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August 28 - August 30, 2022
“I should have proposed to you last night. Before I made love to you. But like an imbecile, I wanted to propose properly. I was going to take you to the labyrinth, love. With strawberry tarts. Would you have liked that?” He stopped in front of her. “Please, Sophie.” “I would have liked that,” she said softly. “I’ll do it,” he vowed. “As soon as we’re home. I’ll take you there. I’ll do it.” “I don’t need it. We’re already married.”
“We don’t have witnesses, but this will have to do. I love you, Sophie Talbot. I love your beauty and your brilliance and I swear here before you and God and the Great North Road that I wanted to marry you yesterday and I want to marry you today, and I fully intend to want to marry you for all the days for the rest of our lives.”
“I will always rescue you.” He kissed her again before continuing, “I sent you away because I was terrified of you. Terrified of how you made me feel. Terrified of the life you made me want to live. I sent you away because I was afraid I would never be the kind of man who deserved you. “I want to be that man, Sophie. I need to love you. I need you to love me again. I need you to teach our children how to love.” Children. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’d quite like a collection of brown-haired, blue-eyed, book-loving daughters.” “You love me?” He threaded his fingers through hers, bringing her
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“I cannot be certain, but do you have an aversion to the possibility of Matthew and Daughters?” When the scandal sheets reported the events of that afternoon, it was not the blindfolded marchioness that dominated the headlines. Indeed, it was the deeply in love marquess, who, in a fit of unbridled adoration, eschewed propriety and kissed his wife in broad daylight, in the doorway of a new bookshop in front of all St. James. All that before he lifted her in his arms, carried her over the threshold, and slammed the door with one great black boot.
