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“The Herbs ought to be distilled when they are in their greatest vigor, and so ought the Flowers also.”

Nicholas Culpeper

Their embrace lingered, carrying with it unspoken promises. When at last Audrey drew back, her lashes fluttered open as though reluctant to release the spell.

He did not press further. Instead, he rested his hand lightly at her waist. Not in possession, but as though offering her steadiness. Then he bent his brow to hers, their foreheads touching, and for several heartbeats they shared only breath and silence.

“You astonish me,” he murmured. “And I wish to deserve you.”

Audrey said nothing, for words seemed too frail. Instead, she slid her trembling hand over his, their fingers weaving together in quiet accord.

They remained thus—forehead to forehead, hands clasped, hearts beating in time—as though the world beyond the chamber had stilled. Julius’s arm encircled her at last, drawing her into the safe harbour of his embrace.

“You have undone me, Audrey Gideon,” he whispered, his tone raw with wonder. “You have captured every part of me.”

Her eyes stung with tears, for she knew it was true. She leaned her cheek against his shoulder, her heart thundering in answer to his vow.

And when his lips found hers once more, it was an unhurried seal upon the promise spoken between them.

“I am yours,” he breathed.

And Audrey believed him.

Julius held her close, breath warm against her skin, every muscle taut with restrained emotion. His face remained near to hers, lips grazing the slope of her neck, savoring the flutter of her pulse beneath his mouth.

He could leave. He ought to leave. Yet he did not.

Instead, he let his thoughts drift, quietly savoring their embrace. Her generosity, her forgiveness, and the promise of something lasting. Something real.

He thought of their future. Of how he might make their wedding night meaningful. Of how, for all his worldly experience, he had still been unprepared for someone like her.

She had changed everything.

And he would not take her for granted.

Frustrated, Julius had driven himself to make one last visit despite his certainty that it would be a futile effort. But meeting Dr. Hawley had been a revelation. The physician had left his family’s dinner to speak with him and, from the first moment, it was clear he was unlike the others. Hawley had listened attentively, asked intelligent questions, and had been eager to inspect the wound himself. He had read Audrey’s journal with a furrowed brow and keen interest.

For the first time, Julius had found someone he could not wait to introduce to her. Someone who might understand the intricate workings of her mind and share in her passions. He would do his best to learn about her world, but he knew he could never be her equal in it. That did not trouble him. In truth, it pleased him. He wanted her to have every opportunity to thrive.

One lingering annoyance still tugged at the corners of his contentment—the constant presence of the Johns. The pair shadowed him with all the subtlety of cathedral gargoyles. He had been patient, but he resented the loss of his liberty. At times he felt like some tragic figure in a Gothic romance, imprisoned in a shadowed manor and stalked by his own guardians.

The thought made him roll his eyes.

He shifted and nuzzled against Audrey’s sleeping form, breathing in the faint herbal scent clinging to her hair. Lavender, perhaps, or rosemary. It calmed him. Reminded him of what he had gained in exchange for a few vanities.

Eventually, with reluctant care, he turned her gently onto her back. She murmured but did not stir. He rose and straightened his crumpled garments with a grimace. They were creased, an affront to his usual standards, but he could not find it in himself to care. The evening had rewritten his priorities.

He slipped from the room in silence.

Soon, there would be no need for such discretion. They would be wed, and he would spend every night beside her. Would they remain in his father’s townhouse? It was a question for another day—one of many they would answer together.

There was so much ahead of them. A life of shared ambitions. Of conversations that would challenge and delight. She was his cure—his remedy to years of restless discontent. With Audrey, he could at last imagine the future with anticipation rather than dread.

It was time.

SEPTEMBER 4, 1821