They lay sated and entwined as their heartbeats gradually slowed. The details of the room came back into focus—the candlelight, the cool air, and the scent of potpourri.
“So I accept,” Jean said.
“Accept what?” he asked lazily.
“Your offer.”
He rose on one elbow to look down at her.
“I assume it’s still good.”
He thought of teasing her, but he was too distracted by delight. “Absolutely.”
“You might say it again. Bits of it were a little…slipshod.”
“Shall I kneel?” He would have hung from the canopy and sung the words in verse if she wished it.
They both peered over the edge of the great bed. “It’s rather high,” Jean said.
“I’m not certain my head would reach the top of the bedding.”
“I’d have to bend over to see you. Not the picture of a proposal one wants to remember.”
“So I’m all right where I am?”
Jean nestled against him. “Perfectly.”
“And will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
“Yes,” she said.
He could hardly believe it. But there’d been no trace of doubt in her voice.
“I won’t promise to obey you though,” Jean added.
“I wouldn’t believe you if you did.”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Are you saying I would break my word?”
“I’m saying that you should not be subjected to the dilemma. We will omit the word ‘obey’ from the ceremony.”
“If the parson will let us.”
“I’ll find one who will.”
“You are quite wonderful, aren’t you?”
“I’ll try to make certain you always think so.”
Jean settled more closely in the crook of his arm. “But we mustn’t think each other perfection. Mrs. Thorpe says that’s infatuation, not love.”
Benjamin couldn’t resist. “A sage as well as an actress, is she?”
His new fiancée made a face at him.
“Something to watch out for,” he went on. “I’m well aware that you’re not perfect, however.”
“Are you indeed?” Jean pretended indignation, but she was far too happy to be convincing.