“You look lovely,” Mama said.

“Only my best dress was available,” Charlotte said.

“Indeed?” Mama asked blithely. “Oh, I did forget. Flora is doing the washing?”

“Not all my clothes needed washing.”

“Oh, indeed?”

“They were in the wardrobe. But now they’re gone.” Charlotte narrowed her eyes.

“How very curious,” Mama said. “Oh, well. I suppose there must be an explanation. Perhaps Mayfair has been beset by clothes thieves.”

“A good clothes thief would take my best dress,” Charlotte said.

“A good thief would take jewels. We are hardly dealing with the very best.”

“I doubt we are dealing with thieves at all.”

“Don’t be too certain.”

Charlotte frowned. Mama seemed to be acting most suspiciously.

“Are you going to the park now?” Mama asked.

“I always do at this time,” Charlotte said.

“Yes,” Mama beamed. “Dearest, let me come with you.”

“You want to ride the cart with me?”

“Of course, dear.”

“You’ve never gone with me before.”

“That was when I was young and foolish, dearest.”

“I haven’t been gone that long,” Charlotte muttered.

Mama gave a broad smile and glanced at her husband. “Remember not to spend too much time with Hegel today.”

Papa turned the page of his book absentmindedly, as if he weren’t even reading it, and his eyes sparkled.

Mama squeezed into the cart with Charlotte and Georgiana, and they left for Hyde Park. Soon Charlotte guided the horses onto Rotten Row.

Rapid horse hooves sounded behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see a curricle rapidly approaching.

Charlotte tightened her hands about the reins and directed the horses off the gravel and tan bridle path toward the wooden fencing that separated the path from the public walkways as the curricle rushed her.

Who was disturbing her quiet day?

“That man is driving too quickly,” she murmured.

“As if he desires to crash into us,” Mama said, for some reason smiling.

Charlotte stiffened, remembering the last time a man had crashed into their coach.

It couldn’t be him.

He was probably at some house party in Sussex, admiring the ocean with a bevy of elegant, sophisticated women. It would be ridiculous to glance back at the curricle, as if the driver desired to get her attention. She knew better.

And yet...

The horses from the curricle still trotted closely behind her own.

“Charlotte! Charlotte!” A distinctive male voice shouted behind her.

It couldn’t be him.

Most likely she’d simply heard the murmurings of the wind through the trees. She remembered the sound of his voice so well—it was no wonder it was going through her head now. What other men did she know besides him?

“Perhaps we’ll be run over,” Mama said.

“Once there’s a clearing, I will pull the cart over. We’re not going to get run over, no matter how fast that driver behind us drives.”

“What a good idea,” Mama said.

“Oh, indeed,” Georgiana said, equally unconcerned about the curricle chasing them.

Charlotte spotted a clearing and directed the horses to pull over. The whole thing was unnecessary. Why had the curricle followed so closely behind her? At least now the carriage could pass her, and she would no longer think of Callum.

Wheels and horse hooves sounded behind her, and she turned.

Shiny blond hair gleamed in the sunshine, adorned with a glossy top hat.

Callum.

The man wore a suit that would have rivalled anything in Beau Brummel’s closet. His clothes weren’t wrinkled, and no one could mistake him for anything else but a duke. He radiated handsomeness, and for a moment Charlotte’s heart stopped.

How could she have married him? How could she have imagined a man like him had anything to do with her?

“Charlotte,” he said.

His voice sounded husky, and he stared into her eyes.

“Oh, my.” Mama fanned herself.

Charlotte swallowed hard.

“I’m happy to have found you,” Callum said.

“Of course,” Charlotte said.

He raised his eyebrows.

“I mean, you’re speaking to me...” Her voice wobbled, and she had the impression she might have said the wrong thing again. Her chest tightened. How was she supposed to think when she was with him? Her eyes only wanted to look at him, to feast in the attractive planes of his face and the way he wore a suit so nicely.

“I am happy to see you,” he said reassuringly.

“Your voice is like velvet,” she said.

The man’s lips twitched, and she flushed.

“You’re distracting me,” she said reproachfully.

He didn’t laugh, but his eyes were still kind. He hopped up from his curricle.

