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T he screech of the birds, the salt, the blustering wind—

“Evelyn, are you listening to me?”

The way the sunlight poured down and scattered and shimmered—

“You’re not listening to me, are you?”

And noise, noise everywhere, a cacophony of sound. How could one capture it with color—

“Evelyn!”

Evelyn blinked. The docks faded into the background after capturing her attention so fully, and she saw before her a man who was remarkably handsome and smiling with despair.

“Hello,” she said genially.

“Hello,” said her husband wryly. “Remember me?”

“You do look familiar, yes,” she teased, her heart soaring. “Could I have seen you as the model in one of the great art galleries of London?”

“Perhaps you have done just that, yes,” Richard said with a laugh. “But right now, I am having enough difficulty getting my wife to concentrate long enough to walk in a straight line. What on earth are you looking at?”

Evelyn could barely think for joy. “My wife.”

It felt absolutely ridiculous, but there it was. She was a wife. Her husband was beside her, smiling and not censuring her, glorifying in the way she was rather than attempting to force her into a particular way of doing things.

It was wonderful. It was more than she could ever have imagined.

And so were these docks.

“You know, if I had guessed you would find the Dover docks so fascinating, I would have decided to have our honeymoon here instead,” Richard said with a laugh. “Honestly, Evelyn, what are you looking at?”

“Looking at”? Evelyn had not been able to stop looking in amazement at the things around them ever since their carriage had halted at an inn right in the center of the town.

Even there, there had been salt in the air.

Evelyn had not been able to help it; as though dragged here by invisible spirits, she had found her way through the streets to the docks.

“Everything,” she said simply.

Richard snorted. “Don’t give me that. I mean it, Evelyn. What fascinates you so?”

“It’s an adventure!” Evelyn said impulsively, stretching out her arms and gesturing at everything within a mile radius. “It’s quite all right for you. You’ve traveled, you’ve been abroad—”

“I wouldn’t call it much of a holiday,” her husband muttered.

Evelyn grinned. “Perhaps not. But still, you have seen distant shores, eaten strange foods—”

“That, I have,” said Richard, making a face. “Who eats snails? And frogs! Have the French never ventured more than a hundred yards from a pond?”

“Everywhere I look, there is something new I want to draw,” Evelyn said enthusiastically.

It appeared her husband did not believe her. Raising a quizzical eyebrow under his top hat, Richard said, “‘Everywhere’?”

It was a challenge, and Evelyn was always up for a challenge. At least, an artistic one.

“There,” she said, grabbing her husband’s hands and adoring the way that it felt so natural. As though he belonged there. As though they belonged together. “See that knot, over there?”

She watched Richard look over at a ship moored at the dock. There was a heavy length of rope pouring out from the stern of the boat, ending in a complicated knot, fraying and salt-encrusted, on the shore.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, enraptured.

When she finally managed to drag her eyes away from the complexity of the frayed strands of rope, it was to see Richard looking most unimpressed.

“It’s rope,” he said flatly. “It’s a knot.”

“Oh, look at it properly!” Evelyn said with just a dash of impatience in her voice. “Look at the curves, the spirals—the intricacy of the lines. Look at the dab of tar, there, and the burnt edge there. What a story it tells! What textures, what colors, what—”

“Fine, fine, you have convinced me. It is a very impressive knot,” interrupted Richard with a laugh that made Evelyn’s pulse skip a beat. “But you said that everywhere you look, there is something to draw!”

Evelyn jutted out her chin, reveling in the debate. There was only one man with whom she wanted to argue for the rest of his life, and here he was. “And I stand by that statement.”

There was a glitter of mischief in Richard’s eyes—as there so often was. “So you are telling me that while we wait for our ship—which, by the way, should be almost ready—I can point in any direction, any at all—”

“And there will be something there worth painting? Yes,” said Evelyn emphatically.

Oh, this man. Sometimes she woke up in the night and wondered how on earth she had managed to be so fortunate. She would reach out, sure that she had dreamt him, and there he was. Just lying there. Richard Sempill. Her viscount. Her husband.

“So, if I point over there?” Richard said, pointing most unfairly at the sky.

But Evelyn had already guessed he would do something so unsporting. “You mean the clouds, the shimmer of the sunlight, the arching of the birds?”

