Chapter Six
DIAMONDS ROUND HER THROAT
Ritcherd kindly informed Mrs. Harker that Kyrah would be back soon to order more clothes to be made. They left the dress shop together and went hand in hand to get all of the groceries they needed and much more. As they started toward home, Kyrah closed her eyes and relished the abundance surrounding her in the trap. She inhaled deeply, attempting to grasp the reality that she would never have to worry about the next meal or the next month’s rent. Her thoughts went to her father as it occurred to her that his absence was now the only real deterrent to her happiness.
Impulsively she said, “Before we go back, I want to go to Father’s grave. I’ve not been there yet this week.”
Ritcherd looked at her sadly. It was still only sinking in that Stephen was really dead. “All right,” he said, and halted the trap near the church at the edge of town, where the graveyard was located. After helping Kyrah down, he followed her silently with his hands behind his back. She made her way between the gravestones to a spot where she had obviously come often. When she finally stopped, Ritcherd hesitated to come beside her. Reading the stone, reality struck him deeply—and it hurt.
“Mother wanted a finer stone,” Kyrah said softly, “but it was all we could afford.”
“I think it’s nice,” he said noting the simple yet tasteful marker that read:
Beloved Husband and Father
Stephen Payne
1734 - 1777
“I would suspect,” he went on, “that the majority of people lying beneath ornate markers are rarely visited or remembered the way your father is.”
“That’s what I told Mother,” Kyrah said without moving her eyes from the stone. Reverently she knelt before it, meticulously brushing it clean with her hands. Ritcherd went to his knees beside her. Putting his arm around her, he could see his own emotions reflected in her expression. He took her hand and squeezed it, wondering how he could possibly offer her reassurance when he felt so much pain himself over Stephen’s death.
“You know,” she said quietly, “we were very fortunate to have him buried here.” Ritcherd’s surprise went unnoticed. “Even though the official verdict was suicide, the vicar allowed us to pretend otherwise, so that he could be buried in the churchyard.”
“Maybe it was otherwise,” Ritcherd said, hoping to offer a positive note. But Kyrah looked at him sharply.
Her eyes quickly turned distant again as she looked back at the stone. “He sent a letter,” she whispered. “He said that he wouldn’t ask us to forgive him, nor would he try to explain . . . because none of it mattered anymore.”
Ritcherd felt her squeeze his hand, and her eyes closed briefly as she gave a heavy sigh. “We didn’t see him,” she said blandly. “The casket was sealed because he had . . .” She stopped abruptly, sighed again, then finished by saying, “He was right. None of that matters anymore.”
There was a long reign of silence while Kyrah tried to recall a pleasurable memory of her father. The wind picked up, and she removed her hat to be free of the way it grabbed at the pin holding it in place.
Ritcherd watched her closely while the Cornish wind pulled at her hair, tugging it out of the pins that held it in place. He was about to ask where her mind was when she began speaking as though he weren’t present. He was surprised at first, but it soon became evident that she had made a habit of coming here and talking to her father.
“Papa,” she began, “you’ll be pleased to know that things are going much better now. Ritcherd is back, Papa, and you’ll probably be glad to know that I was wrong. I was being foolish, but he made me see things more clearly. He is a good man, Papa. But I think you knew that all along. We’re to be married soon, and we wish you could be there. Perhaps you will be, in a way.
“Mother is doing much better, I believe. She was so happy this morning when Ritcherd told her we would be getting married. I know he’ll take good care of us. I guess Mother knows that, too. She still misses you. She was reading your letters just . . .” Kyrah bit her lip and Ritcherd expected her to cry, but she only took a sharp breath and laid her head against his shoulder. He pulled her closer and a painful knot formed in his throat. He looked skyward while tears ran down his face.
“Why?” he cried as if the heavens might answer him. “Why?”
“Take me home,” Kyrah said, coming to her feet. She walked away and Ritcherd followed, wiping his face with his sleeve.
The ride home passed in silence, but Kyrah knew that Ritcherd shared her grief. She took his hand and squeezed it, hoping he understood how good it felt not to be alone.
