Page 60 of Lady Like

“Because it wasn’t mine,” the prince says.

He takes the ring by the chain, holding it to the light for a moment before he touches it with the tip of his finger, as delicate as if it’s a soap bubble.

“It was given me by a woman I loved in my youth. A woman I was forced to part from. I used to wear it on a chain around my neck, just as you have.”

“I’m sorry it was stolen from you,” Emily says.

“I’m very glad to have it back.” The prince rubs the ring between his thumb and forefinger, forehead puckering as he stares at it.

“Thank—” he says, but his voice breaks around the word, and he stops and clears his throat into his fist. “Excuse me.” He holds up the ring and brandishes it a few times, as though he’d like to say more.

But instead, he simply finishes, “Thank you.”

Emily nods.

“Will it do anything to further incriminate Tweed?” Harry asks.

“You needn’t worry,” the prince replies. “He may not serve long in prison, but his legal fees will be expensive, and many of his assets in Sussex will be seized. No longer a fitting candidate to marry a woman as fine as you, Miss Sergeant.”

Emily feels her eyes welling again. Harry squeezes her shoulders.

“However,” the prince says. “I do think a marriage between you and my son Collin Lockhart, would be an asset to you both.”

Emily’s heart sinks, but she manages to sound at least adjacent to happy when she says, “Indeed, Your Majesty, he is a good man. I would be very lucky.”

“As would he. As would I, to add you to the ranks of my nobility.” The prince turns, casting a warm smile upon Harry.

“And, Harry, as requested, I have several men for you to meet. All upstanding gentlemen, friends of mine. But none so upstanding that you’d find them dull.

” He winks. “I think you’ll find a good match among them. ”

Harry gives him a broad grin in return. “Oh, no thank you.”

“Pardon?”

“I said no thank you,” Harry replies. “I no longer need you to find a man for me to marry.”

“Did you not request my introductions?” the prince asks.

“I did, but I’ve changed my mind. I shall not marry a man at all.”

The prince folds his arms. “So you’re refusing my offer?”

“No, I’m accepting it.” Harry’s grin goes wider. “I plan to marry suitably and move into this house and conduct myself according to your moral standards, however much it pains me.”

“I know it’s unorthodox, but if you work it out with your brother, what happens between you and Miss Sergeant is no one’s business but yours. I’ll not—”

“That’s not good enough for me,” Harry replies.

“Because I love Emily. I want to spend the rest of my life devoted to her. I want to worship her. Build cities for her and erect monuments to our love on every corner. I want people to tell each other stories about the terrible things we did for our love.”

Emily’s arms break out in gooseflesh.

“Your stipulation,” Harry continues, “was that in order to claim my title and estate, I must be married by your coronation to a partner you deemed suitable, was it not?”

“Correct,” the prince replies.

“Harry,” Emily whispers, her voice hoarse.

“And Miss Sergeant here,” Harry says. “Just now, you said she was a fine woman.”

“I did,” the prince replies.

“Well then, Father,” Harry says. “I would like to marry Emily Sergeant.”

Emily cannot breathe. Her heart feels liquid inside her, spreading down her arms, into her belly, rising to her throat like she is a tub filling with water. If she opens her mouth, no breath will come out, just a heartbeat.

Harry’s fingers tighten around hers. “With Your Grace’s permission, of course,” she says. “Remembering that you have deemed her fit and fine and a suitable bride.”

“That would not be my concern with such a partnership,” the prince says.

“How is this different from being too Catholic or common or too whatever else your father decided was wrong with your Maria?” Harry asks, and the prince’s eyes flit to the ring still in his hand. “It doesn’t have to be this way because this is how it always was. That’s not a good enough reason.”

“There would be complications,” the prince says slowly, “with the legalities—”

But Harry— the cheek of her! —interrupts.

“I have already considered this. Your bestowment of Longley Manor and its title could include a legal provision that the ownership belongs to your daughter rather than her nonexistent husband. It’s unusual, but not unheard of.”

“And what if something should happen to you?” the prince asks.

“Then we add yet another provision—God, don’t you just love a provision?

—that should I become infirmed or incapacitated or simply in the event of my inevitable death, my legal partner, Miss Emily Sergeant, will be protected by the title and land as a wife would in the event of her husband’s death.

Surely your solicitors could come up with linguistic maneuvers that would protect Miss Sergeant and my relationship and holdings as if it were a marriage, even if the law doesn’t recognize it. ”

The prince stares at Harry, face contorting. He seems to be on the verge of speech, but then Havoc reappears, trotting through the veranda doors, covered in tarry mud up to his belly and carrying his stick, which he drops proudly at the prince’s feet.

Harry presses herself against Emily, and for all her bluster, Emily can feel Harry trembling.

Emily too is trembling. Her lips shake with the effort it is taking not to grin like a fool.

If it works, if it doesn’t, it hardly matters—or rather, of course it matters, her whole future will reshape in these next few moments.

But what matters more is to hear Harry say such things.

To call her thus. To go to such lengths to give her the future she wants, to listen to what Emily asked for in a marriage and try to remake the world to give it to her. Emily has never felt loved like this.

The prince looks down at Havoc and runs a thumb along his bottom lip. “You have failed to consider one thing, Miss Lockhart.”

Harry goes still as a sighted hare. “Have I? Damnation. What’s that?”

The prince loops the chain with Maria’s ring around his neck, then picks up Havoc’s stick gingerly. He starts toward the door, Havoc bouncing after him. “If you asked her to marry you,” he calls as he slips out onto the veranda, “will Miss Sergeant say yes?”

Emily’s heart leaps like a falcon lofted off a glove. She turns to Harry to ask if she too has just heard and understood the same impossible thing Emily has.

But Harry has already fallen to her knees before her. “Do you want to take the false chops off first?” Harry asks. “Or shall I proceed regardless?”

Emily takes Harry’s face in her hands. She wants to remember Harry in this moment forever. Her lips. Her bright eyes. The dark hair curling across her brow. The way her smile tests the limits of her face. The way she is looking at Emily, like she is impossible and brilliant and hers.

Harry takes both Emily’s hands, pries them from her cheeks, and presses her lips to the inside of Emily’s wrists.

“Emily—” she says.

“Yes,” Emily replies before she can even ask.

“Yes?” Harry asks, and Emily takes Harry’s face in her hands and raises her to her feet.

“Yes,” she says, and Harry folds Emily into her arms and kisses her.