Chapter Twenty-Four
Juliana had refused to let Flora ride to London on Banrigh, and had insisted she take a carriage, complete with outriders and a maid as chaperone. The duchess declared that Flora had larked about long enough without due care for her reputation, and that, if she were to be a marchioness as they hoped, she needed to behave with some measure of decorum.
Flora reluctantly agreed, if only to hasten the process of departure.
But after two days on the road in a cramped carriage, she was desperate for fresh air and exercise. When they stopped at a coaching inn for lunch, Flora all but launched herself from the cab. She told her maid she was going to walk for a bit to stretch her legs and waved away the woman’s offer to join her. She needed solitude. A chance to collect her thoughts.
She stumbled across a bubbling stream not far from the inn yard, an idyllic quaint setting for a respite. Untying her bonnet’s ribbons, she pulled it from her head, closing her eyes as she tilted her face back to soak up the warm sunshine.
Pacing along the water’s edge, Flora debated what she would do when she arrived in London. She had wanted to go directly to Amstead Gardens, but Juliana had convinced her that it was best to meet Niall first. Since he had been in town to witness the scandal brewing over the article, the duchess was certain that he would know where Amstead was and how best to approach him. Flora recognized the plan as wise, but it did not make the wait any easier. She longed to see Christian and to tell him how sorry she was for her selfish behavior.
“It appears I wasn’t the only one in need of some fresh air.”
Jumping in surprise, she whipped about, her stunned gaze falling on none other than the man haunting her thoughts. He stood a pace or two away, his face mirroring the surprise she felt. After a heartbeat, he swallowed hard and turned his brown eyes to the landscape, surveying it with forced attention. Flora, however, greedily allowed her gaze to roam over his features, imprinting them with the searing intensity of her affections.
He is here. They were the only words her beleaguered brain could form. Christian was here, at this obscure little coaching inn, with her. Still, caution made her hesitate.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was traveling to see you at Ashwood Place. Inverray said you would be there. Obviously, he was mistaken. I am relieved to have found you now rather than be disappointed later.”
She blinked several times. He was traveling to Ashwood Place? For her? “But why would you want to see me?”
Christian lifted a shoulder and took a step closer to her, his gaze now hungry on her. “I wanted to invite you to attend the St. Leger with me.” Although his gaze held hers, he rocked back and forth on his feet. “And Inverray, of course. I’d be honored if you both were my personal guests.”
She bit her lip. “How can you ask me to be your guest after I cruelly rejected you?”
He stepped forward a pace and gently brushed a lock of hair from her cheek. “Flora, I will never not want you.”
His words threaded their way through her person, sending heat to the farthest reaches of her extremities, and Flora clamped her eyes closed to contain her fraught emotions. She thought she nodded, but she couldn’t be sure.
He gently rubbed his knuckles against her cheek as she tried to collect her composure. When she could finally speak again without the threat of tears, she asked, “Won’t my presence there, with you, precipitate gossip? After the article, that is.”
He considered this with a twisted mouth. “The article has already generated talk and wild speculation.”
“Have you lost any investors?”
Looking away, he shrugged. “A few.”
“I wager the Jockey Club are incensed.”
“They are.” He laughed. “But seeing as how you’re only the assistant trainer, all they can do is grumble.”
Advancing a step, she inhaled his familiar scent and closed her eyes at the bittersweet memories it provoked. “Why did you do it?”
Soft fingertips skimmed her brow and cheek like butterfly wings before tucking another wayward curl behind her ear. “Because Asad’s successes at the Guineas and The Derby were as much a product of your hard work as they were of Baniti Mubarak’s. As they were of mine. It felt like the worst sort of lie not to recognize your contribution. Not to crow about the talents you possess.”
“But the Gardens, Christian. You need your investors.” She swallowed to keep her voice from shaking. “The servants and tenant farmers. Asad and Kadar and Grey Belles and Horatio and all the other horses need those investors.”
His chuckle blew across her lips. “We’ll be fine. It may take a little longer than I allotted to get the finances back in the black, but the Gardens will survive.”
“I’m sorry.” Flora gave into impulse and pressed her face to his chest. Lord, but the feel of him under her cheek brought her aching heart solace. “It was selfish of me to lie to you. Reckless of me to risk so much without thinking of the people whose livelihoods were threatened by my actions.”
