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Jessamine attempted to smile. “I suppose I am. I . . . I’ve grown used to his company.”

Megan reached out a hand to her. “He must be quite fond of you to come all the way here to visit you.”

Jessamine wanted to tell her about Lancelot’s proposal, but something held her back. Until she gave him her answer, she felt protective of him and didn’t wish anyone speculating or commenting on his proposal. Instead, she said, “He lost his brother—you remember Sir Harold?”

Megan looked down. “We read the notice in the paper. I’m so sorry.”

Jessamine briefly filled in the details of his sudden illness. “But come inside, I’ve left you standing out here in the garden all this time. You may greet Mr. Marfleet yourself and give him your condolences.”

It was later that afternoon that Rees and Céline stopped in. They were all in the parlor—Jessamine’s mother and father, Lancelot, and Jessamine—when they called.

After the enthusiastic handshakes, hugs, and greetings, they all sat over tea to hear about Rees’s time in Belgium and the somber reports he brought back from the Duke of Wellington and other returning soldiers and aides-de-camp who had survived Waterloo.

Jessamine listened, her gaze going from Rees to Céline. Céline’s waistline had increased so it was very evident now she would soon bear his child.

The knowledge did nothing to upset Jessamine, as it had a few months—even weeks—ago. All she felt was joy over Rees’s safe return and their anticipation of the impending event.

Her glance strayed more than once to Lancelot, and she colored
each time she found his eyes on her. Was her complacence over Rees and Céline’s obvious happiness due to her newly discovered feelings for Lancelot?

Jessamine traced the rim of her teacup with her forefinger, continuing to analyze her feelings as the talk went on around her. She felt a burden lifting from her shoulders. She had not dared confess to Lancelot her budding love for him as long as she was weighed down from the twin burdens of guilt—her past behavior and her fear that her girlhood infatuation for Rees had left her unable to give her heart fully to another.

She still feared his parents’ reaction to a betrothal, but she grew impatient now, as the afternoon waned, for an opportunity to speak alone with Lancelot before he left. She wanted to give him the words she knew he longed to hear.

Her heart constricted with the fear that despite his declarations of love and his proposal to her, once he returned home and spoke to his parents, she would never see or hear from him again. The realities of his new responsibilities as heir would extinguish his feelings for her.

Instead of a moment with Lancelot later that afternoon, she found a moment alone with Rees.

When he and Céline stood to leave, she walked out with them, intending to accompany Megan to the gate.

But when they reached it, Rees held back, allowing Megan and Céline to precede him and continue to their house next door. With a smile, he turned to Jessamine.

“I wanted to tell you how much Mr. Marfleet impressed me,” he said when they stood alone. His gray eyes smiled warmly into hers.

Jessamine swallowed. “He is a very worthy gentleman,” she said through dry lips.

“It is apparent he adores you. He can hardly take his eyes off you.” Rees lifted a dark brow. “May I ask if you return his feelings?”

She found herself nodding her head. “I hardly feel worthy of
his love. My own feelings have grown so gradually, I was hardly aware of them until he arrived here.” She looked down. “He has asked me to marry him.”

“Have you accepted him?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Only you know your own feelings. Let me just tell you it would give me great joy to know that you have found the kind of love I have found with Céline.”

Slowly she lifted her head and nodded. “Thank you. That means a great deal to me.”

He smiled, and she was able to return the smile. “I hope we will be invited to your wedding.”

“You may be sure of it.” Her smile disappeared. “That is—if his parents approve of me.”

“I have no doubt they will.”

“You don’t know who they are. They are very proud.”

“If this is the man the Lord has for you, He will give you favor with them.” With those words, he winked and left her with a wave.

She continued watching his departing figure a moment longer before returning slowly to the house.

Lancelot looked up at her when she returned to the parlor, but she only smiled and took a seat next to him on the settee.

“Is everything all right?” he murmured when her mother turned to say something to her father.

She smiled. “Yes, very much so.”

He questioned her with a lift of his brows and finally returned her smile when her own didn’t waver.

After supper, in the warm summer evening, she invited him for a walk through the garden.

When they reached the end, they sat on the bench the way they had at the beginning of his visit.

With a boldness she had not displayed to him up to now, she
took one of his hands in both of hers. If he was surprised, he said nothing.

“I will miss you,” she said softly.

He covered her hand with his free one. “As I will you—but it won’t be for long.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “That is, if you decide to accept my proposal. Then I shall be back here as soon as possible and fetch you and your parents to visit me and meet my parents at Kendicott Park.”

Her gaze rose to his and she read the fear and uncertainty in his. She moistened her lips. “I do.”

He continued regarding her a few seconds as if uncertain what she meant. Slowly, understanding filled his blue eyes. They widened before uncertainty filled them once again. “Do you mean that you agree to be my wife?”

She nodded slowly, her gaze never wavering from his. “If you still want me . . . after you’ve spoken to your parents.”

For answer, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and laughed. “Have no fear of that changing.”

She hugged him back, burying her head against his chest, feeling shy all of a sudden with this man who would share her future.

“Are you sure?” He tilted her head up with his fingers, his gaze scanning hers.

