Three Weddings and a Murder (30 page)

It took him a moment to comprehend what she had said. Without hope of return, she had sold everything she had to keep him safe. He found himself blinking furiously. Dust. There was too much dust in this damned office.

He crossed the room, ignoring her solicitor and his secretary, and knelt before her.

“You ridiculous creature,” he said. “You—you—”

Her hand ruffled his hair. “The word you are looking for is ‘darling,’” she supplied.

“Yes, that.” He took her hands in his and clasped them hard. He was almost afraid to look up, scared that if he did, he would discover it all to be a lie. He pressed his lips to her palm. “And this one,” he whispered into her fingers. “Sweetest.”

He was dimly aware of her solicitor, gathering everyone up and herding them outside. The door closed and they were alone.

“I’m not certain you deserve it,” Ginny said.

“I’m certain I don’t.”

She smiled at that, but he hadn’t intended it as a jest. He finally understood the truth of it. He’d wanted her—desperately—but his had been a selfish love. He’d wanted her more than he’d wanted to make her happy. All these years, he’d foolishly imagined that he’d loved her better simply because he’d loved her louder.

She’d been right. It wasn’t a thing to fix. There was nothing he could
do
to make it better. It was a question of who he had to become. Obtaining right-of-ways and the approval of Parliament seemed easy next to this.

He raised his head. “I never wanted to spend all those years yearning for you. But every time I tried to fit some other woman in my heart, I failed. There was no room for anyone else. You were already there.”

Her hands compressed around his, and her eyes shone. “Idiot,” she said with a little sniffle. “You’re going to make me cry. I wasn’t supposed to
cry
in your corporate office. I had planned to savor my victory.”

“Savor as much as you like. I’m on my knees.” He set his hand against her cheek and rubbed away a tear.

A woman didn’t save a man’s fortune and then lean into his touch without feeling a certain amount of affection. If he wanted, he could have her now for the price of an abject apology. A mere twelve hours ago, he would have grabbed at the chance and not let go. He would have pulled out his special license—somehow, it was still stowed safely in his coat pocket—and suggested they head for the nearest bed, diverting only long enough to get the vicar’s approval.

But he didn’t want her to marry the person who would do that to her.

He couldn’t bear it if Ginny married a man who took her love for granted, who saw her sacrifice as nothing more than proof that he could grab an advantage. That person would hurt her, and hurt her again.

He’d left her crying once. He wasn’t going to let it happen a second time.

“Ginny,” he said. “I want to ask you a question. A very important question.”

She nodded and straightened expectantly.

He adjusted her hands in his, and looked up into her face. “Ginny,” he repeated, “will you do me the very great honor of…”

She had begun to smile. “Of?”

He let out a deep breath. “Of letting me prove that I’m worthy of you.”

Another small town, five weeks later.

T
ODAY WAS THE FIRST DAY
that Simon had seen Ginny in colors.

She stood almost fifteen feet in the air on a scaffold erected for the occasion, the full yellow skirts of her day gown rippling behind her in the breeze. One of the white ribbons that ringed her fitted sleeve had come untied; it flapped merrily in the wind, in cheery counterpoint to the murmur of the crowd.

Even from twenty feet away, she drew his eye. And it wasn’t just Simon who looked at her. The crowd was massed in the hundreds, and not a one of them was gawking at the steam engine that she was about to christen. They were all watching her.

And no wonder. The sun glinted off her dark hair, framed by her straw bonnet. The rays twinkled against the bottle of champagne that she held over her head. She smiled, and the entire throng seemed to hold its breath alongside Simon.

She was beautiful, lovely, charming, and the wealthy partial owner of the newest direct line to London.

And that was only what one could glean from the surface.

“I hereby declare this line open,” she said. She didn’t speak loudly, but her voice carried over the waiting masses. She smashed the bottle atop the train, and cheers washed over them. Behind them, the engineer gave a long blast of the whistle.

“God,” Andrew Fortas said beside Simon, with a shake of his head. “That woman.”

“That woman,” Simon agreed happily.

One of the many men who was nearby offered her a hand as she descended the scaffolding. No; not just
one
; four of them held out hands, practically falling over themselves to help her.

“Was that your idea or hers?” Fortas demanded.

Simon looked up. “The champagne was my idea. The rest of this was hers.”

“She’s a holy terror.”

This, Simon suspected, was as close to a compliment as Fortas would ever deliver.

“I know,” Simon said.

She had clambered down to the ground. He couldn’t see anything of her in the milling crowd—nothing except the bobbing silk flowers that adorned her bonnet. But he could mark her passage: The crowd grew dense around her, and people turned to look at her.

He almost felt sorry for the other men—thinking that Ginny was nothing more than a sweet, kind, lovely, wealthy woman. They didn’t know her strength. They didn’t know her stubbornness. And they certainly didn’t know how dangerous it could be when she smiled. By some obscene miracle, Simon had been given the power to make her smile.

He was never going to take it for granted again.

“She’s having you on,” Fortas grumbled. “It’s been weeks, now. How long are you going to have to court her?”

Finally, he caught a glimpse of her. Ten yards distant, but still surrounded by others.