Ritcherd helped carry her purchases into the cottage, then he left with the promise that he’d come back in the evening. Kyrah put the kitchen in order and put some soup on to simmer while she told her mother of all that had happened since they’d last been able to talk. While her mother rested, Kyrah took the opportunity to prepare herself a hot bath. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to indulge in such a luxury. It was rare that she found the time to do more than clean up quickly with a basin of water, and she usually washed her hair the same way. But today she immersed herself, hair and all, in water that seemed to bathe away much of the horror she had endured in Ritcherd’s absence. She finally emerged, feeling cleaner than she had in years. And the thought of becoming Ritcherd’s wife was most prominent on her mind.
After putting everything in order and sharing supper with her mother, she wondered when Ritcherd might return. She pulled out the only other dress she owned besides the clothes she’d worked in and pressed it so it would be ready whenever she might need it. Unable to find anything else to occupy her time, she began to feel tense. She was so accustomed to being busy every waking moment that she hardly knew what to do with herself. Gradually the tension settled in more deeply, reminding her all too easily of the constant anxiety she had felt in his absence. When he finally knocked at the door, she actually gasped, then wondered what was happening to her. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that Ritcherd was never leaving her again. Everything would be all right.
“Is something wrong?” he asked when she opened the door, and she marveled at his insight when she had made such an effort to cover her anxiety.
“Of course not,” she said, urging him inside. He greeted her with a kiss, and she basked in his presence as they sat in the parlor with her mother, teasing her in a way that brought memories of their youth rushing back. Following a brief visit, he comically asked Sarah’s permission to take Kyrah on a long walk, and she waved them off with a smile.
They walked hand in hand over the moors while the sun moved gracefully toward the western horizon. Recalling her walk to Buckley Manor just this morning as the sun was coming up, she felt as if she’d lived three days in one. So much had happened. So much had changed. Ritcherd had come home.
They talked of trivial matters, sharing memories and hopes for the future, avoiding any topic that touched on their years apart. It seemed there was nothing to say about them that didn’t encourage dismal thoughts. By way of habit they arrived at the church ruins to find them appearing almost unreal, surrounded by dusk. They walked aimlessly among them, while Ritcherd occasionally moved his hand over one of the pews or a stone archway, as if to reacquaint himself with an old friend.
When nothing was said for several minutes, Ritcherd turned to Kyrah and looked into her eyes. Emotion tinged his voice as he touched her face, murmuring, “I missed you, Kyrah . . . so very much.”
He kissed her meekly and she pushed her arms around his waist, holding to him tightly. “And I missed you,” she said, looking into his eyes as if she had found the answer to every mystery of life. Her emotions consumed her entirely, and she felt an unfamiliar desire rising inside her. As his nearness began to affect her in a way it never had before, she became both thrilled at the prospect of becoming his wife and terrified at what these feelings might tempt he
r to in the meantime.
Ritcherd pressed his hands down her arms and back up again, while he closed his eyes and nuzzled his face into her hair, inhaling its sweet, clean fragrance. He drew back just enough to look into her eyes, marveling at the enormity of his feelings.
“Kyrah,” he murmured, pushing his arms around her, “do you have any idea how many years I have wanted to hold you this way?”
“No,” she said in a voice that sounded dreamy and distant. “Tell me.”
“Forever,” he said and kissed her. “It seems like forever.” He kissed her again.
Feeling suddenly overpowered by his emotions and drawn into sensations that were both unfamiliar and exciting, he was startled by Kyrah’s abruptly easing away. “We must be careful,” she said without looking at him.
It took Ritcherd a moment to grasp her implication, and another full minute to comprehend the bridge they had crossed. She was a woman now. The age difference that had kept them in separate realms of one kind or another for as long as he’d known her no longer existed. Through the silence that followed, he found himself watching her as if he’d never seen her before. She was so beautiful. He loved her so much.
Her expectant expression startled him back to the moment, and he fumbled to say, “Yes, of course . . . we must be careful.” But he felt somehow guilty for the thoughts parading through his mind that directly contradicted his words. He didn’t want to be careful. He wanted only to take her in his arms with no heed to propriety or moral judgment. And even knowing how wrong it would be, he couldn’t help indulging in a momentary fantasy. His state of mind was only fueled when Kyrah looked up at him with his own longing mirrored innocently in her eyes.
“You know,” she said, turning her back to him, as if she had somehow sensed the need to break the spell between them before he lost complete control of his senses, “I always wondered why . . . you never kissed me . . . when we were younger.”
