19. A Walk in the Gardens

Meanwhile, out in the gardens

"You keep staring at me," Helena accused, her own gaze returning to watch Michael when she was sure of her footing on the garden pavers.

"I cannot help myself," he replied. "You're still so damned gorgeous. Excuse my French."

She tittered softly. "Says the man who is still more handsome than he has any right to be despite three decades."

Michael winced. "You needn't make it sound as if a century has passed," he countered. "Although there have been times when it felt as if we'd been apart that long."

Helena dipped her head. "I admit to feeling heartsick for a very long time after what happened," she admitted. "And then, once Alfred was born, things changed." She kept her gaze on Michael, not surprised to see his expression of hurt.

"There was someone else to love?" he guessed.

"Something like that. It was that or continue to be miserable," she said.

They walked in silence for a time until the light from the overhead Japanese lanterns no longer illuminated their steps. Ahead, a series of hedgerows promised privacy from the other couples who were wandering about the gardens.

"It's not too late for us, though," Michael said, hope sounding in his voice.

"I'm not the same young woman you remember from back then," she warned.

"And I am not the same man I was."

Despite the rustle of something in the hedgerow straight ahead—Helena was sure she had seen the dark shape of a couple kissing only a moment ago—Michael never took his eyes off her, even when he paused and turned to face her.

"Will you do me the honor of finally becoming my wife? My marchioness?"

Helena couldn't help her sudden intake of breath. Couldn't help the sense of excitement coupled with concern she had felt after their short conversation over breakfast. He had hinted then he would be proposing, but she hadn't been prepared for him to do it this evening.

"You cannot be surprised," he said when she didn't offer an answer. He took her gloved hand in his and slipped a ring on her fourth finger. Despite the silk fabric, the ring was merely snug.

"And yet I am," she finally replied, her eyes wide at seeing the ruby solitaire on a gold setting. She lifted her hand to examine the jewel more closely. "It's beautiful," she breathed. "When…?"

"Today. I went with Philip when he went to pick up the one he had specially made for Lady Amelia."

Helena's reaction showed her confusion. "How can you be sure? About us, I mean?"

"It's our turn, my love," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Make me happy. I promise I'll make you happy."

"I might faint for the second time today," she murmured.

"Does the thought of marrying me cause you that much distress?" he asked in alarm.

"No, of course not. It's just so sudden. I think I should like a night to consider it."

She saw his look of hurt and leaned forward to kiss him. "Which gives you the entire night to convince me," she said, arching a dark brow suggestively.

Michael's eyes widened in shock. "Am I taking you to Weston Hall or Fenwick House?"

She tittered. "Weston Hall," she replied. "But that does bring up an interesting matter."

"Where we'll live, you mean?"

Nodding, she said, "I'm not aware of a dowager cottage?—"

"I'll buy us something here in Town, or we can live at Fenwick Park for the rest of our lives," he said. "At least... after you're done with London," he amended.

She grinned and settled into his hold. "You drive a hard bargain, Fenwick."

"Whatever it takes to make you happy, my love."

On the way back to the ballroom, Michael felt as if he was walking on air. After thirty years, he and Helena would finally be together. They would spend the night in the same bed, making love and holding one another until dawn.

He had not a care in the world.

His gaze swept the gardens, taking in the early spring flowers and the Japanese lanterns bobbing in the gentle breeze. The gibbous moon rising in the east. The young couple up ahead.

Michael stutter stepped.

"What is it?" Helena asked, slowing her steps.

Blinking, he scoffed and gave his head a shake. "For a moment, I thought that young lady up ahead was my daughter," he said.

"Lady Violet, you mean?" Helena suddenly stopped in her tracks.

"What is it?"

She scoffed and squinted. "For a moment, I thought that young man with her was my son, but…" She shook her head. "He's probably left the ball by now. He rarely stays very long."

About to agree, Michael placed a hand over the one she had on his arm. "What if it is him?"

Helena tittered. "I assure you. I would be the first to know if Alfred was courting anyone," she claimed. "Now, will you take me around these lovely gardens before we depart? I shouldn't want to offend Constance, and I surely will if we leave too early."

"Another turn about the gardens it is, my love," Michael said, glad for an excuse to remain out of doors. Cool his ardor for a time.

Once they were inside, he would have to find his son and daughter and make his excuses. He had every intention of spending the rest of the night alone with Helena.