The Lady Always Wins (8 page)

Another small town, five weeks later

T
ODAY WAS THE FIRST DAY
that Simon had seen Ginny in colors.

She stood almost fifteen feet in the air on a scaffold erected for the occasion, the full yellow skirts of her day gown rippling behind her in the breeze. One of the white ribbons that ringed her fitted sleeve had come untied; it flapped merrily in the wind, in cheery counterpoint to the murmur of the crowd.

Even from twenty feet away, she drew his eye. And it wasn’t just Simon who looked at her. The crowd was massed in the hundreds, and not a one of them was gawking at the steam engine that she was about to christen. They were all watching her.

And no wonder. The sun glinted off her dark hair, framed by her straw bonnet. The rays twinkled against the bottle of champagne that she held over her head. She smiled, and the entire throng seemed to hold its breath alongside Simon.

She was beautiful, lovely, charming, and the wealthy partial owner of the newest direct line to London.

And that was only what one could glean from the surface.

“I hereby declare this line open,” she said. She didn’t speak loudly, but her voice carried over the waiting masses. She smashed the bottle atop the train, and cheers washed over them. Behind them, the engineer gave a long blast of the whistle.

“God,” Andrew Fortas said beside Simon, with a shake of his head. “That woman.”

“That woman,” Simon agreed happily.

One of the many men who was nearby offered her a hand as she descended the scaffolding. No; not just
one
; four of them held out hands, practically falling over themselves to help her.

“Was that your idea or hers?” Fortas demanded.

Simon looked up. “The champagne was my idea. The rest of this was hers.”

“She’s a holy terror.”

This, Simon suspected, was as close to a compliment as Fortas would ever deliver.

“I know,” Simon said.

She had clambered down to the ground. He couldn’t see anything of her in the milling crowd—nothing except the bobbing silk flowers that adorned her bonnet. But he could mark her passage: The crowd grew dense around her, and people turned to look at her.

He almost felt sorry for the other men—thinking that Ginny was nothing more than a sweet, kind, lovely, wealthy woman. They didn’t know her strength. They didn’t know her stubbornness. And they certainly didn’t know how dangerous it could be when she smiled. By some obscene miracle, Simon had been given the power to make her smile.

He was never going to take it for granted again.

“She’s having you on,” Fortas grumbled. “It’s been weeks, now. How long are you going to have to court her?”

Finally, he caught a glimpse of her. Ten yards distant, but still surrounded by others.

“If I’m lucky,” Simon said, “the rest of my life. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

G
INNY COULD TELL
the instant that Simon joined the ring of admirers that surrounded her. He didn’t glower at the other men. He didn’t threaten them. He even greeted two of them by name and exchanged pleasantries. Nothing that he did signaled to the other men that he was in possession of her heart.

It was what she did. She could feel herself turn toward him like a lily seeking the sun, opening up in a broad smile.

He stood a few yards away, adjusting his cuffs. As he did so, the little diamond-eyed beetles winked at her, as if the sun were reflecting a secret between just the two of them.

“Well, Mr. Davenant,” Ginny said bravely. “You look tired. Never say the ceremony has worn you out.”

“Not the ceremony. I was up last night watching for a meteor shower.”

“There were meteors showering last night?” She unfolded her fan and waved it languidly across her face. “I heard of no such thing, and I read the astronomical section of the newspaper with regularity.”

The corner of his lip twitched. “You’ll notice I didn’t say I
saw
any meteors. I was given false information.”

And what deliciously false information it had been.
Come watch the meteor showers with me,
her note had said. He’d helped her clamber out of her hotel window, much the way he’d helped her escape her bedroom when they were younger. They’d laughed and he’d taken her up a hill, spread out a blanket for her, and they’d lain next to each other, joined only by their fingertips.

There had been no meteors. They’d not even seen a single shooting star. But he’d held her hand and told her jokes. As they lay in the warm night, she’d breathed out the last of her bitterness. They’d made mistakes. They’d hurt one another. But he was still the man she wanted to hold her hand in the dark of night.

“Entrapped by false reports of incoming asteroids,” Ginny said demurely. “How awful. I hope you hold the fellow who misled you accountable.”

He shrugged. “I hope I do, too. Now, would you be willing to come on a walk with me?” He held out his arm to her.

Only her fingertips touched his elbow. But there was no
only
to it. He was so warm; he drew her eye. He smiled. She smiled. The whole world could see them smiling at each other.

Well. Ginny curled her fingers into the crook of his arm. If the whole world could see them smiling, it could watch them leave together.

He waited until they’d left the crowd behind, until the cobblestone streets of Chapton had given way to a dusty tree-lined track, before he spoke.

“I’ve sold three of my railway lines,” he said.

“No! But why?”

He shrugged. “They’ve been a fabulous investment. They made me my money back one hundred to one. But anything that fabulous is inherently risky. I started thinking, what would happen if Parliament changed its mind about railways? What would happen if it were discovered that the steam engine had a fatal flaw? What if someone invents some way to transport goods more economically by…by, I don’t know, hot air balloons. All my money would be in trains. And then it would be gone.” He glanced at her. “I procured the buyers over the last few weeks. I put almost half of the proceeds into a tinned-goods manufacturer, and another half into the five percents.”

“The five percents.” She stopped and looked at him. “Why on earth did you do that?”

