Hot tears spilled on her cheeks, and she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the sobs wanting to rip from her.
He reached out, and gentle fingers touched her jaw, bringing her gaze to meet his as he swept a lock of hair behind her ear. “Every day I wrote you. Every day I searched for you. Every day I missed you. And I unashamedly cried for you.”
She burst into loud, ugly tears. The last few weeks had been excruciating. “For so long I thought if I lost you, I would be strong and unflinching. I would not be weak like my mother who allowed grief to take her to the grave. I broke,” she whispered. “I hurt until I became a shadow of myself. I hungered for your smiles and touches, and just the comfort of you being near.”
Primrose rested a hand on the curve of her belly. “Then I became strong again because I needed to see your eyes and know without a doubt you no longer love me.” Her voice cracked as emotions tightened her throat. She stared at him helplessly, the hot embers of hope burning through her body. “But I can see…I can see the same love in my heart reflected back at me.”
His eyes closed briefly then snapped open. How they burned with unfathomable emotions.
"I faltered because there was a part of me, deep inside, that believed that maybe a lady with better connections and wealth would suit you better. Forgive me, Gabriel. You fell ill, and I did not have the means or connections to save you. I felt so inadequate for you, my love. And it gutted me to know the family you love so much will never accept—"
“My family can go hang,” he said gruffly. “You are my family. And together we will weather all odds. It was your will and determination that got me help. It was your love that had you coming back, day after day, ignoring your pride, just to see me.”
He stood and stalked from the bedroom. With a gasp, she scrambled from the bed and rushed after him, only to falter when he returned inside with a harried, portly looking man. Her eyes widened, and she frowned in confusion.
“This is my cousin, Pernell Walters. He’s a vicar. I’ve dragged him around for several days, and he is sore impatient with me.”
“I—”
“Marry me. Today…now.” Then he withdrew the special license from his jacket. “Marry me, my sweet.”
Joy, relief, and love so powerful it left her weak seized her, stealing her ability to breathe. "I doubted you," she said in a hoarse cry.
"Yes," he said drolly. "And because of it, we spent miserable weeks apart. You will not escape my spanking, but I promise to kiss it better."
The vicar made a garbled sound of shock, and Primrose laughed waterily.
“I’ll never doubt you again,” she whispered fiercely. “I love you so.”
His lips slid over hers, the familiar taste of him a sweet comfort and flaming pleasure. “And I love you. Marry me.”
“Yes,” she gasped against his lips, clutching him in a fierce embrace. “I love you.”
Three months later…
“Well, what does it say?” Primrose cried, clutching her hands together, her soft gray eyes glowing with trepidation and excitement.
Gabriel grinned and folded the letter, resting it on the walnut desk. “According to Mr. Collins, he would like to split Love in the Time of War into three volumes with illustrations, with the first publishing a month from now. He anticipates such success he has enclosed a bank draft of three hundred pounds as an advance.
With a shriek of happiness, his love leaped across the small parlor into his arms, peppering exuberant kisses over his lips. “I am so happy," she said, still laughing.
Lowering his hands to the gentle swell of her stomach, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m quite happy too, Primrose, quite delirious with it.”
She burrowed into his warmth. “Does this mean you’ll travel to London soon.”
“And you’ll be coming with me,” he said softly.
Her eyes lit with pleasure. “I daresay I shall.”
“We'll let a townhouse in Mayfair for the season, and we'll have a dashed wonderful time until we'll retire together for your confinement."
She nodded happily.
He cleared his throat. “We may see my family, and perhaps suffer a few more invitations.”
George had been the first to write to him and ask for his forgiveness. Gabriel hadn't responded, and then a letter from his mother had come, inviting him and Primrose to dinner. Gabriel knew it was to make amends, but he hadn't responded to the overtures, for the wounds they had dealt his love still felt too raw. Eventually, he knew it would happen, the family would meet, apologies would be tendered, and the walk to forgiveness would start.
“And perhaps we’ll accept a few,” Primrose said softly. “Our child must know his or her uncle, aunt, and grandparents, wouldn’t you agree?”