“May I join you?” he asked.

She nodded, conscious her fingers were trembling. She moved them hastily away and folded them onto her lap.

He abandoned his curricle and approached her.

Mama cleared her throat. “You know I’ve always wanted to be in a curricle. Haven’t you, Georgiana?”

“Oh, indeed,” Georgiana said, grinning. “I want to see how a curricle works too.”

“Georgiana. You should stay...”

“Nonsense,” Mama said. “These reins look quite intriguing. I wonder if driving a curricle is just like driving a cart.”

“But you never drive a cart, Mama,” Charlotte said.

Georgiana walked hastily to the curricle, and this time Charlotte did not protest. Hopefully her sister would prevent Mama from injuring herself.

The curricle moved. “I got it to work,” Mama said triumphantly.

“Splendid,” Callum said.

For some reason the duke didn’t seem concerned about Mama and Georgiana driving off with his curricle. If something was making him nervous, it wasn’t that.

“Let me sit beside you.” He climbed into the cart and took the reins, urging the horses into a trot.

“Where are you taking me?” she gasped.

“We’ve never been to Jersey yet,” he murmured.

“Jersey?” Her mouth fell open.

“In the Channel Islands,” he said, and the horses began to canter.

“You don’t need to explain geography to me.” She crossed her arms and looked sternly at him, even though all her instincts were telling her to hold onto the edge of the cart with all her might. The world swerved about her, a flurry of bright colors. The air brushed against her.

“Perhaps we won’t visit Jersey,” he admitted.

“Good,” she murmured, conscious of a prickle of disappointment. She pushed the feeling away.

It was good if he was becoming more sensible.

Perhaps he had only wanted to see her to assure her she’d been correct to leave him, and that he was indulging in his normal life of roguish glee with such enthusiasm he felt compelled to speak with her now, lest next time he find himself in a drunken haze and could not recognize her.

She straightened and smoothed her dress. She wanted him to be happy. That was all. It was what the man undoubtedly deserved.

“You seem well. I’m glad,” she said matter-of-factly, doing her best to quell any lingering thought that he need not seem openly joyful.

Usually she found it quite pleasant to be correct and derived much satisfaction from solving mathematical equations, but in this case, it did not seem absolutely necessary for the man to display his joy quite so fully.

He reached over and squeezed her hand. Her nerves tingled, but she valiantly raised her chin.

“I’m sure that’s not appropriate.”

“It’s utterly appropriate,” he said smoothly. “You are my wife. And you love me.”

Her cheeks flamed. “I said that in a moment of weakness.”

“Are you saying it’s not true?”

She was silent.

“It’s fine,” he said, more calmly now. “You see the thing is, I love you.”

She blinked. He was supposed to declare that she was correct and that he was thankful to her for restoring his life to him.

“You needn’t be so surprised,” he said. “I remember telling you before.”

She swallowed hard, and her heart thudded.

“That was under the influence of the storm. Emotions can become heightened in moments of extreme anxiety. It would be wrong to hold yourself to the sudden whims of a moment of terror.”

“That is quite nice of you, but I assure you I have no problem being beholden to those emotions.

The cart moved swiftly through the park. Great trees soared above them, and sunbeams cast golden light through the leaves, so the ground seemed to sparkle.

Charlotte inhaled the woodsy scent. Callum made everything more magical.

I never want to leave.

Soon though rows of buildings stood majestically before them.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

“You must tell me.”

“St. George’s.”

It can’t be.

“You have a sudden urge to be religious?”

This wasn’t Sunday. There would be no service. And St. George’s was the most fashionable church for weddings. It was, of course, where they had originally planned to marry.

The cart moved onto the cobblestones, and the wheels rumbled against the uneven ground. They were thrust into a whirl of gray stone buildings, albeit with elaborate facades, and Callum slowed the curricle as traffic filled the street.

Charlotte had avoided this section of London. The last time she’d been here had been riding in a carriage with her family, on the way to her wedding at St. George’s. Her heart tightened.

“Is someone we know getting married?” she asked feebly.

His eyes glinted again, filled with humor. “Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me more?”

