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“I have been thinking … during all those days of searching, all those miles of travel … about what comes next. For us.” He met her gaze steadily, his heart pounding against his ribs. “It will be some weeks before I have resided in the parish long enough to obtain a Common License. The banns must be read, I must establish residency, and there are legal matters to attend to. But when all of that is done …”

He trailed off, suddenly uncertain. He had not planned to do this now, here, in the fading light of her tower room. But the words were rising in his throat, demanding to be spoken, and he found he could not hold them back.

Isolde’s smile spread slowly across her face. A true, unguarded smile that made his heart leap with happiness to behold.

“Was that an offer of marriage?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her voice that made his heart soar. “Because it sounded rather like a lecture on ecclesiastical procedure.”

Angelo laughed. A surprised, delighted sound that seemed to startle them both. “Sì, tesoro, it was an offer of marriage. A poorly worded one, perhaps, but heartfelt nonetheless.”

“Then I accept.” The words were simple, unhesitating, absolute. “With all my heart.”

The breath left Angelo’s lungs in a rush. He stared at her, barely daring to believe what he had heard. “Isolde …”

“I have waited years,” she said softly, stepping closer to him. “Years of loneliness, of watching, of wanting things I believed I could never have. And now you are here, offering me everything I ever dreamed of.” Her hand rose to rest against his chest, over his racing heart. “I do not wish to be alone any longer.”

Joy flared in Angelo’s chest. A sound of pure, desperate happiness that he could not have suppressed if he tried. “You never shall be again,” he vowed, his voice rough with emotion.

“You seem different,” he observed quietly, studying her face. There was something in her bearing that had changed. A straightening of the spine, a lifting of the chin, that had not been there before.

Isolde met his gaze without flinching. “I have decided that I need to be braver,” she said. “That I have hidden long enough. My choices have validated that the world is cruel, and I failed to give people … kinder people … the opportunity to show me there is a different way to behave. When we are married … I intend to enter society. To face the world as I am.” She paused, vulnerability flickering beneath her newfound resolve. “If you will stand by my side to ease the way.”

“Tesoro.” Angelo cupped her face in his hands, his thumb tracing the edges of her marks with infinite tenderness. “It will be my greatest privilege. My greatest honor. I will stand beside you every moment, and I will challenge any fool who dares to look at you with anything less than the admiration you deserve.”

She smiled then, trembling and radiant, and stepped into his arms, and as the last of the sunset faded from the windows, he kissed her with all the tenderness in his heart.

“Ti amo,” he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to her marked cheek. “I love you, Isolde. Ti amo per sempre. For all of my days.”

Her arms tightened around him. “I love you as well,” she whispered, her voice thick with wonder. “I did not know it was possible to feel thus. I did not know two hearts could become one so completely. I feel as though you have touched parts of me that have never seen the light …”

She trailed off, words failing her, but Angelo understood. He understood perfectly.

He had come to Grimsfell Hall in search of Renaissance secrets. He had found, instead, the love of his life. A woman whose flaws were treasures, whose talents humbled him, whose heart was worth more than all the broken tulips in the known world.

And he would spend the rest of his days proving himself worthy of her.

EPILOGUE

"And so they had a delightful time of talking, and laughing, and smelling to flowers."

Ann Radcliffe

* * *

February 26, 1822

The pantry smelled of dried herbs and preserves, a homely scent that seemed entirely at odds with the momentous nature of what they were about to do. Angelo stood beside Isolde in the narrow space, watching her face in the dim light that filtered through the single high window. Her hands were clasped before her, fingers twisting together in a gesture he had come to recognize as a sign of acute nervousness.

She was dressed beautifully. Mrs. Roskelly had seen to that, producing a gown of soft blue muslin that brought out the gold in her hair and the rose in her cheeks. Her marks seemed to glow in the morning light, rose and mauve against cream, and Angelo thought she had never looked more lovely.

But her eyes betrayed her fear.

“Tesoro,” he said gently, reaching out to still her restless hands. “We do not have to do this today. If you need more time⁠—”

“No.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “I have hidden long enough. More than long enough.”

Angelo studied her face, seeing the resolve that flickered beneath the apprehension. “Would you like me to warn them? Before they meet you? I could explain about your appearance, prepare them for⁠—”

“No.” She shook her head, a spark of something fierce kindling in her eyes. “I am done with apologies. Done with explanations designed to soften the blow of my existence.” She drew a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “I am unique, Angelo. That is simply a fact. Others will have to learn to see past the birthmark and accept me for my character. If they cannot …” She lifted her chin. “Then they are not worth knowing.”