Chapter Six

As Julian kissed her, he prayed Eleanor wouldn’t pull away or—worse—merely tolerate his touch like a statue. To his joy, she returned his kiss. The realization draped him with warmth from crown to toe. This kiss outranked their first from so long ago, like a captain outranked the lowliest cabin boy. This kiss burned brighter and hotter, eclipsing their first like the brightness of the sun eclipsed a weak candle.

It ended with both of them breathing shakily, unsure of what to say or do next. Julian wanted to yell with a cry of triumph, but one’s voice carrying over the vast waters of the ocean was quite a different thing from attempting the same within the echoing walls of one’s childhood home.

He leaned closer to Eleanor’s ear and whispered, “Shall we take a turn about the gardens?”

“Yes . . . please,” she said, then slipped an arm through his.

He placed his hand over hers, and together they left the ballroom and walked through the house until they reached a door leading to the gardens. After what felt like far too long, they found themselves alone along the manicured garden paths, colder than the last time, but not yet covered with snow. Their steps crunched gravel beneath their feet in what was otherwise a burning silence between them that waited to be broken.

As a gentleman, speaking first was his duty. But what to say? Eleanor had returned his kiss, but he could not assume that such a moment would necessarily mean she cared for him in the way he loved her or that she would ever want to leave her home at Willowsmeade, along with the life she’d created here with Henry’s family. No matter how eagerly she’d welcomed his kiss, it mightn’t have meant what he wished it to. If she yet loved him, why hadn’t she shown it before?

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Julian said, then mentally berated himself for sounding stiff and formal.

“I suppose I have,” Eleanor said in an even tone that left him at a loss to interpret her meaning.

“Are you . . . happy at Willowsmeade?” he ventured.

She glanced over warily, then looked away. “I am, yes. The Brunsons have been most generous, and I adore the children. The life of a governess isn’t one of permanence, so I’ve come to accept that my duties include saying goodbye to children when a certain time comes. That is the hardest part, I admit.”

“You aren’t anticipating parting from the Brunson children anytime soon, are you?” Julian worried he’d overstepped his bounds. “I, er, apologize for my presumption. I assumed your position here was of a permanent nature. Is it not?”

“This is the understanding with Mr. Brunson . . .”

“But?” Julian offered. When she didn’t answer, he stopped walking and faced her, taking her hands in his as he had in the ballroom.

She didn’t look up and instead studied their clasped hands. Oh, how he wanted her to lift her face and meet his eyes.

“Eleanor.”

“Mm?” Her gaze remained on their hands.

He stroked the back of one hand with his thumb. Such smooth, soft skin. “You have a home at Willowsmeade for as long as you wish. Henry has told me so. You needn’t work as a governess any longer. You needn’t say goodbye to Henry’s children.”

She nodded, making ringlets bob at the sides of her face. Her stubborn Brunson pride, inherited from her mother, kept from accepting supposed charity by not working for her keep, even though she could take her place as a family member at any time.

Eleanor swallowed hard as she listened, then said, “I am unsure what you expect me to say.” She seemed on the verge of adding a Mr. Stephens or Captain Stephens, and he was most grateful she left them off.

He tried again. “You have your future assured if you stay here. I know you have no need to seek a suitable match of your own. But . . .”

Her fingers grew cold, her grip stiffening. Before she could refuse him, he hurried to say his piece. “I’m only the son of a gardener, but I’ve raised my station to a naval captain. I am not and never will be a wealthy, landed gentleman. My life, and that of my wife-to-be, will not be as secure as Henry’s. Any woman who takes my hand in marriage will face a somewhat uncertain future. Odds of a comfortable existence are good, but not a grand life, not one such as Willowsmeade can provide.” Following this speech, which to his ears came from him in halting, awkward phrases, he paused and waited for her to reply. Surely she’d understand his intent.

He watched her fanned lashes blink once, twice, before she spoke. “Any woman should find herself fortunate to marry you.”

“Do you mean that in earnest?” Julian waited with bated breath.

“Of course, Captain St—”

He quickly pressed a finger to her lips to stop the name. “Please, don’t call me that.”

She closed her eyes and then slowly reached up and took his finger from her lips. She finally looked at him in a manner he could only describe as wary. “What would you have me say?” Her voice wobbled.

Julian curled his fingers about hers and narrowed the distance between them even more. “Say whether you love me still as you said in this very garden when we parted so long ago.” He pressed a kiss to her palm. “If your feelings have changed over the many years, please say so, and I will be the one to depart. You needn’t leave the children or your home. Say the word, and I will stay away, never to speak of this again. But you must know that my feelings have not changed except to grow stronger. I love you, Eleanor, as much as ever.”

“You do?” Her eyes closed tightly, and a tear fell, streaking down her right cheek. But the tear was followed by her lips slowly curling into a smile. Her eyes opened, and she gazed up at him, aglow with happiness.

He cupped her face in his hand and ran his thumb along her jawline. “I do,” he said insistently. “More than ever.”

Eleanor leaned in as he stroked her chin. “And I you. Always.”

Their second kiss of the day was better than the first. Julian felt as if he could fly, defeat Napoleon single-handedly, vanquish any enemy, all because Eleanor loved him still.

The kiss ended with several small ones, and then he rested his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes and breathed, then quietly, so as not to shatter the moment, said, “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“With all my heart.” Eleanor squeezed his hands, and he squeezed back, hoping to convey his joy through his touch. He opened his lips to speak, but a single word escaped her lips first, one that would have dashed his dreams, had it not been in the playful tone he knew from a lifetime of loving her: “However . . .”

The tone, as well as the fact that she’d just declared her reciprocal love, set at ease any worries Julian might have had. For that moment, they were not an aged bachelor and spinster, but people in love, with stars in their eyes, and perhaps a penchant for entering into mischief together, such as the time they put syrup in Henry’s boots.

“However what?” he asked, gazing into her eyes, certain he’d never tire of the sight.

“We’ll have to inform Henry that the dreadful ball is not necessary.”

Julian clucked his tongue. “Tragic, that.” He smiled, and the two of them broke into laughter. He drew her hand through the crook of his elbow and led her along the garden path back toward the house. “However . . .”

Upon hearing his repetition of her protest, she leveled a playful gaze at him from the corner of her eye. “However?”

“Before we inform Henry of our recent understanding, I believe we—that is to say, you and I—should return to the ballroom posthaste.”

“May I ask to what end? Do you plan to remove the decorations prior to having an audience with Henry?”

“No, nothing like that.” He paused in his step and gave her a knowing smile. “Our errand is much more practical—and necessary. You see, we must ensure the mistletoe is rendered useless.” He spoke in such a serious tone that a light chuckle escaped Eleanor, a sound that bore witness of the young spirit still within her.

She leaned in, pressed onto her toes, and kissed his cheek. Then she spoke, tickling his ear with her words. “That, my dear Julian, is a most excellent idea.”