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Brad parked the truck in his usual spot, put on the parking brake and killed the motor. It was a few minutes before midnight, and Jemima was expecting him. He reached for a glossy cardboard bag on the driver’s seat, reached in, and pocketed a small velvet box.
Then he grabbed a bouquet of red roses, and another box of the painted chocolates that Jemima had loved, and stepped outside.
The cold pinched his cheeks, his nose and his fingers. He sputtered, and could see his own breath in the frosty air. Lucky for him, there was a bright moon.
He chose to take the road this time, figuring that no one would be out in the snow at that hour. He also had no desire to wade through the brown brambles when he wanted to look his very best.
He walked briskly, and within minutes he was on the moonlit porch. He rapped cautiously on the front door, and it opened instantly. Jemima was standing there, smiling. She was framed by the muted light of a single lamp.
“Come in,” she whispered.
They had decided to risk the house this time, partly because it was too cold for anything else, and partly because Brad had the strong sense that a marriage proposal should be made from the warmest, most favorable spot possible.
He held out the roses and smiled. “These are for you, Duchess.”
“Oh, Brad!” She leaned over to kiss his cheek. “They’re beautiful!”
She took his hand and led him to the couch, and they sat down. She leaned close and whispered in his ear: “We have to be very quiet. Deborah is watching upstairs, but if someone comes, we won’t have much time.”
“I’m not worried,” he told her, and smiled again – as big and bright as he could.
“I was out shopping the other day, and happened across these,” he told her, and presented the box of chocolates. Jemima giggled and kissed him again.
He pulled off her cap, tangled his hands in her hair, and mussed it so badly that she pulled away from him, laughing, and pulled out the pins herself. That red gold tumbled over her shoulders and glowed in the lamp’s warm light.
He played with a strand of her hair. “I can’t stay away, Duchess,” he told her. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
She colored, and dropped her gaze, but he took her chin in his hand and made her look at him. He held her eyes.
“I love you, Jemima.”
The smile faded from her lips and her eyes widened. She stared at him, searched his eyes.
“You don’t have to check to see if it’s true,” he reassured her tenderly. “I mean it. Can’t you tell? Doesn’t this give you a hint?”
He took her by the shoulders and kissed her savagely, felt her gasp, and melt in his arms, and then open up to him like the rose that she was. She began to respond, to return his kisses, even to—
He checked himself, closed his eyes, pressed his cheek to hers.
“Do you love me, Duchess?” he breathed.
“Oh, darling – with all my heart!” she breathed. She twined her arms around his neck, as if to prove it, and pressed her lips to his ear.
It was a good sign. He took a deep breath, and decided to go for it.
“I came here tonight to ask you a question, Duchess,” he smiled. “I hope you’ll be kind to me.”
He turned and kissed her again, and she murmured uselessly, and then put her hands in his hair.
When they parted again, they were both breathless. Brad smiled, and looked at her, and reached into his pocket. He opened his palm, and presented the little velvet box, and was gratified to see her beautiful eyes widen.
“Open it, Duchess,” he told her. “This is for you.”
She took the box reverently in her hands, and opened the little lid. Then she gasped and put a hand to her mouth.
Her voice was almost inaudible. “Oh, Brad!”
He leaned forward and put his hand on hers. “Will you marry me, Duchess?”
Those magical green eyes glowed with unbelievable fire. They met his, pooled with sparkling emerald tears.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed fervently. “Yes, Brad. Yes!”
He sputtered with relief, cracked into a wide smile, put his arms around her, held her tight and rested his head against hers. He couldn’t believe it. It was a miracle!
They kissed again, softly, deliciously. It was going to be the first of a lifetime of kisses, a glorious...
“Hissht!”
Jemima pulled back from him suddenly and turned to look at the stairs. A sharp, sly face appeared for an instant, and then was gone. It was followed by the unmistakable thunder of heavy footsteps, and they were travelling fast.
Jemima turned to him. “It’s my father,” she gasped, “Go, quick! I don’t know what he’ll do if he finds—”
Brad stood abruptly, but couldn’t bring himself to leave. He’d only just won Jemima’s agreement to marry him, and he figured it was bad luck to begin their engagement by treating Jemima to the sight of his back, running away.
Even if running away made perfect sense.
Jemima leapt up and clutched his arm just as Jacob King burst onto the scene like a giant from some fairy tale. His red hair was sticking out at all angles, he was barefoot, and—
Brad goggled at him. He was wearing a nightshirt. Even their pajamas were from the 1800s!
Jacob’s outraged eyes took in the scene – Jemima’s flowing hair, all undone, her rumpled dress, the bouquet of roses, the chocolates – and then they turned to him.
Jacob’s red eyebrows descended in a thunderous scowl. His face gathered darkness, and he drew himself up until he towered over them like a storm cloud.
“I knew something strange was going on!” he burst out. “So! This is what my daughter does when she thinks her parents are asleep! She cavorts with a strange Englischer – in my very living room!”
Jemima burst into sobs and cast herself on her father’s chest. She raised her hands to his neck, beseeching him in anguished German, but Jacob put her aside without a glance.
He turned his awful gaze full-bore on Brad.
Brad squared his shoulders, met the giant’s eyes, and put out his hands in a calming gesture. “Mr. King, before you jump to conclusions—”
For answer, two massive hands grabbed him by his coat lapels and hoisted him up into the air. Brad suddenly found himself looking down into Jacob King’s blazing blue eyes, and Jemima’s horrified green ones, from just under the ceiling.
He dangled there for what seemed like eternity. Jemima was on her father’s chest again, shrieking the word verlobter over and over again, to no effect, when a pretty blonde woman hurried into the room, dressed in a nightgown and a shawl.
She looked up at him with horrified eyes, rushed to the red giant‘s side, and spoke to him in urgent German. For the first time, Jacob’s menacing expression cracked. He turned his head and spoke a few terse words to her in German, and then raised his eyes.
Brad looked down into them and ventured diplomacy. “Mr. King, there’s no reason for you to be angry. Jemima and I are engaged.”
The word seemed to set his future father-in-law on fire. He jerked him higher, and his head bumped smartly against the ceiling.
“No daughter of mine is going to marry with a weaselly little Englischer reporter who makes his name off the misfortunes of others!” he thundered, “a fortune-hunting, fame-hungry, night-sneaking, fast-talking, dirt-eating, schmutzig, wehleidig kleiner wurm!“
With that, the red giant surged across the room, kicked open the door, took a running start across the porch and flung him into the blind night like a sack of potatoes. Brad sailed through the icy air, burst through a snowdrift, rolled over the edge of the lawn, fell onto the driveway, rolled a few more times, and came to a lumpy halt.
He raised his head painfully and looked back at the house through his hair. The door was still open, and he could see Jemima in it.
“Brad!“ she shrieked, and made as if to run out after him, but someone pulled her back inside, and the door closed with a bang.
