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She turned toward him. “That I am glad I went to Lady Wetherby’s.”

His smile warmed. “So am I.”

“I almost refused.” She met his gaze. “Charlotte convinced me to go.”

Julian brought her hand to his lips and slowly kissed her knuckles. “Then I owe Lady Sylvan a considerable debt.”

Elizabeth touched his cheek, guiding his attention back to her. The faint roughness of his jaw brushed against her fingertips. “You may thank her later.”

He looked at her for a moment, his dark, warm eyes on her. Then he smiled in a way she had come to recognize, slow and a little wicked. “And now?”

She still blushed. Perhaps she always would, and perhaps he would always love her for it. “Now,” she said softly, “I should like you to kiss me.”

Epilogue

Six weeks after her wedding, Elizabeth discovered her friends could make her blush as easily as her husband.

“You are smiling again,” Amelia observed, lifting one pale brow over the rim of her teacup.

Elizabeth set down the teapot, the pot chiming softly against the tray. “Am I not allowed to smile?”

“I said nothing of the sort,” Amelia said. “But you have been looking at that door for the last five minutes, and I doubt it has done anything to deserve such affection.”

Daphne laughed into her cup, her shoulders shaking. Elizabeth felt the warmth climb from her collar to her hairline.

They had gathered in Elizabeth’s favorite sitting room at Rosedale House. The afternoon light fell in long golden bars across the carpet, and the chairs were exceedingly comfortable. The air smelled of beeswax and tea. Julian had shown her the room before their wedding. He had stood in the doorway with his hands clasped behind his back as though awaiting a verdict. Since then, she had moved a small table nearer the window and brought in several of her books. She discovered he liked to sit with her even when he had nothing to read. His long legs stretched toward the hearth with his eyes drifting from the page to her face.

He had left them a quarter of an hour earlier, after greeting her friends and kissing her hand with rather more warmth than the occasion required. His thumb had lingered against her knuckles. Apparently, she had not recovered. “I was merely thinking of something,” Elizabeth said, smoothing her skirt with unsteady fingers.

“Of course you were.” Amelia reached for a cake, her eyes bright with mischief. “Was that something handsome?”

Elizabeth gave her a reproachful look, but her smile spoiled it almost at once. She could not quite suppress it, no matter how she pressed her lips together.

Daphne leaned forward to admire the flowers upon the table, brushing a petal with one fingertip. “These are lovely.”

“Julian arranged them,” Elizabeth said.

Amelia paused with the cake halfway to her plate. “Himself?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

Elizabeth touched a leaf that leaned farther over the rim than the others, straightening it, then letting it fall back as it pleased. He had brought the vase upstairs that morning, looking pleased with his efforts. He had been faintly doubtful about the result, turning it this way and that on the landing. She had kissed him before offering an opinion, and he had laughed against her mouth.

“He is improving,” she added, her voice soft with fondness.

“I should hope not too much,” Daphne said, her blue eyes twinkling. “I rather like them as they are.”

“So do I.” She loved that he kept doing little things like that for her.

For a moment, Elizabeth enjoyed having them there, her friends settled in her sitting room as though they had always belonged. They had sat together in so many rooms over the years, discussing plans and difficulties. Now they were laughing when they could not do so easily before. Their marriages had changed things, but not the ease of their friendship. The knowledge settled in her chest like a warm stone.

Amelia took another bite of cake and studied her as she chewed slowly. “You are happy.” The teasing left her voice, leaving something quieter and truer.

Elizabeth looked between her friends, at Daphne’s gentle face and Amelia’s keen eyes. “Very.”

Daphne’s expression softened, and she reached across the low table to squeeze Elizabeth’s hand. “We are glad.”

She had expected to be happy with Julian. Even so, marriage still surprised her. There were the kisses, of course, and the pleasure of finding him waiting when she returned home, his face lighting as she crossed the threshold. But she had not anticipated how much she would enjoy hearing his step in the passage, or having him ask what she thought of something quite ordinary. He asked, and he listened to the answer, and every time her heart turned over. Sometimes he sat beside her and said nothing. She liked that too, more than she could explain.