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Peregrine stilled. He looked down at her, as if he was afraid of making any kind of movement.

“I love you, Peregrine,” Rosamund cried. “I want you. It may not make sense that I do when you are infurating, charming, arrogant, funny, flawed, and occasionally impossible!”

“Does this declaration improve at any -?”

“Be quiet,” Rosamund interrupted. “I am not yet finished. But know this: I choose you.”

It was at that moment that Peregrine lost his composure. He reached for her, pulling her by the waist and claimed her mouth with a kiss. The kiss was full of relief and happiness, as if every heavy burden had been lifted and they could simply be filled in lightness. She held him close to her, her fingers treaded into his soft, dark hair, while he embraded her tightly. It was surrender. Yes, this was what surrender felt like. And love.

When they finally were apart, catching their breath, Peregrnine searched her eyes with his blue-gray ones.

“Are you certain?” he asked.

“If you asked me again, I may reconsider out of pure annoyance,” she warned teasingly.

A familiar rumble of laughter erupted from his chest. She realized just how much she missed it. Then, he leaned down to kiss her again. This time, the kiss was softer. It lingered on her lips.

When he pulled back, he straightened himself. His expression became serious. Noble. A part of her panicked a little.

“Now, that we have established our mutual affection, I shall return to Westbourne. We will then begin a formal courtship. I will write you letters, asking permission to call on you every fortnight.”

“Are you telling me that you truly intend to spend the next six months standing politely in my drawing room pretending we have not already kissed…a few times?”

“I am prepared to suffer heroically,” he said, although there was a hint of that old mischief in his voice.

“Well, I am not,” Rosamund insisted. “Do you at least have a proposal prepared?”

“I - I did,” Peregrine stammered, flushing slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wrote one before things went wrong, well, when you discovered how wrong things were.”

“I should like to hear it,” she said stubbornly, tapping her right foot while crossing her arms.

“Absolutely not,” Peregrine protested, raising both hands. “Apparently, it was written by an arrogant idiot.”

“I have met him,” she teased. “He was insufferable, but I doubt he is an idiot.”

Then, there it was again. He laughed. The sound was so rich and full, and made her smile.

“But I know another way to do it, he said solemnly, taking one of her hands. “I cannot promise never to be wrong again because I am fallible. I cannot promise to never annoy you because that it is statistically impossible. But I can promise not to confuse loving you with deciding for you. I am relinquising that type of control. I will you the full truth even if it shows me in a bad light. I will listen even when you disagree and aruge with me. And - and through it all, if you will have me, I should like to spend the rest of my life being challenged, contradicted, interrupted, and occasionally trespassed upon by. As long as it is with you and by you.”

Rosamnd looked at him, her heart full of love and certainty.

“Yes,” she said. Then, her serious tone took on a teasing note as she offered him a wicked smile. “I must say, Ashbourne’s western meadow belongs to me now. Therefore, technically, I can pass by there without trespassing.

Peregrine gasped comically as he declared, mock solemnly, “This is the greatest tragedy of the affair.”

Then, he pulled her into an embrace once more and kissed her again.

If ever there was a scandal anyone would ever call the happiest, it would be the engagement of the Duke of Westbourne to Lady Rosamund Harcourt.

At Rosewood Cottage, Alice was both delighted and trumphant, as if she had singlehandedly made it happen.

“I knew that this would happen from the very mment you returned from Henry’s nursery hodling the Duke’s hand,” she declared smugly over her tea.

“Alice, you know that is quite an exaggeration,” Rosamund protested, her cheeks turning scarlet.

“You two always looked like you would either fight or kiss,” Alice said. “You find yourself wanting to strangle him sometimes, and yet seeking him, too. It was pure romance. And -”

“I-I think I have an idea of what you are trying to tell me, Alice. That will be fine.”