As the reasons came into Ritcherd’s mind, his guilt magnified. Stephen would not have appreciated Ritcherd’s having such thoughts about his daughter before he’d put a wedding ring on her finger. Freshly determined to get that ring on her finger as quickly as possible, he simply said, “You were so young. I didn’t want to take advantage of your innocence.”
“Then you must have made a conscious decision.”
“I did,” he admitted. “It was mostly due to something your father told me.”
“What?” Kyrah asked, thinking how good it felt to talk to someone who had known him as well as she had.
“Oh,” he chuckled, “it doesn’t really matter what he said. I’m just grateful that he did.”
After a long moment of silence, Kyrah said quite seriously, “And I thought it was because I was too skinny.”
Ritcherd laughed out loud, hugging her tightly from behind. The mood quickly sobered again as he admitted, “I . . . was always afraid that . . . if I kissed you, I’d never be able to stop. I was . . . afraid you would end up having to marry me before you hardly had a chance to grow up. I didn’t want you to resent me for stealing your childhood.” He chuckled tensely. “I must confess, the only reason I kissed you when I did was . . . well, I knew I would be gone . . . and you wouldn’t be there to tempt me.”
Kyrah turned back to look at him, wishing she could tell him how comforting his explanation was. Her respect for him deepened, and she had to admit, “I doubt I would have had the sense to . . . well, keep such things from getting out of hand.” She looked into his eyes. “I was so hopelessly in love with you.”
Ritcherd cleared his throat, but his voice was still raspy as he said, “I know.”
“How did you know?” she asked, laughter trickling into her voice.
He chuckled. “I just knew,” he said.
“I wanted desperately for you to kiss me . . . long before you did.”
“I know,” he repeated.
“But I don’t think I had any comprehension of what else it might have led to . . . when we spent so much time together.”
“I know,” he said again.
“Did you know me so well?” she asked.
And it was easy for him to admit, “Yes.”
She smiled. “Yes, I believe you did. And I want you to know how much I . . . respect you for the way you . . . well . . . waited. It makes me love you all the more, to know that you put your love for me above your own desires.”
Ritcherd swallowed his longing, along with a dose of self-recrimination. He reminded himself that he had no business entertaining such ideas in the present state of their relationship. He moved away and sat down, making a mental note to post the banns this coming Sunday. Whatever formalities needed to be seen to in order to be married, he would see that they were taken care of as quickly as possible. Kyrah sat beside him and took his hand into hers. It was his right hand, and he could feel very little of her touch, but he was grateful to at least have a right hand—and to have Kyrah holding it. He was surprised when she unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve and bared his scarred lower arm. With purpose she explored the matted scars and sunken muscle with her fingers. Feeling tense, he wondered why her attention to it would bother him.
“Does it hurt?” she asked when he flinched slightly.
“No,” he admitted. “I mean . . . it’s a little tender here and there, but . . .”
“Then what’s wrong?” she asked, looking into his eyes while her fingers continued their exploration.
“It’s just so . . . hideous. I would have thought you’d find it . . . repulsive . . . distasteful.”
“Is this why you came home?” she asked.
“Yes,” he admitted. “They don’t want a man who can’t use a weapon.”
“Then perhaps it was this that prevented you from going into another battle that might have found you dead. Therefore, it is not so distasteful.”
“I’ve tried to look at it that way,” he said, “but there are times when I feel like I’ve lost something. A part of me will never be the same, and that can tend to make me feel sorry for myself. On the other hand,” he opened his eyes and looked directly at her, “I would have given much more to be able to come home to you when I did. I only wish it could have been sooner.”
“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
“Yes,” he smiled and kissed her quickly, “I’m here now. And I’m not going to let you get away from me again.”
She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. The church became completely dark as they sat together in silence. Only the rustling of the breeze could be heard until Kyrah said, “I do love you, Ritcherd.”
“And I love you.” He tightened his arm around her. “I always have, you know.”
“You have?”
“I believe something inside of me loved you the first time I saw you . . . not in the way I love you now, of course. But still . . . I think there was something special between us—right from the start.”
“I believe you’re right,” she agreed, and her next awareness was Ritcherd nudging her awake.
“Come along,” he said, urging her to her feet. “Let’s get you home to bed. It’s late.”
