“It is such a happiness when good people get together—and they always do.”
Jane Austen, Emma
Today was the day.
Briar’s fingers fumbled with the clasp of her cloak as she gave the red leather book a cursory glance. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I know he wasn’t serious and he isn’t even likely to renew his addresses. And if he does so out of some perceived obligation, all I have to do is say no, and then leave. We’ll part amicably, the way that Uncle Ernest does with his . . . friends.”
Mother did not agree this time. She knew it would be difficult.
“Yes. I know that, too.” Briar rubbed the place over her heart where it pinched uncomfortably. “I cannot imagine why his missive said for us to meet at dawn, unless he means to have it all over and done before anyone is aware.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop the dark scenarios that filled her head. “He’s sending Adams with the carriage, but I didn’t dare tell Ainsley or Uncle Ernest. So, I’m simply sneaking out, like before. And when I return, no one will be the wiser.”
That was for the best. After this morning, she’d be able to forge ahead with the rest of her life. And in time—a long, long time in the future—she’d be able to look back on this and sigh with fond remembrance.
At the door, she looked over her shoulder. “Wish me luck.”
Briar was certain she would need it.
She crept quietly downstairs and slipped outside, careful to leave the door on the latch. A filmy layer of fog greeted her in the gray light, but nothing to keep her from seeing Adams perched atop the carriage.
He tipped his hat to her. “Morning, Miss Bourne.”
“And to you, Mr. Adams,” she said, but was surprised that he didn’t come down to help her inside. However, in the next instant, she learned the reason.
Nicholas came out of the carriage, his tall frame unfolding before her, and her heart lurched. His expression gave nothing away, his dark eyes searching. “I thought we could have our conversation in the carriage, if that is agreeable to you.”
She wobbled a nod, and reached out to put her hand in his. She was relieved she was wearing gloves because she didn’t think she would be able to take having one last touch of skin on skin.
Inside, she settled her skirts and carefully avoided looking at the man across from her. But it was rather difficult when he picked up a parcel from beside him and held it in his lap. It was covered in brown paper and tied with silk ribbons in an array of vibrant colors—red, blue, green, and violet.
Suddenly, she recalled the jest she’d made to him about returning her heart in a box wrapped in silk ribbons and filled with rose petals.
The organ beneath her breast twisted feebly.
“Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea, after all. Whatever we have to say could surely be said in a letter.” Yet, just as she started to reach for the door, the carriage jolted into motion.
“I’m afraid you’re wrong. What I have to say cannot be said in a letter.”
That’s right, she forgot he had abominable handwriting. So she supposed it was better this way.
“Very well, then. I’m listening.” She sat up straighter, keeping her eyes on the box as if it were a coiled serpent ready to strike at any moment.
He thrummed his fingers hollowly against the sides, taunting her. “You seem rather curious about what I’m holding.”
“Not at all.”
He chuckled warmly. “Coward.”
Her gaze flashed up to his, meeting the velvety cocoa of his irises. “You have always been one to speak your thoughts and wishes plainly. So I imagined that, should you like me to know what is inside, you would tell me.”
“Valid point.” He thrummed his fingers again. “Inside are some of my most prized possessions. Would you like to see them?”
“Only if you want to—”
He put the box on her lap. “Open it, Briar. We haven’t much time. Adams isn’t going to drive around all morning.”
Apparently, Nicholas was just as eager to get this over with.
She swallowed down a sudden bubble of sadness, tasting the flavor of what might have been. Hands still trembling like before, she pulled on the ribbons, untying each of them before unfolding the paper. Then, lifting the lid of the box, she found it full of rose petals and that bubble of sadness rose up her throat once more, threatening to come forth on a sob.
But on closer inspection, she noticed there was something intermingled with the fragrant dark red, and she delved her hand in to see what it was. Her gloves. The ones with the ink stain.
Perplexed, she looked up at him, only to have him nod toward the box. “There’s more. Keep digging.”
And she did. She pulled out a blue ribbon, which she’d apparently left behind after her night at Almack’s. Several hairpins, the reminder of losing them inside this carriage causing her to blush. The tip of an arrow, from when her shot had gone astray. And one embroidered stocking. “You kept this for me, all this time?”
He shook his head, a smirk curled into the corner of his mouth. “Not for you. As I said, those are my prized possessions.”
“Nicholas, you know very well that they are mine.”
“No, indeed. I recall finding each one of those objects after some of the happiest moments of my life. Except for the blue ribbon. You can keep that one.” He reached for the box.
She tugged it back, a laugh slipping past the sob still waiting to come out. “I’m keeping them all. They were my moments, too.”
“Tell you what, I’ll give you each one of those items in exchange for lessons.”
She eyed him, affronted. “Do you think I’m still in need of lessons?”
“No. But I am,” he said, his gaze earnest, tender. “I want to continue my studies with the most exceptional tutor an unlearned man could ever know. You see, you’ve been giving me lessons all along. You’ve been teaching me how to fall in love, how love should truly be. I never understood it before I met you.”
Stunned into stillness, she let him take the box from her and set it down. “Are you saying that you . . .”
“Love you,” he finished for her. Then, just in case he wasn’t perfectly clear, he said it again. “I never stood a chance, you know. How could I resist falling in love with a carriage appropriator, creator of cup of chocolate kisses, born matchmaker, secret scone baker, and fish catcher? And now, I cannot imagine a life without you. I had a glimpse of it these past few days and I couldn’t bear it. That’s why I need the lessons.”
“I think you’re doing remarkably well on your own,” she said, breathless and smiling.
“Do you?” He took her hands, threading his fingers with hers. “I was hoping that each object in that box would provide payment for a decade’s worth of lessons. The hairpins alone would give me fifty years, add in the stocking and the—oof!”
She launched herself across the carriage at him, scattering kisses all over his face, and taking special care to nuzzle the nook of his nose. “Yes, I’ll be your tutor. I’ll teach you how to fall in love, and how to be loved in return every single day. I’ll be the best tutor you’ve ever had. It will cause a scandal, of course—with you coming to the agency all the time for your lessons. But I’m willing to live with it.”
He drew back, his expression serious. “Briar, you know that I’m asking you to marry me.”
“Marry you? I couldn’t possibly. I’m already married to my work as a matchmaker. In addition to that, I’ve just acquired a new position as tutor to an irredeemable rake. I’ll be quite busy for the next few decades.”
“If that’s how you want it, then reach into my pocket and throw the special license out the window,” he said as he began to nibble on her throat, ignoring her gasp. “I’ll just hold on to my grandmother’s ring. And, of course, we’ll have to drop by the church to tell Temperance to stop scattering rose petals on the steps. We’ll send the harpist home. Your sister and uncle were due to arrive as well. The wedding breakfast will go to waste . . .”
She cupped his face, staring down at him in wonder. “You arranged all that?”
His shy nod was so sweet her heart nearly burst from too much love. “I wanted to save you from needing to invent a perfect scenario.”
Nicholas was the only one who understood her wild heart. And she knew with utter certainty that he would cherish and protect it, the same way she would his. All the days of their lives. “I think I’m still in need of lessons from you.”
“Tell you what,” he began, his momentary shyness giving way to his rakish grin, “for every kiss you give me, I’ll give you something in return.”
“Hmm . . . a most irresistible proposal.”
And so she kissed him.