“Does he need one?”
“No.”
“He does it for you, then?”
“Yes, but… that is not what I want.” The truth came to her with each new word. What she really wanted sitting large and heavy and bright behind the realization. “Im, I think I will leave right after the wedding. I may not attend the breakfast. Will it upset you?”
“Not at all. If you’re at the Hestia doing something more important.”
Isabella smiled her first real, sun-bright smile in weeks, and she launched herself at Imogen, wrapping her in a heart-tight hug. “Thank you.”
They hugged until it was time to leave, their sisters rapping at the door and gathering them up. Eight pairs of arms wound together, they reached St. George’s like a tight-knit blanket of silk and flowers, smiles and laughing whispers. When they disentangled, Imogen stood alone, proud and sure, and Isabella and the others flooded the pews. Lottie, Annie, and Prudence melted into warm spots beside their husbands, and Felicity, Gertrude, and June crowded next to Samuel. Isabella sat alone in a space big enough for two, a space she should have been brave enough to fill.
The wedding passed quickly, but somehow not quickly enough with Isabella’s feet itching to run to Rowan.
Finally, Imogen, grinning ear to ear, walked down the church aisle, arm in arm with her new husband, who did not grin for once in his life. No, his lips seemed set in a thin line of grim determination. The crowd clapped and cheered, then followed the couple out the door.
And Isabella bolted. She wanted to live, wanted to feel as she’d felt when she’d been pretending beside Rowan. No whispers to worry about, then. She’d simply enjoyed herself at Rowan’s side, learning about him more interesting than learning a bit of trivial gossip hereand there. Gathering whispers was about waiting, trying to fend off the worst things that could happen. She could never do that, not entirely. She’d been waiting for a whisper from Rowan, too, his kiss a confirmation he would be happy in whatever life they built together.
No more waiting.
To the Hestia. All the way to the top. She’d walk through the door to his sitting room without knocking. As if she belonged there.
Because she did. More than in crowded ballrooms. More than hiding behind screens, eavesdropping. Isabella, the duke’s sister. Isabella, the gossip.
At the top of the Hestia in the cozy room she’d arranged, with a scowling man at the window, sneezing, she was simply Isabella. No expectation, no grand purpose. But for breaking a scowl into a smile and teasing a kiss from a marble man, softer than he appeared.
She almost reached the church door when she stopped, rocked back several steps by a large shadow blocking the light. She knew that shadow. But the Rowan Trent who sneezed and wiggled his nose before taking tentative steps toward her was not the same as the Rowan Trent she’d first met, hard-faced and fire-limned and lonely.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He cleared his throat and cupped the back of his neck. “I know I was not invited, but—”
She threw herself at him, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him. His arms wrapped around her, welcoming her home, the kiss he gave in return a deep chuckle that made her laugh. And when she broke away to kiss his cheek, his jaw, to look into his beloved face, she let that laughter loose, let it spin sunlight around them.
“You’re always invited,” she said, sinking against his chest. So very warm and hard, the beating of his heart beneath her ear so very frantic. Yet steady, too. She breathed him in. “Wherever I am is where you should be. I was waiting for you to kiss me, you nodcock. But you never did, so I was on my way to the Hestia. To kiss you.”
“I was waiting to kiss you. I thought an invitation would signal your approval and—”
“You always had that. And we don’t needtheirs.”
He rested his chin on her head, holding her more tightly. “You’resure? Because I came today to show you I do not care. Not in the least. I will go wherever you are and kiss you whenever I need it, whenever you need it.”
“I need it always.”
“How fortuitous. So do I.” Another kiss. He cupped the back of her head, holding her steady as the church, London, the world melted away.
“Come back to the house with me. Please?” she breathed.
“I will.”
Those two words seemed an answer to more than one question across more than one year and across an entire lifetime.Yes, he would always sayyes.
“It is not too much? You have endured much you hate these last few weeks.”
“A few parties. A few annoying men and pompous ladies.” He drew his hand down and up her back. “I would endure even more to make you happy. But… can I make you happy? Or have you come to realize I am too oddly shaped to fit neatly into your life?”
She lifted her head and inhaled courage. “I do not want you to fit only into my life. I wish to fit into yours as well.”
