Page 658 of From Rakes to Riches

“Everything,” Penelope said, even though so many things had gone perfectly with Beech—they had shared a true affinity. “But I suppose I didn’t have the courage to stay.”

Didn’t have the courage to watch Beech make the choice she knew he must.

“My dear girl.” Aunt Sarah came to take Penelope’s face in her frail arthritic hands. “If you love him, you must face your fears. You must go to him.”

Penelope felt fresh tears sting her eyes. “What if it’s too late? What if he’s been persuaded he no longer wants me?”

“Oh, well.” Her aunt waved her hand as if she were waving a wand and could keep such terrible things from happening. “Then you will come back to me, and we will drink tea with more brandy than is advisable, and we will cry, and we will rub along together as comfortable and consoling as two old house cats, with no one but ourselves the wiser. And in the spring, when the weather turns, we shall travel.” Aunt Sarah patted her hand. “I’ve always wanted to see Venice.”

Penelope felt heat pool behind her eyes at such a generous idea. “So have I.”

“Good.” Aunt Sarah patted her cheek. “Then make that duke of yours take you.”

Penelope could no longer keep the tears from falling. “I’m not sure I know how.”

“Sweet girl,” Aunt Sarah scoffed. “You have but to smile.”

Penelope found her mouth curving obediently. “You make it seem so simple.”

“It is,” Aunt Sarah, insisted. “Go to him. Tomorrow, after you’ve had a good night’s sleep and washed those tears from your eyes. And wear a crimson cloak.”

Aunt Sarah beamed at Penelope, all cat in cream. “You’ll look ravishing against the snow.”

But in the morning,Penelope did not go to him.

Because he came to her.

Somehow, someway, he had found her—the ducal carriage jangled in the frosty lane, and Beech himself was striding purposefully across the narrow bridge to the house, his boots kicking up snow as he came.

And then he was there, bending his tall form to fit in the low-ceilinged house. Staring at her. Looking in wonder and not accusation.

Looking in love.

Lord, but they grew them fine, these Beecham boys. He was impossibly handsome, made neat and tidy by her shears. Or at least made neater and tidier—there was no ridding him of his devilishly piratical seafaring air.

“Good Lord, Beech,” she said because she didn’t know quite what else to say. “I do hope you’ve come to marry me.”

Despite her best effort at wry nonchalance, her voice quavered and cracked with the unspoken question—would he have her? Had she left it too late?

But Beech was as honest and loyal and steadfast as they came.

“I have.” He let out a deep exhalation. “Let us do so at once.”

Penelope smiled. “Right now? Surely I’m meant to at least offer you a hot dish of tea first?”

“The only warmth I need is you.” He patted his coat as he stepped nearer. “I have used the hours since you left me wisely—I have that marriage license I boasted I would procure.”

Relief, gratitude and sheer unadulterated love made her giddy.

“You’re sure? Your mother?—”

“I won’t be persuaded against you, Pease. Not now. Not ever.”

“You really are the bravest man, Beech. Well then.” She held out her hand to him.

He reached for her as if it had been a burden not to touch her. Not to place a kiss upon the back of her hand. Not to show her how relieved and pleased and grateful he was, too.

“Thank you, my darling girl.”

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