Kyrah felt her lack of sleep the previous night as she walked blindly over the moors toward home, supported and guided by Ritcherd’s arm about her.
When they arrived at the cottage, Ritcherd went inside with her to make certain all was well. Kyrah slipped into her mother’s bedroom and returned a moment later to report that she was sleeping soundly.
“I wouldn’t want her to be angry with me for keeping you out so late,” Ritcherd said. “She’s been a better mother to me than my own ever was.”
Kyrah smiled at him through a yawn. “I wish you could stay,” she admitted.
Ritcherd cleared his throat tensely, unwilling to admit his own thoughts on the matter. He did say, however, “I don’t think you should be thinking that way, my dear. Until we’re married, you should—”
“Not like that, silly,” she said with a lau
gh that made her lack of sleep all the more evident. “I mean . . . we have a spare bedroom. It’s a little crowded, but . . . then you wouldn’t have to go home and . . . you would be here in the morning . . . and I wouldn’t have to wonder if this day had just been a dream and—”
“I get the idea,” he interrupted. “I’d love to stay. My mother won’t be worried. Just show me to this room so you can get some sleep.”
Kyrah made certain he had what he needed before she kissed him good night and went up the small stairway that more resembled a ladder, which led to the loft where she slept. She barely managed to put on a nightgown before she crawled between the covers and fell immediately to sleep. She woke with sun streaking over the bed and sat up abruptly, thinking she was late for work. Memories of the previous day washed over her, and she lay back down with a contented sigh. Recalling that Ritcherd had spent the night, she hurriedly got dressed and pinned up her hair. Peeking into the room where she’d left him, she sighed to see him still sleeping. Quietly she closed the door and went to the kitchen to start cooking breakfast.
A short while later Sarah appeared, looking bright and almost vibrant. “Good morning, darling,” she said, pressing a kiss to Kyrah’s cheek.
“Good morning, Mother,” she replied. “You must be feeling better.”
“Oh, I am!” she said with enthusiasm as she sat near the window and smiled toward the sun streaming through the glass. “You were out rather late. Is everything all right?”
“Of course,” Kyrah said. “We just . . . had a lot to talk about, I suppose.”
“That’s understandable.” Sarah laughed as if she couldn’t suppress her happiness. “I’m just so grateful he’s returned—for many reasons. He’s like the son we never had, and I don’t know what we would ever do without him.”
“It’s my pleasure, actually,” Ritcherd said, startling them both. They turned to see him leaning in the kitchen doorway, his arms folded casually.
“I didn’t hear you knock,” Sarah said as Ritcherd greeted Kyrah with a kiss.
“Well, you wouldn’t have,” Ritcherd said, sitting across the table from Sarah, “since I spent the night here.” Sarah’s eyes widened and he added, “In the spare room, of course.”
“Of course,” Sarah said with obvious relief.
When nothing more was said, he asked, “What’s for breakfast? I’m starved.”
Kyrah gave him a sideways smile. “You’ll get breakfast a lot faster if you get over here and help me, Captain Buchanan.”
“As you wish, my lady,” he said and sidled up next to her at the stove.
A few minutes later the three of them sat together to eat breakfast. Ritcherd told Sarah about the party the day after tomorrow, and how they were going to announce their engagement. He also told her that he thought she should come to the party as well. But she insisted that without Stephen, she wouldn’t know what to do.
“Are you certain?” he asked, taking her hand. “I don’t want to put you in a situation where you would be uncomfortable. But I would like to show you off.”
“Perhaps another time,” Sarah said, and seemed relieved when they changed the subject.
They began making plans for the wedding, while Ritcherd held Kyrah’s hand across the table. She still couldn’t believe this was happening—and so quickly. It seemed too good to be true. But each time Ritcherd squeezed her hand, or glanced at her with that undeniable sparkle in his eyes, the reality sank in a little further.
Ritcherd insisted on helping clean the dishes while he reminisced about the many times he’d done so in his youth. Sarah sat at the table, reading a little, but mostly enjoying their display of happiness. She was amazed that the dishes got clean at all with the way they were laughing and playing in the water like a couple of children. With her attention briefly on her book, Sarah noticed that it became suddenly silent. She glanced up to see Ritcherd kissing Kyrah as if they were alone. She felt both emotional and a bit embarrassed. But she cleared her throat dramatically and they both turned toward her in surprise. Kyrah blushed in response to her mother’s warm smile, but Ritcherd simply said, “Isn’t she beautiful, Sarah?”
