“To everything,” she said. “I want it all. A home, a family, the perfumery, and the sea. And I want it with you, Alex. I want it all with you.”

Alex pressed his cheek to her hair. His voice, when it came, was a husky promise. “Then you shall have it, my love.”

Epiogue

North Devon, England

December, 1860

The train platform at Abbot’s Holcombe was bustling with activity. Gentlemen in heavy greatcoats and ladies in cloaks and bonnets rushed up and down, calling for porters and for hansom cabs. It was raining out and everyone seemed in a terrible hurry, shoving past each other to climb into their carriages or to take shelter in the refreshment room.

Alex didn’t blame them. The wind was whistling through the station, cold as ice. His own woolen topcoat and leather gloves provided precious little protection against the chill.

He handed Laura out of their first-class compartment. She was bundled up in a dark blue coat that nipped in at her waist before flaring down over her wide skirts. Her raven hair was bound in a corded net with a velvet ribbon run through it. Alex had watched her style it earlier that morning at their hotel. Had pressed a lingering kiss to the nape of her neck as he’d helped her tie the ribbon.

She took his arm. “How are you?”

“Very well.” He covered her gloved hand with his. It was the truth. On disembarking from the train, he’d had no visceral reaction. No disturbing flood of memory. “It’s nothing like I remember.”

“It’s been two decades. I daresay it’s changed a little.”

“More than a little. None of this was here when I was a boy. No railway station. Not even a platform halt. Abbot’s Holcombe was much humbler, then.”

“Tom said that it’s become a fashionable resort town. But one wouldn’t think it would be so busy at this time of year.” She looked about them as they made their way through the crowd. “Not in this weather.”

“It always rains in Devon,” he said. That was something that hadn’t changed at all. The dampness. The cold. The sound of raindrops drumming on the roof. He scanned the platform. “Tom should be here. He’s not the sort to be late.”

The Finchleys had left Grasse at the end of September. Before they’d gone, Tom had extracted a promise from Alex. A commitment to come to Devon for Christmas. To reunite with Justin and Neville.