by Bryn Donovan
“Well, I don’t know,” her companion said. “They still ought to have waited until they were married.”
But for the most part, the air of judgment was gone. Witnessing Will’s proposal had completely transformed the mood in the gallery. As Will helped Genevieve to her feet again, a smattering of applause sounded from somewhere in the back of the crowd.
“I seem to have misjudged the situation somewhat,” the gallery owner said, fiddling with his glasses. “While the picture is perhaps not entirely proper, it is, nonetheless...”
Will glared at him.
“Yes. Well,” the man said, and with a little bob of his head he retreated.
Then somebody was squeezing the life out of Genevieve. “Oh, my goodness! I’m so happy for you!” Ruth gushed into her ear.
“I cannot believe it,” Genevieve told her. “Did that just truly happen?”
She was aware of Will’s friends gathering around him, offering congratulations as well. “Ah, Will, you don’t understand this mistress thing at all,” Mrs. Boldridge’s son teased him. She turned around.
“Well done, brother,” a tall man said. He gave Will a quick one-armed hug.
Will reached out to her and drew his arm around her waist, pulling her closer in a comfortable, possessive gesture. “You had better come meet these fellows. Or I guess you’ve already had the misfortune of meeting Jack.”
“Yes, she did,” Jack said. “And yet she is still marrying you. I can’t quite make it out.” He winked at her as he shook her hand. “Do let me know if you ever change your mind...”
Genevieve laughed.
“Exactly how many times do you want that nose broken in your lifetime?” Will said.
The other one offered his hand. When Genevieve extended her own, he bent over it with a courtly kiss. “Coventry Moore, your humble servant.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you. I don’t know if Will told you my name? I’m Genevieve Bell.”
“I know who you are. I admire your work.”
“Indeed?”
Coventry nodded. He offered her a handkerchief, which she realized she needed. “I have a feeling Will’s a very lucky man.”
“Thank you,” Genevieve said, grateful and a little nonplussed. Will’s friends, at least, seemed to accept her. The warmth of their welcome was yet another unexpected joy.
“Where is he going?” Jack cried out.
Genevieve had forgotten about Cage. Everyone, it seemed, had forgotten about Cage. But now he skulked his way toward the door.
At Jack’s cry, he’d sped up his pace, but Coventry ran after him with the speed and force of a steam engine, Jack close at his heels.
Visser tripped on the edge of his too-long coat and stumbled, almost falling. Coventry tackled and grabbed onto him, and in the next moment Coventry’s fist connected with the man’s jaw. A shockingly loud crack, and Cage went limp.
His mouth in a grimace, Coventry let Cage’s body slump to the floor. “Send for the constable,” he ordered the gallery owner.
“Damn you, Coventry,” Jack complained. “I wanted to hit him.”
Coventry shrugged. “You can if you want.”
“Well, it’s no fun now.”
“Good Lord.” Genevieve inhaled, suddenly dizzy. She grabbed onto Will’s arm.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m more than all right.” She laughed at him. How could he ask such a thing, after how happy he’d made her? “I’m just...a little overwhelmed.”
“Of course you are. Come on, let’s take you home with me.” His arm encircled her shoulder, protective and comforting. He looked up at Ruth. “Do you need a carriage back home?”
She grinned. “Don’t worry about me, sir. I’ll just walk. It’s not far.”
“No calling me ‘sir.’ It’s Will, all right?”
“All right, then.” She grinned even wider.
“My coachman can take her.” Jack walked over to them again. “I’ll ride home with Coventry.” Ruth nodded in agreement.
“Let’s go,” Will said to Genevieve. “It’s about time we had some privacy.”
Genevieve’s heart swelled with joy and wonder.
****
“Will, can you be certain that this is what you want?” she asked him, once they were in the carriage.
“Please don’t ask me that again. Otherwise I will feel insulted.” His lips brushed her temple. “Do I seem unsure?”
“No, but—”
“I am certain. More certain than I’ve ever been of anything.”
“I believe you.” She clasped his arm. “Although you seem too good to be true.” He began to shake off the compliment, but she continued. “You say you were a fool before...won’t everyone think you’re being a fool now? Your friends are very kind, but what about your family?”
“It will take my siblings about two minutes to decide they adore you. For my mother, just a little longer...Truly, the only one who may be very unpleasant is my father.”
“Oh, dear.” That wasn’t going to be fun. “I’m a little frightened of him already.”
“Come now.” Will pulled her closer. “You are not going to let a grumpy old baronet scare you off, are you?”
“No,” she said decisively. “There isn’t anything that could scare me away from you.”
“That is more like it.”
“My father won’t approve of you, either, you know,” Genevieve told him.
“No?”
He looked so surprised that it made her laugh. “He dislikes the aristocracy. I think he will find it very strange that I am a baronet-ess, or whatever I shall be.”
Will didn’t smile. “But he will come around?”
“I’m just teasing. I think he’ll be thrilled. Shocked...but thrilled. And he’ll like you. How could he not?”
“I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
“We will be married.” Genevieve sighed, settling back in the carriage seat. “I can hardly believe it.”
“Where do you want to have the wedding?”
“Is there going to be much of one?” Genevieve hadn’t thought this far ahead yet. The idea of an actual wedding was a whole new marvel.
“What a question! Don’t you want a proper wedding?”
“Yes, but with your father...”
“No matter what, we’re having a wedding. Who knows? He might even attend.”
“Perhaps you’d rather just do things quietly.”
“Too late for that. We’ll have hundreds of guests and rivers of champagne.”
Well. She had to admit that sounded marvelous. “Oh, good gracious. I’m going to have a wedding.”
Will laughed. “I think most women would have realized that a little sooner. Now where should we have it?”
“I have always especially loved country weddings.”
“A country wedding, then. And you’re going to wear a lavish dress.” He pulled her closer to him again. “You’ve always looked wonderful in white.”
She frowned. “I don’t think I’m allowed to wear white.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. White is your color, isn’t it? And everyone will be in raptures over how beautiful you are, and then we’ll go to...I don’t know. To Paris and Rome, perhaps, so you can look at famous art?”
“Oh, good Lord.” She put her hands to her head. “Stop it. I can’t take it.”
“That wouldn’t be good?”
“That would be wonderful!”
The carriage pulled up to the townhouse. Will hopped down, then lent her a hand to climb down, dismissing the coachman for the night.
In the candlelight of his bedroom, she unbuttoned his coat, feeling extremely wifely as she did so, and feeling charmed by the sensation. Once he’d gotten his coat off, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, long and deep.
“I love you,” he said when their lips parted.
“I love you, too.” She beamed up at him. “How many times are you going to tell me that toni
ght?”
“I don’t know. Are you tired of hearing it already?”
“No. Never.” She ran her hands up his sides, feeling the warmth and strength of his body through the thin linen shirt, the rhythm of a brave heart that beat only for her.
God, how she loved this man. Her fingers, so deft with a brush, were equally nimble at her present task of unbuttoning his shirt. Soon his boots and trousers, her shoes and bride-white frock were discarded beside the bed where they lay down together in a pool of moonlight in one another’s arms. Every motion of their bodies was graceful: every arch of the back, each wondering sigh. They moved together as one, exalted by their passion for one another, instinctive masters of the art of love.
A word about the author...
Bryn Donovan is a creative professional with an M.F.A. in creative writing.
She lives in Kansas with her very romantic husband and their two very goofy golden retrievers.
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