She nodded. Drawing in a breath, she braced to tell him all that was in her heart. “I realized this afternoon when I . . . I saw Rees again that my heart was truly free . . . to love you,” she ended in a whisper.

Before he could speak, she continued. “I think I had been afraid of trusting my feelings for you until I was certain I no longer felt anything—not in that way—for Rees.” Her eyelids fluttered downward. “I had been infatuated with him for so long that I no longer trusted my feelings. You have every right to think me a most fickle creature, first pining after Rees and then allowing Mr. St. Leger to cause me to forget my better judgment.”

He drew her up to face him once more. “Your feelings for Mr. Phillips only do you credit, proving your faithfulness. We shall speak no more of St. Leger, since you acted out of your hurt—and he took advantage of that.”

Her heart felt it would burst with emotion at the tenderness and understanding reflected in both his words and gaze. “I love you, Lancelot Marfleet, and hope I can someday be worthy of your love.”

For reply, he bent his head closer, closing his eyes. She drew in a breath of happiness as his lips touched hers. “Your sentiments echo my own for you,” he murmured, drawing apart a hairsbreadth from her before kissing her once more.

Epilogue

A
UGUST
1815

Yesterday had been her wedding day. Jessamine looked over the lawns of Kendicott Park in the misty dawn, still awed by their beauty.

She had awakened early and stared some moments at her beloved’s sleeping face.

Not wishing to waken him and too restless to fall back to sleep herself, she had crept out of bed and quickly dressed, wanting to go outside and spend some time alone with the Lord before the start of the day.

Her heart was full to overflowing, and only by lifting her head heavenward and singing her silent praises to Him could she hope to fathom something of what she was experiencing.

The summer had passed quickly, with letters back and forth between the parsonage and Kendicott Park almost daily. Then she and her parents had traveled there and spent a few weeks with Lancelot and his family.

That first visit had not proved nearly as daunting as Jessamine had feared. Her father had been able to console Sir Geoffrey in his grief over his firstborn son. Her mother’s peaceful presence seemed to be a balm to his wife.

Lancelot’s sister, Delawney, enjoyed showing her father the botanical gardens and her watercolors. That interest created a bond between her and Jessamine too.

Instead of being intimidated by Delawney, Jessamine felt a tug of compassion. She sensed behind her gruff exterior a shy woman who longed for the kind of love she witnessed between Lancelot and Jessamine.

After much discussion and prayer, Lancelot and Jessamine had decided they would not postpone their wedding until his family was out of mourning for Harold but would marry by the end of the summer. Lancelot felt his brother would have wanted it so.

As the day drew closer, so did Jessamine’s impatience. Her love and admiration for her future husband had only deepened with each passing day. She watched his conduct with his parents and sister, with the vast army of servants at Kendicott Park, and with the tenants he’d taken her to visit, and grew more and more proud of this shy, self-effacing man and knew he would be about the Lord’s business wherever they lived and in whatever station he was placed.

His parents had welcomed Jessamine with no hint of disappointment and strove to make her feel welcome. She hoped, prayed, and trusted in God to be able to bring them the joy of grandchildren one day soon.

Lancelot and Jessamine’s wedding had been a small affair with only the closest family and friends.

Rees and Céline had been blessed with a daughter a few weeks ago, so Céline had not been able to attend the wedding. But they hoped to all be together in a few months’ time in Alston Green when her father joined Megan and Captain Forrester in matrimony.

Jessamine smiled now as she saw her new husband approach across the dewy swath of green lawn.

“Good morning, dear wife,” Lancelot said with a smile, his head still sleep-tousled, before leaning down to kiss her.

She wrapped her arms around him, feeling only a trace of shyness. “Good morning, dearest husband of mine. Are you feeling rested for today’s journey?” They were traveling to Scotland later in the morning to spend a month at a hunting lodge in the Highlands.

He gazed at her through half-parted lids. “Well, as to that, I am not so sure. But I will likely nap in the coach.”

She blushed under his gaze. “I am sorry to have disturbed your sleep,” she murmured, looking at his chest.

“I am not,” he replied, nuzzling the side of her neck. She leaned back to allow him more access.

“If you are so hungry, we had best be going to the breakfast room,” she said then giggled as his bristly cheek tickled her skin.

“I am famished and hope you are too.” Again, there was a teasing look in his eye.

She paid him no heed but took his hand in hers and turned toward the house. “We should be on the road soon, since we have a long journey ahead of us.”

He merely nodded, squeezing her hand.

As they reached the door, he held it open for her, staying her a moment with his hand. “Are you happy, my dearest love?”

She gazed into his eyes and smiled. “Most happy and blessed, indeed.”

Ruth Axtell
has loved the regency period of England ever since discovering Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer in high school. She knew she wanted to be a writer even earlier. The two loves were joined with the publication of her first book,
Winter Is Past
, a Regency, in 2003.

Since then she has published several Regencies, as well as Victorian England and late nineteenth-century coastal Maine settings.

Besides writing, Ruth always yearned to live in other countries. From three childhood summers spent in Venezuela, a junior year in Paris, a stint in the Canary Islands as an au pair, and a few years in the Netherlands, Ruth has now happily settled on the down east coast of Maine with her college-age children and two cats.