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He cocked his head at that interruption.

She turned her palms up. “My half brother. The Earl of Wakefield. He ... learned about Livvie and me, and he’s been searching me out. I saw him at the bookstore that morn. I didn’t know who he was. He tried to stop it ...” She ceased her ramblings.

“And ... what did he want?” he asked slowly, trying to slog through anything that made sense. Anything past the black dress she now wore. The one he’d given her at their first meeting. Not the pieces she’d adopted since she’d come here. His heart slipped another fraction at the implications of that, and of the articles at her feet.

Verity drew in an uneven breath and ran her hands over her skirts. “My father was useless when it came to finances. My half brother, he’s been working to repair the family fortunes. He’s offered a little cottage to Livvie and me. A place to live, with a small stipend on which to survive.”

The earth swayed under him. “That was a generous offer,” he said, his voice muffled in his ears. The earl had also offered that which Malcom should have unconditionally put forward for Verity. “And what did you say?”

“I thanked him. I appreciated that he cared and sought to make our lives better, but said that I’d different hopes for my future.”

The Londoner.

His throat bobbed.

Verity drifted ever closer. “I told him that I’d fallen in love.” His heart jumped. “That I’d fallen in love with you.” She slowed to a stop before him. “That I wanted to marry you.” Laying her palms on his chest, she leaned back so she could hold his gaze. “If you—”

Malcom swallowed the remainder of that question with a kiss. His body shook from the force of the laughter and light moving through him. “Good God, Verity Lovelace,” he strangled out through the joy. Cupping her face, he rested his forehead against hers. “You’re the only woman who would beat me to a proposal.”

Her eyes formed perfect circles. “Were you—” She gasped as he fell to a knee.

“I’d come here intending to ask you to marry me. To spend your life letting me work to be the man you deserve. Loving you.”

A sob burst from Verity’s lips. “Yes,” she cried out, her arms coming up—

But he stopped her. “And then I’d also intended to offer you ... your freedom, if you so choose.” He withdrew the notes from inside his jacket.

Her lips parted, Verity took them and quickly worked through them. Another gasp escaped her.

“I was otherwise delayed today because I paid a visit to the owner ofThe Londoner. I purchased the papers, because what they do is rubbish and what you would do with them would transform the world.”

Tears glazed her eyes. “Malcom,” she whispered, those crystalline drops winding down her cheeks.

He brushed them back.

“And as I wanted to beat your Fairpoint to a pulp, I thought it only appropriate to leave you the honors when you stepped into the office as the proprietress.”

She threw her arms around his neck, toppling the both of them.

Malcom came down hard on his back, grunting as she fell atop him. “By your response I trust you’ve accepted option two?”

“I love you, you silly man,” she rasped. “I want a life with you at my side.” Verity claimed his mouth, and he angled his head to receive her kiss. And infused within was all the joy and love he felt for her, and he tasted it on her lips and in the whisper of her breath. And it made him whole in ways that he’d only ever been empty. Verity broke the kiss. “I accept both options, Malcom North,” she teased. “A future with you and one withThe Londoner.” Her smile wavered. “Would you accept that? An unconventional wife who conducts actual work?”

He brushed the strands that had come free from her chignon, tucking them behind her ear. “I wouldn’t have you any other way, Verity,” he said hoarsely. “I’d only ever have you as you are.”

“And I you, Malcom North,” she whispered.

And as Verity leaned down and kissed him once more, Malcom smiled.

At last, he’d been found.

Epilogue

Two months later

St. Giles

Everyone was there.