He had thought he had lost her.

For two weeks, James had fought mounting impatience at the silence that came from the household of the Duke of York. And while he had respected their request that he keep a quiet distance while Helena recovered from the tragedy, he finally reached a point where he could not bear the separation any longer.

But when he rode to the house, he found it shuttered and empty. The only evidence of the tragedy was the broken upstairs window boarded over and awaiting repairs, giving the house a desolate and maudlin air.

It seemed a message of sorts, that they would leave like this without sending word to let him know they were going. He returned home silent and depressed.

Time passed. The only thing that came was a package, addressed to Lucy. Within it was a fortune in trinkets and treasures. From what they could ascertain, near every pound that had been given to Phoebe over the years had been accounted for and sent back. It might not have restored his fortune, for his business partner had stolen much more from him, but it was enough to finance his own ship without any help at all.

Only he no longer had any desire to do so.

“Do you not think, Your Grace, that ’tis high time you visited Barrington estate and settled this matter once and for all?” Lucy asked from the chair where she sat knitting in the sun. Since her fall and their excursion into the storm, she had been quieter. She no longer drifted from job to job within the manor but stayed near to him with a sort of quiet contentment that was entirely unlike the old her.

To be fair, the servants no longer knew what to do with Lucy. Her true status as the Duke’s mother had somehow been found out, and she was no longer welcome below stairs with the servants. But she had not found any contentment in acting as the Lady of the manor and had in fact made rather a point not to pick up that role.

“There is someone better suited to the task than me,” she’d said when James had asked her about it. “When you fetch home your bride, then you will have a Duchess within the manor. Not before.”

But no longer was she content to watch him wander restlessly through the manor. The snow was melting, and winter had finally loosened its grip upon the countryside. With spring came new beginnings. She told him this in no uncertain terms.

There was little James could do to argue that. Maybe because he too was impatient to resolve this. And also, because he sorely missed one very feisty young lady who had won his heart.

The ride to their country estate took most of the morning. When he arrived, he paused for a moment on a hillside before following the long winding road to her door. From here he saw her long before she saw him. She stood at the edge of a garden, walking with Bridget. It was all he could do to not urge the horse into a fast gallop just to reach Helena’s side all the faster.

Instead, he rode sedately, drinking in her trim appearance. When she finally noticed him, she froze in place, one hand going to her bonnet, as though to pull it closer around herself, the way she had done with her cloak. She still hides her face from the world.

Then she surprised him, by removing the hat completely as he approached. She met him bareheaded that he might see the glorious perfection of her skin.

“You finally came,” she said softly as he reached her.

“I could no longer stay away.”

He dismounted as if in a dream. At that moment the world faded from his sense. Bridget might as well have disappeared completely. The horse was forgotten. Helena became his world.

“My Lady,” he said as he reached her. “I was rather hoping that I might do you the honor of courting you, with the intent to marry. With your father’s permission, of course.”

It was a bold speech especially given they had not even greeted each other properly yet. He held his breath, waiting for her response.

She glanced down at the brooch that pinned the long shawl she wore against the chill air. “I should think that would take at least five such visits. Maybe six,” she said. A gentle smile touched her lips as she tied her bonnet back primly upon her head.

“Four I should think. Maybe three. Yes, no more than three,” he countered, smiling as well.

“Maybe two,” she whispered, as he stepped close, and took her hand in his.

“One should be more than enough,” he replied, lifting that gloved hand to his lips so that he might place a kiss upon the back of it.

“At least TEN!” came the shout from the house. Harcourt Barrington, the Duke of York, stepped outside to regard them with wry amusement. “And you will take my bloody ship if I have to shove it down your gullet myself.”

James looked at Helena. Helena looked at James. “Ten,” they said in perfect unison. Then because he could wait no longer, he bent and kissed her, capturing her lips with his own, placing his seal, his promise upon her in a way that there could be no question regarding his intent.