Her lips trembled, and a half laugh, half sob escaped her. “The estates, the title, the place in society-none of it has ever brought me happiness. All I want is your love, Ethan.”
“You’ve always had it. You always will. For a long time I believed that loving you was mistake. But now I know it wasn’t-my error was in letting you go.” Clasping both her hands, he dropped to one knee before her. “Cassie, will you marry me?”
Tears of pure joy rolled down her face and plopped onto their joined hands. “I asked you first.”
A grin curved his lips. “My answer is yes.”
“My answer is yes.”
“Thank God.” He rose and gifted her with another heated, passionate kiss, then lifted her off her feet and twirled her around until they were both breathless and laughing.
After he set her down, Cassandra looked up at him and saw all the love she’d ever dreamed of beaming at her from his beautiful dark eyes. “So this is what happiness feels like,” she said, smiling into those eyes.
“My sweet Cassie, this is exactly what it feels like.”
About Jacquie D’Alessandro
Growing up on Long Island, New York, I fell in love with romance at an early age. I dreamed of being swept away by a dashing rogue riding a spirited stallion. When my hero finally showed up, he was dressed in jeans and drove a Volkswagen, but I recognized him anyway. We married after both graduating from Hofstra University and are now living our happily-ever-afters in Atlanta, Georgia, along with our very bright and active son, who is a dashing rogue in the making. I love to hear from readers! You can contact me through my website at www.JacquieD.com.
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From This Moment On / Candice Hern
Dedicated with thanks to all the readers
who wrote to me asking for Wilhelmina’s story
Chapter One
October 1814
Buckinghamshire
The crunch of wheels on gravel and the clip-clop of a slowing team heralded the arrival of yet another coach. Captain Samuel Pellow, late of His Majesty’s Royal Navy, nursed a tankard of ale in the public room of the Blue Boar, and watched from the little windowed alcove overlooking the inn yard as the new carriage pulled to a stop. The innkeeper rushed out to welcome yet another unexpected party compelled to halt their journey due to the downpour.
Sam had pulled into the yard driving his own curricle not half an hour earlier. After so many years at sea he didn’t mind getting wet, but he was much more comfortable on a rolling quarterdeck in a high storm than he was navigating sloggy, uncertain roads with an irritable team. He’d decided to ride out the squall in a dry taproom with twenty or thirty like-minded travelers.
Grissom, the innkeeper, was quite obviously delighted to have so many customers, as the village of Upper Hampden was between regular stops on the coach road, and Sam guessed the Blue Boar did not often have such a full house. It was an old inn, had probably been built over two hundred years ago: black and white timbered, steep-pitched gables, with projecting stories leaning drunkenly over the inn yard. Even so, it was a surprisingly well-appointed and comfortable inn for such a small village. The stables, though, were already overcrowded with carriages and carts and gigs, and more horses than they were built to handle. The situation did not dim the innkeeper’s mercenary smile as he stood holding a large umbrella, ready to escort the new arrivals inside.
Through the rain-streaked mullioned window, Sam could see that there were actually two carriages in the yard, each of them large and elegantly appointed, with a crest on the doors. He couldn’t make out the crest-not that it would make any difference if he could; one coat of arms looked much the same as the next to him-but it was clear from his deferential attitude that Grissom was aware he had a member of the aristocracy in his inn yard.
A liveried footman, soaked to the skin, jumped from his perch on the back of the first carriage, pulled down a portable set of steps, and opened the door. Shielded by the innkeeper’s huge umbrella, a lady stepped down and was rushed inside the inn. Another woman followed, obviously a maid as she didn’t warrant the courtesy of an umbrella. Pulling a cloak over her head, she made her way indoors, carrying a leather box tight against her chest. A bull of a man stepped from the second carriage, conferred with the other footmen and the ostlers who were seeing to the horses, then rushed inside.
Sam settled back in his chair and proceeded to enjoy his ale in peace while the entry hall became a frenzy of activity. He could hear Mrs. Grissom, somewhat less delighted with today’s parade of customers than her husband, shouting out orders to her small staff. Her voice rang out with an authority that made Sam smile, thinking she might have done quite well as a gunnery officer during a close action.
Amid the bustle and shouting he caught the words “best room” and “Your Grace.” So, the newcomer was a duchess. The tiniest twinge of anxiety gripped the muscles of his abdomen. He had met a few duchesses in his day, but there was one who still held a tiny corner of his heart, though he had not laid eyes on her in many years. And their last meeting had not been one of his better moments. He was foolish to hope that this particular duchess was his duchess. She was a creature of London, which was one reason he’d avoided going up to Town whenever he was in England. He hadn’t wanted to meet her again. Their last encounter had been too awkward. He never quite knew what he felt for her, and that uncertainty always tied him into knots. No, this far from London, it would be some other duchess. England was crawling with duchesses.
But he could not tear his eyes from the doorway that opened into the entry hall. Several figures were crowded into that tiny space. It was easy enough to identify the duchess. She was the center of attention. The innkeeper’s wife was bobbing up and down like an anchor buoy in front of the lady, when she wasn’t shooing a maid in one direction or another to prepare for their grand guest. And the bullish fellow from the second coach was hovering close and keeping the riffraff at bay.
The lady herself seemed unperturbed by the fuss and bother. Her back was to Sam, but there was that indescribable something about her bearing that marked her as Quality. She wore a full-length pelisse of deep blue velvet with several short capes at the back, in imitation of a man’s greatcoat, and a matching bonnet. Sam knew next to nothing about ladies’ fashion, but even he could see that this was a very stylish ensemble, and no doubt very expensive.
She nodded to the innkeeper, then turned to speak to the bullish man. In doing so, her face came partially into view, and Sam sucked in a sharp breath. Dear God, it was his duchess. Or rather, the Duke of Hertford’s duchess. Sam had no claim to her at all. Except that they had once loved each other, a very long time ago. Almost twenty-five years ago. Gulfs of time and experience separated them, and yet she still had the ability to set his heart beating to quarters.
Almost without thinking, he rose from the bench, stepped down from the raised alcove, and walked toward her. Toward Wilhelmina, Duchess of Hertford.
Blast the rain! Wilhelmina had hoped to make it home tonight. But there was nothing more dismal and uncomfortable than traveling in a rainstorm. It was only just past noon and the storm might pass in an hour or so, but the delay would mean an even later arrival in London. Instead, she preferred to take advantage of whatever accommodations could be had in this quaint little village and settle here for the night. They could start out for London in the morning when the weather would hopefully be more cooperative.