His arms carefully wrapped around her, tightening and drawing her flush with him. Resting his chin on her head, she felt him suck in a great breath. His exhale was gusty and filled with relief. “I’m sorry as well. My proposal should not have hinged on you checking off items from a marchioness list I created.”
She snorted. “Do you truly have a marchioness list?”
“Naturally. You know how I feel about lists.”
Stepping from his embrace, she glared. “I want to see it.”
“Very well.” Without hesitation, he reached inside his coat and extracted a rolled piece of parchment. His full lips pressed into a line as he handed it to her.
Glancing from his face to the paper, she tried to divine a notion of what it contained, but his mien was unreadable. Nibbling the inside of her cheek, she slowly unrolled it. There was only one item on the list, and tears filled her eyes.
“I know you never desired to marry. And I know you had plans for your future.” Christian grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. His fathomless brown eyes bore into her. “But your plans do not have to change much. Instead of you forging a path on your own, I would be honored to be by your side as you create a name for yourself in the world of horse racing. I don’t have to tell you that many will doubt your abilities, but I never will.”
The features of his dear face grew distorted as tears filled her eyes and slipped down her cheeks, and she hiccupped with the effort to contain her emotions. A smile stretched across his mouth.
“I love you, Flora Campbell. I loved you when I thought you were the daughter of respectable means, and I loved you when I learned your father was a duke.” Kissing the tip of her nose, he pressed his cheek to hers. “Would you like for me to list all the ways I love you?”
“We’d surely be here for hours,” she said, nipping at his earlobe.
“Too true.” Running his hands up her back, he sighed. “Marry me and be my marchioness. In the mornings, we’ll hack out to survey the estate and ensure that our tenants are well. Then, we’ll return to the stables and see to developing our racing stock. Side by side.”
“You would allow me to continue to work with Asad? And possibly Kadar?”
“I would insist upon it,” he said, kissing her. “I will still be beside myself with apprehension, but not because I don’t trust you. Because I don’t trust others to have a care with the dearest person in my life.”
His sweet words made her heart sing, and she reached up to kiss him.
A sudden thought occurred to her and she blanched, pulling away. “Christian, you need an heir. I’m not sure I can provide him.”
He ran a finger down her cheek. “Because you have never wanted children?”
Flora nodded, miserable.
“Well, it’s a boon, then, that I already have an heir.”
She shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“My brother Cedric has returned. I promised to fund his art education in London if he stayed.” He shrugged, his cheeks flushed. “I should have extended the offer before now. But I didn’t understand his passion, and it took knowing you to realize that I don’t have to understand him, I just have to love and support him.”
Grabbing him by the lapels, she pulled him down for another kiss. “I’m proud of you. I’m happy he’s back in England where he belongs.”
Christian nodded, his eyes distant. Blinking, he smiled down at her. “Tell me, my love, do you have any other objections? Anything else to say about my proposal?”
Grinning so wide her cheeks hurt, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Only that I agree to be your marchioness because I love you so.”
Closing his eyes, he released a great breath. In the next instance, Christian kissed her, a feverish kiss that spoke of regret and loss and redemption. She could translate it because the codex lay in her heart, exactly where it was meant to.
After a long moment, she finally tore her lips from his. “I’d like to invest in Asad.”
Panting, he touched his forehead to hers. “You’ve already invested a great deal in the spoiled beast.”
“I mean, to invest in him financially. In him and in Amstead Gardens.”
The blank look on his face caused her to giggle. “When I did not marry by my twenty-fifth birthday, my dowry became mine to do with as I wished.”
“And you wish to invest in the Gardens? Surely there are better uses of your dowry. That foundling home your brother started, perhaps.”
The guarded expression on his face caused her to kiss him. “There goes your modesty again.”
“I can’t help it. It’s ingrained deep.”
“I wonder how deep you’d claim it to be if I told you the amount.”
Bringing her lips to his ear, she whispered the total sum of her fortune. Every pound, shilling, and half-penny.
His face paled and he shook his head. “Flora, surely—”
“Hush, my love. I’ve been generous with others, but now I want to focus on my future. Our future. Together.”