her a ring. He’d called it a foolish indulgence and claimed that a simple band would suffice and that they would purchase it just before they married. “I think it’s wonderful,” she said. “I count myself to be very fortunate, indeed, that the future I had once accepted is now forever more lost to me. And in its place, I will have a husband who listens to me, who cares for even the most minor of my whims. I cannot think of any woman so lucky as I am.”

“Then, Miss Charlotte Mulberry, will you do me the great honor of being my wife?” He asked.

“Yes,” Charlotte answered immediately and without hesitation. “Yes, I will be your wife.”

The ring slid onto her finger effortlessly, fitting her perfectly.

The ring had been an impulsive decision when he’d had it made several years earlier. Commissioning that piece of jewelry when there had been absolutely no indication that he might ever be fortunate enough to place it upon her hand had been an act of either madness or blind faith. It depended, he supposed, entirely upon one’s perspective.

“Shall we have Mrs. Whitlow make an announcement for us? I can contact the vicar and have the banns read as early as tomorrow’s service,” he offered.

Charlotte shook her head. “I have it on good authority—namely Mrs. Whitlow’s—that a bit of scandal would make her the envy of every other hostess. So long as it’s the right kind of scandal, of course. I should think an elopement might do the trick. If you wish to be married quickly, of course. We are not so very far from Gretna Green.”

“If? Charlotte, I’ve waited seven years. We could be standing before the vicar right now and it would not be happening quickly enough,” he answered. “But elopements are for people who marry against advice and good sense.”

“I’m well past my majority. We are still within our parish… we could marry by common license,” Charlotte suggested. “There would be no one who would object. I know that Mrs. Whitlow would consider it a personal victory.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “By all means, let us marry quickly for the glory of Mrs. Whitlow.”

“I didn’t mean that,” she said, clearly horrified that he might think so. “I would never be so… so…”

“Superficial? Mercenary? Trust me, Charlotte, those are words that will never be applied to you. Anyone who spends more than a single moment with you will know the goodness of your heart and the sweetness of your nature.”

“I feel that you may be quite disappointed when you know me better. I’m quite capable of being selfish and even petty. I’m far from a paragon.”

“As am I,” he replied. “But we shall enjoy finding one another’s many facets, flaws included… For now, I can only think of kissing you again.”

“Then by all means,” Charlotte said, “I certainly think you should.”