“If I’m lucky,” Simon said, “the rest of my life. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

G
INNY COULD TELL
the instant that Simon joined the ring of admirers that surrounded her. He didn’t glower at the other men. He didn’t threaten them. He even greeted two of them by name and exchanged pleasantries. Nothing that he did signaled to the other men that he was in possession of her heart.

It was what she did. She could feel herself turn toward him like a lily seeking the sun, opening up in a broad smile.

He stood a few yards away, adjusting his cuffs. As he did so, the little diamond-eyed beetles winked at her, as if the sun were reflecting a secret between just the two of them.

“Well, Mr. Davenant,” Ginny said bravely. “You look tired. Never say the ceremony has worn you out.”

“Not the ceremony. I was up last night watching for a meteor shower.”

“There were meteors showering last night?” She unfolded her fan and waved it languidly across her face. “I heard of no such thing, and I read the astronomical section of the newspaper with regularity.”

The corner of his lip twitched. “You’ll notice I didn’t say I
saw
any meteors. I was given false information.”

And what deliciously false information it had been.
Come watch the meteor showers with me,
her note had said. He’d helped her clamber out of her hotel window, much the way he’d helped her escape her bedroom when they were younger. They’d laughed and he’d taken her up a hill, spread out a blanket for her, and they’d lain next to each other, joined only by their fingertips.

There had been no meteors. They’d not even seen a single shooting star. But he’d held her hand and told her jokes. As they lay in the warm night, she’d breathed out the last of her bitterness. They’d made mistakes. They’d hurt one another. But he was still the man she wanted to hold her hand in the dark of night.

“Entrapped by false reports of incoming asteroids,” Ginny said demurely. “How awful. I hope you hold the fellow who misled you accountable.”

He shrugged. “I hope I do, too. Now, would you be willing to come on a walk with me?” He held out his arm to her.

Only her fingertips touched his elbow. But there was no
only
to it. He was so warm; he drew her eye. He smiled. She smiled. The whole world could see them smiling at each other.

Well. Ginny curled her fingers into the crook of his arm. If the whole world could see them smiling, it could watch them leave together.

He waited until they’d left the crowd behind, until the cobblestone streets of Chapton had given way to a dusty tree-lined track, before he spoke.

“I’ve sold three of my railway lines,” he said.

“No! But why?”

He shrugged. “They’ve been a fabulous investment. They made me my money back one hundred to one. But anything that fabulous is inherently risky. I started thinking, what would happen if Parliament changed its mind about railways? What would happen if it were discovered that the steam engine had a fatal flaw? What if someone invents some way to transport goods more economically by…by, I don’t know, hot air balloons. All my money would be in trains. And then it would be gone.” He glanced at her. “I procured the buyers over the last few weeks. I put almost half of the proceeds into a tinned-goods manufacturer, and another half into the five percents.”

“The five percents.” She stopped and looked at him. “Why on earth did you do that?”

“Because I wanted you to know.” He set his finger under her chin and slowly, slowly tilted her face up. “When you marry me, I want you to know that your future is secure. Always. It’s what I should have offered you from the start: that if you give your heart into my keeping, I will never let you down.”

Ginny swallowed and leaned into the palm of his hand. It wasn’t just her cheek that he warmed; it was all of her, from head to toe. “We’ve both made mistakes.”

“I made a worse one,” he said baldly. “I was so fixed on how much I wanted you that I never stopped to ask myself what you wanted.”

“Surely, I could have—”

“Goddamn it, Ginny. Stop trying to make me feel better.” He touched his thumb to her nose. “Let me apologize to you as you deserve.” His fingers were tracing her face, as if he could pull the curve of her smile into the palm of his hand.

And then he let go of her and got down on his knees. “Ginny,” he said, “I love you. I have always loved you. By some miracle, you appear to…to not be indifferent to me. If you would trust me with your heart, I promise from this moment forward that I will do my best to deserve it.”

“I—”

He held up one hand. “No,” he said. “Don’t answer yet. There’s something I have to show you. Do you know why I wanted to hold the opening ceremony in Chapton?”

“Because it’s halfway between Castingham and London?”

“No. It’s because my parents own a house here. After my father sold the house in Chester-on-Woolsey, he purchased the one here. My father says he’ll give it to me as a wedding present, but first, he insists on meeting the bride. D’you see that iron gate just down the road?”

She hadn’t seen it until this moment. But there it was—set back amongst the trees. Now that he’d pointed it out, the black metal seemed to loom, dark and cold. He was taking her to see his parents. Even though they were adults, even though they had three fortunes between them at this point, that reminder brought back those days so long ago.

He stood and wiped the dust from his knees. “Don’t look so distressed. Four years ago, my father told me, ‘If I had known you were going to mope over her forever, I’d never have kept you apart.’”

Ginny swallowed. “And your mother?”

“She just bumped him in the arm and said, ‘I told you so.’ They want grandchildren.” He gave her a tight smile. “Besides, they manage to tolerate even me. Once they know you, they’ll adore you. You’ll see. I wouldn’t have asked you to come here if I believed you would be hurt.”

“I’m not scared,” Ginny said brashly.

“Of course you’re not.” He took her hand and swung it in the air. “Come. I have something to show you.”

A path led from the road, through the gate. It traveled over a little wooden bridge, past tuffets of sheep-cropped grass and a ragged copse of trees, before ending in a well-trimmed hedge.