“That can hardly come as any great surprise, considering. Lord knows I’ve been making a fool of myself over you since the moment we met.”

“The same is most definitely true for me.”

“Really?”

In four steps, he reached her and cradled her jaw in his hands, his forehead pressed to hers. “There’s no one else for me but you, Alice. And I swear, I will dedicate myself every day to making you happy. I’ll buy you a restaurant, if you wish.”

“You would let your wife be a restaurateur?”

“Of course. I won’t ever stop you from doing what you love. Did you think I wanted a proper society wife? You would hate it and so would I.”

“Yes, but I’m worried . . .” Emotions and thoughts tangled in her mind like strands of spaghetti. How could she put this into words?

He searched her gaze. “You are worried, what?”

“That I won’t be enough. That you’ll soon realize your mistake but it will be too late.”

“You think I am lying to you.”

“No, I think you are . . . overcome. By Forrest’s death, by the article, by Lockwood. I don’t wish to make any rash decisions regarding my future—or yours.”

“I see.”

He dropped his hands and stepped back. Her stomach plummeted to the carpet, until he grinned. “You wish for proof. I must prove to you that I am serious about marrying you. That I won’t change my mind in a day or two.”

“I don’t want you to regret this. After you’ve had time to think about it, you’ll see that it would never work between us.”

“You’re wrong, but challenge accepted.” He bowed with a flourish. “Until tomorrow, Miss Lusk.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The massive French-style mansion sat on the corner of Commonwealth Avenue in the heart of Boston’s exclusive Back Bay neighborhood. The mansard roof was dotted with chimneys, and large windows overlooked the thoroughfare. There were more than fifty rooms, complete with secret passages, and skylights designed by John La Farge. Alice loved every square inch of her family home, had explored each nook and cranny while growing up here.

As she exited the carriage, however, the sight brought her no sense of comfort. This world was no longer hers. She would need to leave—and not to her own home with a husband. But to a different life, most likely in Europe, away from the gossip and her mother.

Mama hadn’t spoken one word to Alice today. They missed the early train and had breakfasted separately at the hotel in New York. At least it had given Alice the chance to say goodbye to Angelo and the other hotel staff members she had grown fond of.