Page 124 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
She looked to the east. “My ancestors are buried in that churchyard—you’re offering to allow me to re-establish my roots.”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
She glanced his way, then smiled a rather secretive smile and grasped his hand. “Come with me.”
Izzy’s heart was thudding as she led Gray through the house, out of the front door, and along the side of the front lawn to where hedges protected the old knot garden.
It was overgrown and in dire need of tending.
Undeterred, she drew him toward the circular central bed. “This is the place, above all others at the Grange, that was my favorite. Not just because of the glorious scents in spring and summer but also the cooing of the doves and the soft sounds of the river.”
She cast him a smiling glance. “I used to spend hours here with my grandmother and Mama. Even when my siblings were born, for some reason, they rarely came here. It became my special place.”
They reached the raised central bed, and she halted and faced him. “Years ago, I had a vision of my future that I cherish to this day—of me, here, with my own granddaughter, teaching her the names of the plants and how best to make them grow.”
She met and held his gaze. “When we were forced to sell the house, I thought that dream was dead and gone. Now you…” She held her arms out to her sides and, laughing, unable to keep the beaming smile from her face, whirled in a circle. “You’ve brought me here, and you’re offering me this, and giving me back my dream. You’re set on making it possible. And yes, I can see how our lives will fit together, how we can meld our individual lives into a single, solid reality.”
Stilling, she looked into his amber eyes and, surrendering to impulse, grasped his hands, one in each of hers, and with her eyes locked on his, asked, “Grayson Child, will you please do me the honor of asking me to marry you?”
Gray threw back his head and laughed. Then he looked at her and, smiling unrestrainedly, freed one hand, hunted in his pocket, then went down on one knee. Looking up at her, his expression open and, like hers, filled with joy, he asked, “Isadora Descartes, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
He drank in her expression of untrammeled happiness and couldn’t resist adding, “I’ve waited ten years to say those words.”
Her smile deepened. “And I’ve waited ten years to say yes!”
She tugged at his shoulders, and he rose and opened the jeweler’s box he held. “I saw this and thought it would be perfect for you. I hope it fits.”
Her eyes lit as she plucked the ring, with its marquise-set emerald surrounded by smaller diamonds, from its velvet bed.
He took it from her fingers and, when she offered her hand, slid the ring onto her third finger.
Izzy raised her hand and admired the ring. “It’s fabulous, Gray. And it fits.”
“Just as we do.” He closed his hand about hers, slid his arm around her waist, and drew her to him. “And this is something else I’ve been waiting ten years to do—to kiss Lady Isadora Child-to-be.”
He suited the action to the words, and she met him with unfettered joy in her heart.
Heady strands of passion and desire wound about them, and they clung to the exchange, eager and glorying, as a lifetime of promise opened before them.
How long they stood there, locked in each other’s arms, exploring the connection that now bloomed bright as any star, neither could have said, yet eventually, both drew back, laughing softly, breathless as they leant their foreheads against each other’s and fought to find some semblance of balance.
“Sadly,” Gray said, once he could speak, “this is neither the place nor the time. That seems to have been a recurring theme over this past week.”
Izzy sighed and raised her head; when her gaze met his, her eyes were the deepest emerald he’d ever seen. “I don’t understand why, after waiting ten years, it seems so hard to wait a few more weeks.” She glanced toward the house. “Nevertheless, between us, I’m certain we’ll ensure that our wait will be worth it.”
He laughed and took her hand, and they walked out of the knot garden and onto the lawn.
They halted directly before the house. Izzy stood in front of Gray and leant back against his chest, and with his arms wrapped around her, they gazed on the place they would make their home and, in whispers and murmurs, shared their hopes and dreams.
Saturday, February 14
They were married in St. Peter’s Church, the local village church that lay beyond the grange orchard, the same church that, for centuries, had seen Izzy’s ancestors from birth to grave. The minister, a longtime local who remembered the Descartes family, had been beyond delighted to be asked to officiate at a wedding that would bring the well-regarded ladies back to their ancestral home.
It was too early in the year for blossom, but throughout the orchard, Christmas roses spread like a carpet, raising their white, pink, magenta, and crimson heads to wave in the light breeze as Izzy, attended by Marietta, her brother Julius, and her mother, walked from the house, across the old orchard, past the lily pond, and on through a small gate to the church.
The crisp, clear air lent the scene an almost-magical quality, something the select gathering of guests invited to witness the nuptials of Lord Grayson Child and Lady Isadora Descartes had already noted.
As Izzy walked confidently beneath the stone pillars that formed the church’s porch, the sun broke through the light clouds to beam down in unexpected blessing.
