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William had not expected such complete exoneration from her. How noble a woman she was, despite her great loss! “I can hardly believe,” he replied, “that you have such grace for me when you have lost your engagement in so brutal a fashion.”

For the first time, Miss Lockhart seemed unsure of herself. He followed her line of sight toward Charlotte, her eyes seeking, as if answers might be found there. She inhaled deeply and sighed it out. “There is something you should know,” she said before pausing again.

“Yes?”

“My engagement… It was not what you might think.”

“No?” William’s heartbeat increased its pace.

“Dr. Westbridge was a good man. I was fortunate to be asked to be his wife.”

“Certainly.” William held his breath.

“However…” Another pause.

“Yes?” William thought he might scream with anticipation.

“I did not love him.” Miss Lockhart looked away, as though ashamed of what she had said.

“I see.” William’s heart now sped a mile a minute.

“Do you?” Her eyes searched his face. “Then you should know I intended to break the engagement upon his return.”

William thought his heart would burst right out of his chest.

“So you see,” said Miss Lockhart, her lips curling as if the words tasted sour, “I have my own guilt to bear.”

“Westbridge had no idea,” William said rather than asked.

“No.”

“Then you caused him no pain.”

“But I would have.”

“You must have felt very strongly to make such a decision…” William’s voice had grown thick with restrained emotion.

Miss Lockhart shook her head. “I should never have agreed to the marriage in the first place. It all happened so quickly. I would not even have considered it if…”

William waited for her to finish the thought. But she did not. Instead, she twisted her fingers into the folds of her dress and kept her gaze focused in the distance.

“If what , Miss Lockhart? You may speak freely to me.” William’s entire frame was fit to burst. He kept his feelings under control by the most fierce effort.

“If…” Her eyes roved from tree to tree.” “If…” Her fingers grew frantic in their assault upon the fine muslin of her skirt. “If… you had asked first.” Her crystal-blue eyes locked on to his, searching, asking.

“You wanted me to ask?” All the pent-up hope, restraint, denial now crashed down like a wave, briefly overwhelming him before releasing him from its torturous presence, then receding into a waning tide that trickled puddles around the foundations of his soul.

“So very much,” Miss Lockhart whispered.

William asked in a voice hoarse with rising ardor. “You knew I loved you?”

“I hoped,” she said, sounding very small. “I could not be sure. And when I wanted to ask you these past weeks, you would not see me. So I thought I would declare myself and find out if…”

She could say no more. William’s lips had pressed into hers.

His mouth molded with the soft, yielding warmth of her own.

William heard the groan escape his throat.

His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him, the skin of his palm savoring the feel of her closeness, the shape of her body.

Her hands clung to him as they had once before, an unmistakable expression of desire.

No more doubt. No more ambiguity. Only this: a blending of mutual yearning, the outflowing of a love that was shared and certain.

Miss Lockhart—though surely his heart now called her “Verity”—released her lips from his and panted, her breasts heaving against his chest as she caught her breath. But she did not let go. Oh, she must never again let go!

He had been such a fool. He had always sought this first. This great passion.

He had believed it would be a sign of that one great love he had wanted more than anything else.

But William understood now—such passion was the outcome of love, not the foundation upon which to build it.

True love, he had realized at last, was honesty even when it hurt, acceptance despite being undeserved, trust because one knew that person well, ferocity in their defense—all qualities Miss Lockhart had by the bucketload.

That was why he’d been drawn to her, long before he’d desired her.

He had—he could hardly believe it now—walked away from it all, not once, but twice. And yet, here she was, in his arms.

Years of self-loathing, hidden under layers of superficial nonchalance, now fell away like the enormous weight of a great stone.

All his fears, his disappointments, his sense of worthlessness were wiped from the table by the unassuming arm of Miss Lockhart.

Relief bubbled up from deep within, shaking free from him in an involuntary sob.

“Verity,” he cried, pulling her even tighter to him, his head hidden in the curve of her neck.

“My own love.” Tears now wrenched from him in gasps.

His wasted years pretending he didn’t care what people thought of him.

The blood and screams and smoke of Waterloo.

The terrible death of Arthur Westbridge.

He released them all to her. And she took him in, cradled him as if she could hold the whole world at bay with the power of her love.

At last, emptied of all that had dragged him under, William surfaced, renewed. Verity wiped his wet cheeks gently with the back of her fingers. He cupped her hands to his mouth, pouring his gratitude into them with kisses and murmurs of contentment.