“I thought you were quite good at figuring out puzzles. I’m sure you’ve worked it out.”

Her heart thudded again.

Our wedding.

She didn’t want to utter it. She didn’t want to be wrong. She didn’t want to admit to herself that—

She tried to force the feelings away.

The cart moved into St. George’s Square, and the familiar columned church rose before them. Children were outside, armed with rose petals.

Everyone seemed to be smiling.

Some people she recognized, members of the ton. Louisa Carmichael was there, and her family.

“My dear Charlotte,” Callum said. “Will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She blinked. “We’re already married.”

He grinned. “Precisely.” He leaned toward her, and his scent sent a wave of yearning through her body, and she remembered their closeness on the ship, before their whole world collapsed about them. “Still, I thought you might value my declarations more if all of our friends and family attended.”

She moved her gaze toward the church. “They’re all inside?”

He shrugged. “It’s quite full. I’m afraid some of the patrons from my club also insisted on coming.”

“And you kept it a secret?”

“Your mother kept it a secret.” Callum squeezed her hand. “Now please say yes.”

“But your life... Your future...”

“...Is better with you in it,” Callum said, his voice serious. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“B-but you could have anyone,” she stammered. “You’re a duke. I’m sure you could convince the archbishop to give you an annulment, and there must be many women willing to overlook our previous marriage.”

His lips quirked. “Though I’m happy at your belief in the strength of my powers of persuasion and charm, I don’t want anyone else except about you. You make me see the world in a new way. You are perfect.”

Charlotte’s heart quivered.

“That doctor may have made a clerical error, but it was the very best thing he could have done, for he brought us together.” Callum moved from the cart and offered her his hand. “The wedding guests are waiting.”

Charlotte was silent, still taken aback.

“You will say yes?” Callum’s voice wobbled, and his eyes seemed to grow rounder. “If you don’t desire to marry me after all—” His voice broke up, and he swallowed hard. “I’ve missed you so much. But if you have found the distance between us pleasant—”

“N-no.” Charlotte stammered. She couldn’t let him think she didn’t adore him.

“I love you. I love you more than anything.” Callum raised his chin obstinately, as if willing her to argue. It seemed easy to imagine his ancestors bravely battling. All that was missing was shining armor, though the sun glinted over his tailcoat and waistcoat with such force even that was easy to envision.

Charlotte took his hand and looked at him. Of course I love him.

She’d whispered the words to him in the dark, but now she inhaled and uttered them aloud. Her heart trembled, conscious the words would change everything.

There’d been safety perhaps in being a bluestocking. Safety in assuming a duke would never desire to marry her. Safety in withdrawing herself from the competitive nature of other debutantes. Because some people criticized her habit of immersing herself in books, she’d assumed everyone would.

“I-I love you too. I—”

He pulled her into his arms, sweeping her easily from the cart.

“Wonderful,” he said, and his lips spread into that familiar grin.

“I don’t think it’s proper to hold me like this.”

Callum leaned toward. “Good thing you’re already married.”

He strode up the steps with her, still carrying her in his arms.

Children giggled and threw petals at them, and Charlotte inhaled their fragrant floral scent. How had she ever imagined weddings were not the most wonderful thing in the world? She strode beside him up the steps. The distance to the portico was slight, but she indulged in each movement.

She wasn’t dying.

She was healthy and would live longer.

But now she knew to cherish each movement.

Callum pushed open the door to the church. For one moment, she stiffened. The church was so full, so entirely unlike their hasty elopement in Guernsey and even entirely unlike the small, intimate wedding they’d planned here once before.

“But I could have said no,” she whispered. “You would have been humiliated.”

“That wouldn’t compare to the pain of losing you,” he said.

“What compelled you?”

“I may have run into Lady Isla,” he admitted. “She was upset you didn’t say you would no longer be called a duchess.”

Charlotte smiled, conscious of the feel of Callum’s arms about her.

The last time they’d been here the doors to the church had been locked, but now they opened easily.

“Ready?” Callum asked.

“For the rest of my life,” Charlotte breathed.

Music started to play, and joy filled her. The day might be gray, an uncomfortable brisk breeze might be blowing, but it was still wonderful.