Page 44 of Angel of Mine (Most Imprudent Matches #4)

HASKET HOUSE, LONDON - JULY 22, 1816

WILLIAM

“I’m not precisely sure how this goes,” I said as I brushed the dust from the bench across from him. It would not do to ruin my best trousers.

For unknown reasons, I waited a beat for a response that wouldn’t come before continuing. “I, um... Gabriel, I wanted to thank you. And forgive you. And all that other nonsense.”

From the oak tree’s branches above me, I heard the familiar chirp-chirp of the damn great tit. It fluttered down from its perch, no worse for its injury, before settling atop the tombstone across from me.

“Adriane— Well, it wasn’t entirely your fault. She could have gone to you. You would have at least helped her. I knew that even then. But she was… She never did things properly. What happened after she chose to go to France, it wasn’t on you. And I’m sorry for blaming you for that bit of it.”

The damn bird stared at me with its beady eyes before offering a rude double chirp.

I pressed onward. I had a deadline, after all.

“Thank you for helping me. I know you didn’t do it for me, but I… I’m so, so grateful that I didn’t have to leave her.

“Thank you for saving her, for keeping her safe that night. And thank you for being with her for all those years before I found her. For loving her the way you did. Just… Thank you.”

The chirp was more sincere this time, genuine. We sat there in silence, a gentle breeze blowing through the air. I heard the creak of the iron gate before her footsteps.

She came up behind me and dropped a kiss to the top of my head. “You two finished talking?”

“Yes,” I croaked, my voice thicker than I would have liked.

The tit flitted over to sit on the back of the bench facing her. She gave his head a little scratch with one finger. “Hello, you. I see you’re quite recovered.” He gave her a grateful chirp before flapping back up to the tree.

I followed his journey up to a nest. With a female inside who greeted him with a welcoming chirp-chirp .

“Oh! Isn’t that lovely?”

Celine slipped around me and walked over to the tombstone. In a ritual as familiar to her as breathing, she pressed a kiss to her fingers before dropping them on the stone.

“Congratulations, my love,” she whispered. She stepped away, turning back toward me in her lovely gown of mauve silk, a bouquet of calla lilies in one hand.

The bird dove down and landed before the patch of irises planted beside the stone. After tilting its head to the side, it pinched off a stem in its beak, then hopped over to her. Giving it to her.

She bent and took the flower, then tucked it quietly into the bouquet. “Thank you.”

Turning back to me, she held out a hand and wiggled her fingers expectantly. My mother’s ring glinted in the sunlight.

“Ready?”

“I’ve never been more ready for anything.” I laced my fingers with hers, then turned and ambled toward the gate.

“Let’s go get married, William Hart.”

“After you, soon-to-be Mrs. Hart.”

“Madame! Please.”

“ Madame Hart.”

“Perfect.”

“I completely agree.”

The End