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Violet awoke next to a cool linen draped across her forehead and tea dribbled down her throat.

“Drink that down, dear. Go ahead and swallow. Now there’s a good girl.”

She was propped up in a set of competent, fleshy arms that were feeding her sips of tea. Violet let herself be handled by the quick, dexterous hands of… someone.

She didn’t know who it was. Not the comforting presence she had felt beside her earlier. She missed that presence now that he was gone.

She cracked open an eye.

“Well, now. Hello, there.” A set of warm hazel eyes met Violet’s. “You take it slow now. You’ve been out for a while.”

“Who are you?” Violet asked, confused.

“I’m Jasper’s sister. You requested me.”

“You’re the midwife,” Violet said, relieved. “I’m glad to see you here.”

“At your service, lass, but I wasn’t the only one looking after you. Let me call that lad of yours. He’s been with you night and day.”

Mrs. Weatherington rose but the door burst open before she could get to it.

“Violet!”

“Alistair,” she whispered and knew then it had been him all along—her dark, comforting presence. He’d stayed by her side.

“How is Darius?” she asked as Alistair sank onto the bed beside her.

“He’s recovering.”

“His sores are healing? And no one else is showing symptoms?”

“Violet,” Alistair said, “I do not want to talk about Darius.”

“I’ll just let myself out then.” Mrs. Weatherington hurried toward the door. “But no disturbing her peace, now, lad. Do you understand?”

Alistair nodded. “I do.”

“What is it that you want to talk about?” Violet asked when the midwife had gone. “If not Darius?”

“Well.” Alistair cleared his throat. “The thing of it is, Violet, I never asked you. So, I’m asking you now. Before we do or say anything else.”

“Ask me what?” Violet’s eyebrows furrowed, and Alistair inhaled deeply before he went on.

“Violet, please tell me every single thing you’ve ever wanted out of your future, so I can give it to you.”

Violet tried to interrupt but he held up a single finger for her to wait.

“Let me finish. This must be said as soon as possible because I will never take the luxury of time for granted again.”

“Alright,” Violet said.

“Thank you.” He inhaled again. “In return for knowing your hopes and dreams, I will tell you every single one of mine.” He reached for her hand. “But it won’t take long, because the only thing I want is you.”

She shook her head, her tendrils of hair falling around her.

“Alistair,” she said.

“And,” he added quickly, before she could say more, “I want to know what is holding you back from me, so you can let it go. It is the one area where I excel—letting things go—so let me help you in that, love.”

She opened her mouth to say all the things that had been running through her mind these last weeks.

How she had to return to New York and build her hospital.

How she worried that her presence, or lack of it, would cause him to drink.

How she could not let herself give in to emotion like she had the night James had died.

But none of those words felt true anymore. Something had shifted within her when she’d healed Darius. She’d already let go.

She squeezed the hand that grasped hers. She could build her hospital here or in New York or in Timbuktu. It didn’t matter; the world was full of patients.

Alistair worked hard to quit drinking, and while it might always be a struggle for him, it was his struggle, not hers. She would not use it as an excuse.

And she let go of her guilt over James. Not all of it, she’d never rid herself of all of it. But enough for her see it for what it was: an excuse to be cowardly in love. An excuse to never again face losing someone she loved as much as she loved James.

Alistair brushed a thumb against her calluses, and she marveled at how familiar that small movement felt.

“I love these,” he said, and what she heard was I love you .

What she thought was, I love you too.

It was the thought she had pushed away on that long horseback ride to Kent. That she loved him. That she was in love with him. Her body knew, her heart knew, and her mind now knew it too. All of her in accord for once.

Their eyes locked, his so dark they were almost black and hers a bright, bright blue.

“Violet,” he said in his most tender whisper. “Tell me what it is that you want.”

“I want you,” she said.

And then she closed her eyes and dropped into a dreamless, contented sleep.

Mrs. Weatherington stayed for another week, nursing Violet and Darius back to health.

“They’ll both be right as rain in another day or two,” she said to Alistair as he showed her out and tried to press a bag of coin into her hand.

“No need, my lord. The bill’s been settled, and fairly at that.”

She took her leave, and Alistair turned to find his mother in the hallway, standing behind him.

“Thank you,” he said, “for the midwife.”

His mother smiled at him. “It wasn’t my doing.”

“Was it Darius then?”

“Of course not. He’s just risen this morning.”

She stared for a moment at his confused reaction and then patted him lightly on the arm.

“Alistair,” she said, “you should speak with your father. He’s been waiting for you.”