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T hey organised themselves as best they could, covering Ophelia’s damp skirts with her shawl and buttoning Silas’s coat so that his wrinkled trousers were less evident.

They lingered in the garden, neither wanting to break the spell of the afternoon.

Silas felt like a zeppelin had inflated in his chest, buoyant and giddy, able to face anything if it meant doing so with Ophelia by his side.

He felt in the pocket of his jacket, finding the cool loop of silver still waiting there, and he knew there was one final thing to do before they tackled things in the house.

“Fee?” he began. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you, or rather to give you.

” She turned to him, her face still flushed, eyes bright and sharp as a bird’s, an edge of wariness suddenly there.

He hurried to continue before he lost the thread of his thoughts.

“I was wrong about so many things before, even this,” he said, fishing the ring from his pocket.

“I brought this for you, a token of what we might make together, a promise more than an agreement.” She stared at the band in the palm of his large hand and he could see that she recognised it as Hannah’s.

“Hannah gave it to me, thought it might be the right thing for our fresh start, but the more I think of it, the more I realise that it’s me who needs to wear it, to remember ‘deeds not words.’ I see now that you’ve always known that, haven’t you, love?

You’ve been fighting for it your whole life, and I’ve only just joined you.

” Silas slipped the band onto his pinkie finger, flexed his hand experimentally, and then held it out to her.

“A reminder to myself that what we choose together is more important than anything the world demands of us. Always.”

He wasn’t sure what she would say, had only really realised what he was going to say as he said it.

It felt right, though. He watched her looking at the band on his finger, saw recognition and a flash of hope.

A soft smile played on her lips, almost more for herself than to him.

He was so glad he had slid the ring onto his own finger, recognized in the moment that his own fear had made it hard to hear.

He knew that so many people tossed around a great many words, but did very little to make them concrete.

Perhaps this small gesture could be the beginning of many things.

Changes he would make, ones they would make together.

He wanted to be Ophelia’s champion, to protect her, but he saw now that she didn’t need him to do that.

She was capable of anything she put her mind to, but she wanted someone, him , to walk with her, to choose a path together.

That he could do, that he would move mountains to do.

The slim silver band glinted against Silas’s hand, his skin tanned by the sun and work out of doors.

Ophelia took in the lines across his outstretched palm, the long lines of his strong fingers, the corded muscles of his arm disappearing up into his sleeve.

She thought of the disastrous marriage proposals her father had tried to engineer, of how he had wanted to negotiate the price of having her off his hands, a bit of extra baggage he was happy to be rid of.

She thought of Silas, standing where her father had almost taken everything, of what it had meant to him to leave for war, to lose this connection to his family, how he had stripped himself bare for her.

All he offered her now was himself, untethered by land or obligation, willing to walk into a future of their own making because he loved her.

She looked up from his hand to his broad face, eyes searching hers, his mobile mouth still, drawn a little tight with concern.

He waited for her answer, patient, and her heart clenched with love.

She wanted to tell him how joy rocketed around her, fireworks on Bonfire Night, sun dancing on the water’s surface, larks in a wide blue sky, but all that came from her lips was, “You are the very best of everything, Silas Larke, and I love you beyond words.”

He stood stock still for a moment then grasped her hand, and pulling her into his chest, swung her around, whooping until tears rolled down her cheeks and her head swam dizzily.

“My God, I love you, you magnificent woman!” he said, laughing. “I want to shout it from the top of a tower, take out an ad in the Times —no—send it by Morse code around the world!”

He let her go and she slipped down his front, clothing catching between them. She reached up to cup his face in her hands, feeling the rough and soft of his cheeks under her fingers.

“For the first time in so long, I am excited for the future,” she said, softly. “For our future.”

“Let’s not linger then,” Silas said. “We could stay with my mother for a night or two, until you’ve finished up at the house. When you’re ready we’ll return to Mrs. Darling’s?”

“Mhmm, I would like to see your mother again, and Samuel. I am a little anxious to get back to the farm though; I’ve my WLA work term to complete and Mrs. Darling’ll still need our help to fulfill the required yield.

After that, I guess it’s up to us where we want to go.

” She slid her hand into his, squeezing gently.

“I need to lock the doors before we go to your mother’s, and I’d like to bring a painting with me .

.. it’s of my mother, and I want to have her with me. ”

Silas nodded. “We’ll keep her with you always.”

One carpet bag, one painting wrapped in burlap.

That was what her life at Wood Grange amounted to in physical belongings.

She should have felt weighted down by the prospect of her father’s debts, the health of the estate, but Ophelia felt lighter than she could ever remember.

She felt a steady confidence in Mr. Bone’s work with the will; for the first time, it felt like there was possibility about the estate, instead of defeat.

Silas’s feet crunched along the gravel drive next to hers, and she couldn’t wait to crowd around Mrs. Darling’s table for tea.

It wasn’t that she thought everything would be perfect from now on; she knew that the future would bring its share of challenges.

The farm was still in danger of being repossessed, Silas might be called to the front once his leg was fully healed, she had no idea what she might do for work after the WLA finished with her, and she wasn’t na?ve enough to believe that she and Silas could live outside the boundaries of polite society without consequence, but right now all those seemed surmountable.

Silas loved her, and the brilliant joy of that eclipsed everything else at the moment.

They would find a way; she was confident of that.

Swinging her arms, Silas’s hand in hers, Ophelia turned for one last look at the house.

“I’ll never be able to think of that garden the same way again,” Silas said in a theatrical aside, eyes mischievous.

Ophelia laughed and pulled him down for a kiss. “I hope not,” she said.

They walked slowly up to Silas’s childhood home hand in hand, the light of evening falling, birdsong all around them. When they reached the door and knocked, Mrs. Larke threw both the door and her arms open with a happy cheer, bundling them inside for dinner and a visit.