“Oh, sure, laugh all you want,” she said, but she smiled back at him. “All right. First, Rose is gone. I don’t fully understand it, but I … I think she’s at rest now.” When he opened his mouth to respond she put her finger up to it, silencing him.

“Second,” she said, clearing her throat, “I … I was wrong, Sam. I was so damnably wrong about us.” She looked down, as if collecting her thoughts, and the beginnings of hope stirred inside his chest. “You were right. I was terrified, of you, of us, of losing you. Of hurting you somehow, like Alain hurt me.” She paused, her straight, dark eyebrows compressed in thought.

“I don’t fully understand that, either,” she said carefully. “But it wasn’t about not trusting you. It was about not trusting myself.”

“Alva—”

“You’ll have plenty of time to talk in a minute,” she said. “I’m trying to apologize here. The point is, I’m sorry. And I hope you’ll have me back, but if you don’t—” She swallowed, taking a deep, steadying breath. “If you don’t, I’ll understand.”

She rushed on before he could interject. “Third, and this is a sort of branching third, you understand, an if/then third, if you will take me back, we should get married. But we might have to wait a few weeks, because fourth, good lord my ankle hurts, which leads me to believe I’ve broken or sprained it or something, which means I won’t very well be able to walk up an aisle.”

There was a silence while Sam stared down at her and tried to understand exactly how much his life had just changed. It was only when she grew tense in his arms that he remembered to speak.

“Nonsense,” he said. “I’ll carry you.”

She jerked her head up to look at him, and time hung between them for several heartbeats as he waited for her to understand. Finally, she smiled, a beautiful, perfect, happy smile, and he knew, in that moment, he’d be able to see her smile at him for the rest of his life.

“That’s settled, then,” she said, her tone businesslike but her eyes beaming through tears. “Although you really are mad if you think I’m going to be hauled up a wedding aisle like a sack of flour. You’ll simply have to wait a few weeks. It’s not as though I’m going to deny you my bedchamber, and the servants will overlook the scandal so long as we’re engaged … or once they hear the man in my bed is the famous Professor Samuel Moore.”

Before Sam could laugh, there was a mild throat-clearing noise, and Sam remembered Henry was sitting only a few feet away. Alva looked over in surprise and, much to Sam’s delight, blushed.