“Because I wanted you to know.” He set his finger under her chin and slowly, slowly tilted her face up. “When you marry me, I want you to know that your future is secure. Always. It’s what I should have offered you from the start: that if you give your heart into my keeping, I will never let you down.”

Ginny swallowed and leaned into the palm of his hand. It wasn’t just her cheek that he warmed; it was all of her, from head to toe. “We’ve both made mistakes.”

“I made a worse one,” he said baldly. “I was so fixed on how much I wanted you that I never stopped to ask myself what you wanted.”

“Surely, I could have—”

“Goddamn it, Ginny. Stop trying to make me feel better.” He touched his thumb to her nose. “Let me apologize to you as you deserve.” His fingers were tracing her face, as if he could pull the curve of her smile into the palm of his hand.

And then he let go of her and got down on his knees. “Ginny,” he said, “I love you. I have always loved you. By some miracle, you appear to…to not be indifferent to me. If you would trust me with your heart, I promise from this moment forward that I will do my best to deserve it.”

“I—”

He held up one hand. “No,” he said. “Don’t answer yet. There’s something I have to show you. Do you know why I wanted to hold the opening ceremony in Chapton?”

“Because it’s halfway between Castingham and London?”

“No. It’s because my parents own a house here. After my father sold the house in Chester-on-Woolsey, he purchased the one here. My father says he’ll give it to me as a wedding present, but first, he insists on meeting the bride. D’you see that iron gate just down the road?”

She hadn’t seen it until this moment. But there it was—set back amongst the trees. Now that he’d pointed it out, the black metal seemed to loom, dark and cold. He was taking her to see his parents. Even though they were adults, even though they had three fortunes between them at this point, that reminder brought back those days so long ago.

He stood and wiped the dust from his knees. “Don’t look so distressed. Four years ago, my father told me, ‘If I had known you were going to mope over her forever, I’d never have kept you apart.’”

Ginny swallowed. “And your mother?”

“She just bumped him in the arm and said, ‘I told you so.’ They want grandchildren.” He gave her a tight smile. “Besides, they manage to tolerate even me. Once they know you, they’ll adore you. You’ll see. I wouldn’t have asked you to come here if I believed you would be hurt.”

“I’m not scared,” Ginny said brashly.

“Of course you’re not.” He took her hand and swung it in the air. “Come. I have something to show you.”

A path led from the road, through the gate. It traveled over a little wooden bridge, past tuffets of sheep-cropped grass and a ragged copse of trees, before ending in a well-trimmed hedge.

She’d expected a formal garden. But once inside the hedge, she saw only beds of dirt alongside the path, dark and rich and newly turned.

Some twenty yards away was a good-sized cottage; two stories, with neat white shutters over the windows and morning glory climbing up to the eaves. Pink and yellow rosebuds peeked out from glossy green bushes planted near its walls—indications that once there had been gardens here. But all other vegetation had disappeared.

At least it had for the present. A white-haired man sat on a bench beside a trowel and a burlap sack.

“Good morning, Father,” Simon said.

The man turned, and his face creased into a smile. “Simon. You managed to convince her to come. Miss… well, it’s not Miss Barrett any longer, is it? Mrs. Croswell. I would offer you my hand, but…” He held up the trowel, and showed her his dirty gardening gloves. “I was just finishing pulling the last of the primroses.”

He was going to be her father-in-law. She would see him at holidays. It was best if they started off right.

“By the by, Mrs. Croswell,” the elder Mr. Davenant offered, “you can have no idea how terribly sorry I am for what I did. In my defense, I believed it was nothing more than calf-love.”

“From Simon?” Ginny smiled. “Surely you knew that even at nineteen, he was too bullheaded to be a mere calf.”

His eyes twinkled at her. “I was still hoping, back then, that he’d grow past that. If I had known how difficult he would prove to be, I would have shoved him at you straight away and wished you well of him. But then, England wouldn’t have had its finest railways constructed, so I suppose it’s all for the best.”

Their eyes met. They shared a tentative smile. And in that moment, Ginny knew it was going to be well. They could be friends. They could share in a teasing affection.

“What are you planting?”

“Oh, these?” He looked down at the burlap sack. “Well, Simon. You’d better be the one to explain, as you won’t let me help.”

Simon upended the sack and wordlessly let its contents spill across the path. Ginny would have known those smooth, papery roots anywhere. It felt as if a giant fist closed gentle fingers around her heart.

“Tulip bulbs?” she asked.

“There are three more sacks in the carriage house, and what I had to do to find this many bulbs in early summer…” He gave her an easy smile, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. “I’ve been planting them, these last days.”

She took a breath, but her lungs couldn’t quite seem to contract properly.

He picked up a bulb. “You told me that the tulips at Barrett’s Folly made you think of madness—of money tossed away without thought for the future.”

His voice had grown a touch raspy. She turned to him.

“I was hoping that when you saw these, you would have different memories.” He took her hands in his. “I’m not done with it yet. But I planted every bulb with my own hands. And with every one, I make a promise. I promise that from here on forward, I will guard you from your darkest fears. I will keep you safe. I will hold you dear to me.”

Her eyes stung, and Ginny found herself blinking rapidly.

“You were right,” he said. “The lady always wins.”

“The lady,” Ginny said, reaching out to him, “can share.”

He took her hand. “I know. That’s why you should always win. Ginny, will you marry me?”

The tulip bulbs were strewn around them. Their hands were connected over fertile soil, rife with promise.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. A million times yes.”

Epilogue