“Yes, Ritcherd, she is.”
Kyrah returned her attention to the dishes in an effort to avoid the compliments, and Ritcherd laughed as he went back to helping her.
Later that morning Ritcherd and Kyrah returned to town, this time taking Sarah with them. Ritcherd couldn’t believe that Sarah had not once been beyond the yard of the cottage since they had moved there following Stephen’s death. He left them at the dress shop with Mrs. Harker fussing over Kyrah and helping her order an appropriate wardrobe. He returned two hours later to find them just finishing up. Mrs. Harker promised that the evening gown would be ready first thing the following morning, and she would get right on the other things once the social was over.
Ritcherd took the ladies to an inn called the Golden Lion, where he had often gone with Stephen. They dined together on roast beef, hot bread, and cider while they talked more about the plans for the wedding. After seeing Sarah safely home, Ritcherd told her he wanted to take Kyrah for a little ride and they’d return in time for supper. Halting the trap near the church ruins, he tied off the reins and helped Kyrah down.
As they wandered between the stone pews, holding hands, Ritcherd said, “I love this place—perhaps more than any other place on earth. There’s a quality to it that’s difficult to describe. And in all the years we’ve come here, I’ve hardly ever seen anyone else around. Sometimes I feel as if it belongs to us.”
“Perhaps the way we feel about this place has more to do with the memories we share here.”
Ritcherd looked into her eyes. “My thoughts exactly. Which brings me to my point.”
“Were you making a point?”
“No, but I’m about to.”
“All right. I’m listening.”
“Do you remember the day we met?”
“Of course.”
“Yes, but . . . do you remember what I said when you told me your name?”
“Something about it sounding like a lady’s name.”
“That’s right,” he said. “An elegant lady . . . with diamonds round her throat.”
“And I thought you were rather silly.”
“Did you?” He chuckled softly. “Well, the thing that’s strange about that is . . . when you told me your name, that image appeared in my mind—an elegant lady, wearing diamonds.” He sighed and looked briefly at the ground, putting his hands behind his back. “I’ve often tried to imagine how you might look all grown up, but when I saw you for the first time after I returned home, I couldn’t believe how beautiful you had become.”
When he looked up again, Kyrah became breathless. His expression made it evident that he was telling her something close to his heart. He glanced away again, and she knew he was nervous.
“What I’m trying to say is . . . I’m grateful for having known you as a child. And even more grateful to know you as a woman. And now that we’ve come this far, I feel it’s time for me to complete a circle that, in my opinion, began the first time I saw you here, when you were seven years old.” He took her hand into his and went down on one knee. “I know it’s already been established, but I wanted to make it official . . . to do it right.” He took a deep breath. “Kyrah, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Kyrah was so touched by his chivalry that she couldn’t keep her voice from breaking when she answered, “Yes, Ritcherd. Of course.” He smiled and she added, “Now get up off the ground and kiss me.”
Ritcherd laughed and did as she’d asked, but he had to remind himself they weren’t married yet when it quickly became so enjoyable. Forcing himself to step back, he cleared his throat and said, “I have something for you.” He drew a velvet box from his coat pocket, and Kyrah held her breath as he opened it to reveal an exquisite diamond necklace and earrings. “To go with the dress,” he added easily.
“Oh, Ritcherd,” she
gasped. “They’re so beautiful, but . . . how can I?"
“Don’t you even dare ask such a question! I’ve got more money than I’ll ever know what to do with. And the best thing I could possibly do is spend it on you.”
“But I don’t need things like this to know you love me.”
“I know,” he said with a smile. “That’s why I like giving them to you. If I thought you couldn’t live without things like this, I wouldn’t love you the way I do. But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have them.”
She still seemed hesitant to take them, so he set the box down to take out the necklace and fasten it around her throat. When he turned her around to see how she looked, the necklace was overlapping her brooch.
“Well,” he smiled, “it will go better with the gown, but . . . let’s just see if . . .” For a full minute he attempted to undo the tiny clasp of the brooch, then he looked at his right hand scornfully. His voice betrayed the extent of his humility as he admitted, “I can’t do it. It’s too small. I could do the necklace, but I . . .”