Richard laughed dryly as he lowered his hand. “Well, that’s a remarkably good answer. What about… there?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Evelyn saw he was pointing at a metal post. “You mean the rust of that metal, gold and bronze and shimmering green?”

This time, Richard was shaking his head as he laughed. “You truly see beauty everywhere, don’t you?”

And in that instant, Evelyn’s confidence wavered.

It was perhaps a foolish part of her character—it was certainly not one many people shared. The more she saw of the world, the more beautiful and terrible it was. Full of elegance and charm, yes, but there was decay there and death and betrayal.

“I love that you can do that,” Richard said softly, stepping to her and cupping her cheeks. “I love that you see the best in everything. I love that, Evelyn. Never change.”

Evelyn’s cheeks flushed as she smiled up at the man she loved. “I couldn’t change, even if I wanted to.”

“Good.”

“And I don’t.”

“Even better.” Richard laughed. “Though I admit I am not particularly surprised. Come on, then, it isn’t long before we need to find our ship. Have you any further guesses for me?”

The game had started the instant they had been married, the day before. Richard had revealed that he had organized a honeymoon for them, not too long because he knew Evelyn would not wish to be away from her art supplies, but long enough to enjoy themselves.

Where, precisely, they would be going was something that he had, so far, kept a mystery.

“And you are certain it is not Berlin?” Evelyn asked, slipping her arm into the crook of Richard’s arm as they sauntered slowly down the docks.

“Absolutely not,” he replied firmly. “My German is terrible—though do not let that make you think that everywhere in the Germanic states is off-limits.”

“And I can’t imagine that we would be going anywhere in France,” Evelyn said softly, more to herself than as part of the conversation.

She had spoken too loudly. She felt the stiffening in Richard’s arm, the tension that flashed through his body because she could not take back her words. His gait did not alter, but there was a tautness in his steps now.

Blast .

“I am sorry,” Evelyn said softly.

“Don’t be,” came Richard’s swift reply. “I cannot get through life without anyone ever mentioning France. If someone has to do it, I would rather it were you.”

Her wonderful, brave husband. In a way, Evelyn could hardly believe what he had gone through, what he had done to serve his country, without any celebration or gratitude. Not, at least, in public. She would make sure, for the rest of their lives, that he would always know how proud she was of him.

Still. That did not help remove the memories that were so painful, or remove the scars.

“Given up guessing?”

Evelyn grinned as the docks curved around to the left. “How on earth can I guess if you do not tell me anything about the place we are going? It is hardly a fair guessing game.”

Richard’s eyes sparkled. “Oh? And here I was, thinking that we could make a fun habit of never telling each other everything.”

Their laughter rang out and a few dockhands, loading up some of the floating ships, turned to look at them.

Oh, let them look , Evelyn thought joyfully. All they would see was a woman desperately in love with her husband, and a man devastatingly in love with his wife.

Despite all the confusion, all the secrets, all the lies of omission and the arguments… they had managed to make it here. To the beginning of the rest of their lives.

“I am still angry at you about it all, though,” she said sternly, only half-joking.

Richard’s expression immediately became more serious. “I know. It was a rotten thing to do to you—”

“And my extended family is still not completely convinced, I think,” Evelyn admitted. “My parents and siblings understand the mien of an artist, but my Uncle William…”

Her husband halted in his tracks, searching out her expression with worried eyes. “And does that bother you?”

“Not… Not really, no,” she said softly, pressing her hand on his arm. “Beyond the fact that I am so very different from my wider family… Well. They are not the ones who have married you. I am, and I love you, Richard. All of you. Even the bits that sometimes I don’t like.”

Richard’s smile twisted. “I suppose that’s a good thing.”

“More than good!” Evelyn turned to face him, needing him to understand her as she spoke.

“Richard, there is no perfect person. I did not expect to marry a man who was perfect—in truth, I did not think much about marriage. I know that the world forces us to make choices that are not ideal, and that there are flaws in every diamond. But I have an artist’s eye. ”

He had to laugh at that. “I’m well aware, Evelyn.”

“I mean, I see the beauty in the flaws, not despite them,” she said softly, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. “You think I would give up on a painting merely because I could not get every single inch perfect?”

There was mischief in Richard’s expression. “I mean, you have been known to be reasonable in that regard.”

Evelyn nudged him as she laughed. “You know what I mean! I am hardly perfect, and you love me, don’t you?”