“I love you.” He breathed the words against her palms.

“And I you… William.”

He lifted his head in happy surprise. “Say it again.”

Verity smiled coyly. “William.”

“Again.” He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth.

“William,” Verity purred against his lips before sealing them with her own.

He thought he would consume her with his desire, but she held her own, returning his passion with equal measure, until…

A hand that was not Verity’s tugged at William’s coat.

“Mama says to come and sit,” little Clarence said before turning and running back to the picnic blanket where Charlotte sat watching them. “Mama, I told them to come and sit! Did I do it right?”

“That was well done indeed, Clarence.” Charlotte smiled proudly at her son, then cast a more meaningful look at the lovers. “I have sandwiches,” she called, “and you seem to have a healthy appetite, William.”

William plaited his fingers through Verity’s, drawing her forward while he walked in reverse, still facing her. “I suppose you’ll have to marry me now,” he teased. “We can’t have your lips neglected now that I have claimed them. Do you think you might say yes if I asked?”

“You will have to ask me to find out,” she answered, quirking her mouth playfully.

William stopped at once and dropped quickly to one knee, her hand still in his but now pulled closer to rest upon his heart.

“Miss Lockhart, will you do me the most profound honor of being my wife, to cherish me and scold me, to tell me about beetles even when I don’t remember their names, as long as we both shall live? ”

“I will.”

William beamed. He stood and embraced his betrothed, though he did naught else, for Charlotte would surely have had his hide if he did not restrain himself in public.

When they sat, William was obliged to let go of Verity’s hand. But his gaze stayed upon her and she glowed under his constant attention.

“Am I to understand I will have a new sister?” Charlotte asked pleasantly while she poured a glass of lemonade for Verity.

“You will indeed.” William winked. “Are you pleased someone has finally tamed me?”

“I don’t believe that is what Miss Lockhart has done at all,” Charlotte objected. “For you were never the wild thing you pictured yourself to be, dear brother. She has merely shown you it is enough to be yourself, and for that, I thank her from the bottom of my heart.”

“Oh, do call me ‘Verity,’ for we are to be sisters now.”

“Not until I have had the honor first,” interrupted William. He hesitated a moment to savor the imminent experience. Then he breathed her name. “Verity.”

She lowered her lashes and a smile crept upon her face. Shy at first, her lips quirked into a playful pout. “Does this mean I can come to tea and you will not run and hide?” Verity teased him.

“How does tomorrow sound?” asked William. “I promise to stay close.” He coughed mockingly toward Charlotte. “But not too close, of course.”

“You will have to write to my parents to secure my hand,” Verity reminded him, “though I can think of nothing they would want more.”

“Unless,” Charlotte pointed out, “you were to also claim the position as vicar.”

William grew suddenly still. In the blur of emotions, he had quite forgotten his lack of prospects.

“I think,” said Verity slowly, as if contemplating every word, “you would make a splendid vicar after all. You have learned to value life and forgive yourself. You would have much to teach your congregation.”

“I could not bear to watch people fall asleep while I am talking,” William answered wryly. “That is,” he continued, tapping his eyepatch, “if this does not frighten them away first.”

Verity shrugged. “Then you will make your sermons shorter. And your roguish charm is not lessened by your new accessory. Being a vicar does not need to be tedious. Think of all the families who have been touched by the war. You would be a comfort and an inspiration to them.”

William had not thought of that. Purpose. He needed a sense of purpose. Else he would soon grow tired of his own company and frustrate the woman he loved.

“I will think on it,” he promised.

Charlotte clapped her hands. “Excellent! Now, how about those sandwiches? Even though ‘Man cannot live on bread alone,’ a sandwich has much to offer an empty stomach.”

The afternoon progressed with much talking, eating, and laughter.

William felt as though he had a new lease on life.

He watched Verity snuggle little Jane in her arms and imagined their own precious babes with their father’s dark hair and their mother’s clear, blue eyes.

His heart swelled at the thought. His great love had not yet reached capacity.

Verity had swung the door wide open and so much joy was ready to march right in.

Tomorrow, he would see her again. And every day thereafter if Mrs. Sinclair would permit it. The banns would be called. His bride would stand by his side and they would pledge themselves to each other. For she had chosen him. And he could want for nothing more.