Kyrah smiled warmly and unfastened the brooch, tossing it to the ground. “I won’t wear it anymore.”
Ritcherd glanced to where it had landed, then turned toward her, a trace of shame showing in his eyes. Kyrah took his right hand into both of hers and pressed her fingers around it affectionately. “I love you, Ritcherd,” she whispered. “It makes no difference to me.” She kissed his hand and brought it to her face. “I love you more for what you have suffered.”
Ritcherd pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her brow, unable to express what her acceptance meant to him. To men who had lost so much more, his injury might seem trifling. But it was still a loss that would be with him for the rest of his life. He doubted that many of the eligible young ladies in the area, the same ones his mother had always tried to steer his way, would accept the injury so easily. Of course, his money could compensate for a great deal to women like that.
Kyrah eased back and touched the necklace reverently. “Thank you,” she said. “You treat me like a queen.”
“As I should,” he said. Inhaling deeply, as if to more fully absorb her appearance, he had to admit, “We’ve come full circle, Kyrah. And wherever we go from here will always bring us back to this place.”
Kyrah nodded in agreement, wondering if her life was really going to be as good as it seemed. She fingered the diamonds round her throat, realizing that it was easy to forget just how wealthy Ritcherd Buchanan really was. But her reasons for marrying him had nothing to do with money.
While they stood facing each other she became lost in the intensity in his eyes, marveling once again at the love coming to light between them. The reality that he shared her feelings glowed in his eyes just before he closed them and bent to kiss her. The momentary anticipation sent her heart racing as if it were their first kiss all over again. When his lips came over hers, she felt at first as if she could fly, and then as if she might melt into the ground. He pulled her completely into his arms while his mouth softened over hers. She moaned when their kiss became warm and moist, stirring sensations in her that she’d never imagined she could feel. She pressed her hands over his back and moved impossibly closer. Just when she feared she could bear no more without collapsing in his embrace, he eased back to look into her eyes. The evidence of his desires quickened her heart further, but she was equally warmed by his obvious effort to maintain an appropriate boundary between them. He stepped back and touched her face with an unspoken promise of all they would share as husband and wife.
“I love you,” he murmured, and she smiled in surprise when he led her into a dance, keeping a silent rhythm. And despite the years since they had done this, she followed his lead easily while they practiced them all, adding to Kyrah’s confidence that she would be able to get through this grand social without embarrassing herself—or him.
When she was too tired to dance anymore, she returned the necklace to its box and asked Ritcherd to keep it in his pocket until she could put it safely away. They returned to find Sarah sitting in the walled garden, reading.
“Hello, Mother,” Ritcherd said as he opened the gate and led Kyrah by the hand, sitting on the grass near Sarah and pulling Kyrah onto his lap.
“Well, hello,” she smiled, and Kyrah noticed color in her mother’s cheeks. “Did you have a good time?”
“Oh, yes,” Kyrah said.
“Where’s your brooch, darling?” Sarah asked. “You had it on when you left.”
“I must have lost it,” Kyrah said with indifference. “I’ve got something much better now anyway.” She smiled at Ritcherd. “I’ll show you later.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Sarah said, noticing how Ritcherd lifted his eyebrows playfully. “Perhaps you left it at the dress shop,” Sarah said.
“What?”
“The brooch.”
“Oh, of course,” Kyrah replied. “Perhaps.”
“What are you reading?” Ritcherd asked, and Sarah handed him the book. “Looks dull,” he said with a smile as he thumbed casually through the pages. Kyrah stood and walked listlessly about the garden, and Sarah followed her, pointing out the progress of some odd flower growing in the corner.
“I should be going,” Ritcherd said as he stood and brushed off the back of his breeches. “It’s getting late. If I don’t make an appearance at home once in a while, my mother gets . . . well, you know.” He mimicked a visible shudder that made Kyrah laugh. “But I might be back for breakfast.”
Kyrah walked him to the front of the cottage and watched him drive away. She couldn’t help thinking that she’d not been this happy since her youth, before she’d learned that he was going off to war. Now that he was back, they could put the past behind them once and for all, and find the happiness she had always dreamed of.
The Captain of Her Heart Page 16
