She looked down at the painting in her hand. “It doesn’t look like me,” she said.
“I know,” he said, reaching a shaky hand out. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, his large palm coming to rest against her cheek. “You’re so much more beautiful,” he whispered.
“I lied to you.”
“I don’t care.”
“I think you do.”
“Did you do so with intent to hurt me?”
“No, of course not. I only—”
“Did you wish to defraud—”
“No!”
He shrugged. “As I said, I don’t care.”
For a second it seemed she might stop protesting. But then her lips parted again, and she took a little breath, and Edward knew it was time to put a stop to this nonsense.
So he kissed her.
But not for terribly long. Much as he wanted to ravish her, there were other, more important matters at hand. “You could say it back, you know,” he told her.
She smiled. No, she beamed. “I love you too.”
Just like that, all of the pieces of his heart settled into place. “Will you marry me? For real?”
She nodded. Then she nodded again, faster this time. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, oh yes!”
And because Edward was a man of action, he stood, grabbed her hand, and hauled her to her feet. “It’s a good thing we’re on a ship.”
She made an inarticulate noise of confusion but was immediately drowned out by an unfortunately familiar shriek.
“Your friend?” Edward said, with an amused arch of his brow.
“Not my friend,” Cecilia replied immediately.
“They’re in there,” came the grating voice of Miss Finch. “Cabin eight.”
A crisp knock sounded on the door, followed by a deep male voice. “This is Captain Wolverton. Is aught amiss?”
Edward opened the door. “My apologies, sir.”
The captain’s face lit with delighted recognition. “Captain Rokesby!” he exclaimed. “I did not realize you were sailing with us.”
Miss Finch gaped. “You know him?”
“We were at Eton together,” the captain said.
“Of course you were,” Cecilia heard herself murmur.
“He was attacking her,” Miss Finch said, jolting her finger in Cecilia’s direction.
“Captain Rokesby?” the captain said, with palpable disbelief.
“Well, he almost attacked me,” she sniffed.
“Oh please,” Cecilia scoffed.
“It’s good to see you, Kenneth,” Edward said, reaching out and enveloping the captain’s hand in a hearty shake. “Might I impose upon you for a marriage ceremony?”
Captain Wolverton grinned. “Now?”
“As soon as you’re able.”
“Is that even legal?” Cecilia asked.
He gave her a look. “Now you’re quibbling?”
“It’s legal as long as you’re on my ship,” Captain Wolverton said. “After that, I’d recommend redoing it on dry land.”
“Miss Finch can be our witness,” Cecilia said, her lips pressed together in a blatant attempt not to laugh.
“Why, well . . .” Miss Finch blinked about seven times in the space of a second. “I suppose I would be honored.”
“We’ll get the navigator to be the second witness,” Captain Wolverton said. “He loves this sort of thing.” Then he eyed Edward with a decidedly fraternal expression. “You’ll take my cabin, of course,” he said. “I can bunk elsewhere.”
Edward thanked him—profusely—and they all filed out of the cabin, heading up to the deck, which, the captain insisted, was a much more suitable backdrop for a wedding.
But when they stood beneath the mast, with all the crew gathered to celebrate with them, Edward turned to the captain and said, “One question before we get started . . .”
Captain Wolverton, clearly amused, motioned to him to continue.
“May I kiss the bride first?”
Epilogue
Cecilia Rokesby was nervous.
Correction, she was really nervous.
In approximately five minutes, she was going to meet her husband’s family.
His very aristocratic family.
Who did not know he’d married her.
And it was most definitely legal now. It turned out the Bishop of Cork and Ross did a brisk business in special licenses—theirs was not the first shipboard marriage needing a more legally binding ceremony. The bishop had a stack of licenses ready to be filled out, and they were married on the spot, with Captain Wolverton and the local curate as witnesses.
After that, she and Edward had decided to proceed straight to Kent. His family would be desperate to see him, and she had no one left in Derbyshire. There would be time enough to return to Marswell and gather her personal belongings before ceding the house to Horace. Her cousin couldn’t do anything without confirmation of Thomas’s death, and since Cecilia and Edward were the only people in England who could presently make such a confirmation . . .
Horace would have to learn the fine art of patience.
But now they were here, coming up the drive at Crake House, the ancestral home of the Rokesbys. Edward had described it to her in great detail, and she knew it would be large, but when they rounded the corner, she could not help but gasp.
Edward squeezed her hand.
“It’s huge!” she said.
He smiled distractedly, his attention fully on his home, which loomed larger through the window with each rotation of the carriage wheels.
He was nervous too, Cecilia realized. She could see it in the constant tapping of his hand against his thigh, in the little flash of white every time he caught his lower lip with his teeth.
Her big, strong, capable man was nervous.
It made her love him even more.
The carriage came to a halt, and Edward hopped down before anyone could come to assist them. Once he had Cecilia safely on the ground beside him, he tucked her hand in his arm, and led her toward the house.
“I’m surprised no one has come out yet,” he murmured.
“Maybe no one was watching the drive?”
Edward shook his head. “There is always—”
The door swung open, and a footman stepped out.
“Sir?” the footman said, and Cecilia realized he must be new, because he had no idea who Edward was.
“Is the family at home?” Edward asked.
“Yes, sir. Who may I say is calling?”
“Edward. Tell them Edward is home.”
The footman’s eyes widened. Clearly he’d been employed long enough to know what that meant, and he practically ran back into the house. Cecilia stifled a grin. She was still nervous. Correction, she was still very nervous, but there was something almost fun about this, something made her slightly giddy.
“Should we wait inside?” she asked.
He nodded, and they entered the grand foyer. It was empty, devoid of even a single servant until— “Edward!”
It was a shriek, a loud feminine shriek, exactly the sound one might expect from someone so happy she might burst into tears at any moment.
“Edward Edward Edward! Oh my God I can’t believe it’s really you!”