“Yes, you did,” Toby said, coming forward wearing a smile handsome enough for the devil.

“And it was magnificent.” He took the walking stick from her hand and let it fall to the ground before folding her into his arms. “My God, Isabel, I—”

“No, wait!” She pushed away from him. “Toby, I came here to talk to you.”

“By all means,” he said, still smiling. “I’m listening.”

“I came here to say that I…”

He nodded encouragingly. “That you …?”

“That I’m so angry at you!”

His face shuttered. “Oh.” He shifted his weight, flicking a self-conscious gaze sideways.

“That’s what you’ve come all this way to say? That you’re angry at me?”

“Yes,” she said, her hands balling into fists. “Yes. You need to know. You need to see me for who I truly am. I”—she jabbed a finger in her chest—“am a woman who gets angry.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. How could you? I didn’t see it until just today. I’m not selfless, Toby. I’m certainly no angel. And I can’t be mad. Didn’t you tell me, if you’re aware that you’re mad, you’re not mad?”

He nodded.

“Then I can’t be insane. What I am is angry. I get angry, all the time, in the most useless ways. I get angry at things I can’t hope to correct, like injustice and violence and oppression. I get angry at things years in the past—at my brothers for leaving me to grow up alone, at my poor dead father for being an intemperate lecher, and at my poor dead mother just for going mad. I get angry when people make fun of the old and infirm. I go positively livid when I see a maltreated child.”

“I understand,” he said, stepping toward her.

“No, you don’t,” she insisted, tears stinging her eyes. “You couldn’t possibly understand. You’ve always been happy, always been so loved. You can’t know what it’s like, to see people in pain and feel that suffering, all tangled up with your own. To need some way to channel all that anger into something good … or you’ll simply go mad with it.”

He stretched out a hand. “Darling, please. Let me—”

“And you,” she said, ignoring his hand and leveling a finger at him. “When women flirt with you, I get so angry I could stick them with pins. When men point guns at you, I get so angry I’ll club them with sticks.”

The oaf at her feet began to moan and stir.

“Be quiet,” she told him, “or I’ll do it again.” To Toby she asked, “What did he want, anyway?”

Toby tilted his head and regarded the crumpled figure. “He wanted me to withdraw my candidacy.”

“Oh!” A wild giggle bubbled up from her chest. “That’s what I meant to ask of you, too.” She tapped the man’s shoulder with the toe of her boot. “So sorry.”

“I can’t withdraw my candidacy,” Toby said, frowning, “or Colonel Montague will win.”

“So?” Bel asked.

“So … he’s ancient, deaf, and insane.” Toby crossed his arms. “I can’t allow it to happen, in good conscience. Besides, isn’t this what you wanted? You wanted a husband in Parliament.”

“I wanted you,” she blurted out. Her hand went to her throat. “I wanted you, from the very first moment I saw you. I’ve been pushing you into all these political and charitable roles ever since, so I could pretend I had some nobler cause in mind. But I didn’t. I just wanted you.”

“Isabel …” He came toward her again, arms open.

“No.” She stayed him with an open palm. “I’m not done being angry yet.”

“Oh.” His arms fell. “All right. I’ll just… wait for you to do the embracing, then.”

“That would be best.” She sniffed. “Toby, of all the things and people I’m angry at, I’m most angry at you. I trusted you, and you lied to me. And I understand why you did it, and I can even forgive you … but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. So I’m angry at you for lying, but I’m angrier still at how deeply you’ve made me care.” Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and she dabbed at them impatiently. “You made me love you, Toby, so much I could hate you for it.” She smothered a sob with her palm. “I’ve never said that to anyone before.”

“The part about love?” he asked.

“No,” she choked out through tears. “The part about hate.”

From that very first kiss, he’d made her feel everything—the good and the bad. He brought all her passions to the surface, when she’d worked so long to subdue them. It was infuriating and wonderful and so very frightening. She just didn’t know what to do. Fortunately, he seemed to have an idea.

“I lied,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, but I lied to you again just now. I’m not going to wait for you to do the embracing.”

His arms went around her, and Bel rested against his strong, solid chest, shedding tears and soot all over his coat.

“Hush, love,” he said, rocking her gently. “It’s all right. Haven’t I told you, time and again?”

He pulled back slightly and tilted her face to his. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

She kissed him. Tightened her arms around his neck, stretched up on tiptoe, and kissed him, in front of everyone. In front of hundreds of gaping spectators, in front of six men with muskets

… good heavens, in front of her brother.

And it was wonderful. Everyone cheered. Even the men with guns.

Well, perhaps not her brother.

“Don’t do this,” she said, between nibbles at his lips. “It’s not too late to withdraw from the race.”

“I have to win,” he murmured.

“No, you don’t. It doesn’t matter to me whether or not you serve in Parliament. I won’t force you into this.”

“I’m not being forced.” Putting some distance between them, he took her hands in his. “I know it wasn’t my original intention, but now I want to serve, for several reasons. It’s my duty as a gentleman of privilege, for one. And I want to honor Mr. Yorke’s legacy, for another. In many ways, he was a father to me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bel said. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you when he died.”

“I know. I was sorry you weren’t, too—but I knew it was my own fault.” He kissed her hand.

“But Isabel, the largest reason I want to be elected to Parliament is this: I want to do it for you.”

“Haven’t you been listening? You shouldn’t do this for me.”

“Of course I should. I love you, and there’s no better reason to do anything.”

“But—”

“Shh.” He took her in his arms again. “It’s my turn to have my say, all right?”

She nodded.

He spoke softly, only to her. “Isabel, you were right about me. I’m capable of far more than this frivolous life I’ve been leading, and I knew it long before we met. For years now, I’ve wished for some greater purpose, and you were right to push me to find one. But you don’t get to choose it for me.”

“No, of course not.” She stroked his cheek. “I was wrong to even try. That’s why I want you to withdraw from the race.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m going to be elected to Parliament, where I will represent this borough with honor. And I will continue to manage my estate. I think I’ll prove reasonably competent at both. But my highest goal, my true reason for living, is right here in my arms. It’s you, darling. It’s us. You are everything I’ve been yearning for, for so long—a perfect fit for all my natural talents.” He smiled, and brushed a tear from her cheek. “Loving you gives meaning to my life.”

“Toby.” She bent her head, resting her brow against his chest.

He whispered in her ear, “And by God, I will excel at it. I mean to love you so well, so fiercely. To make certain you never doubt what a remarkable, beautiful woman you are. To make certain the world knows it, too. To create a stable, loving home for you and our family. To give you a place where you will always feel safe.”

She slipped her hands inside his coat, needing to hold him tight.

“Those may not be the sort of accomplishments that end up in the papers,” he continued, “or earn a man society’s applause. But they’re important, just the same. And as I look around at the world, I realize … it’s astonishing, how few men are truly good at them.”

She lifted her face to his. “You will be magnificent at them. A true champion. I have complete

faith in you.”

He was right, of course. Toby was a rare man indeed.

In all her life, Bel had never met a person with such infectious warmth and good humor, or his instinctive talent for making those around him feel confident and secure. That combination had attracted her to him from the very beginning. Well, that and the devastating grin spreading across his face.

Oh, she was the luckiest woman alive.

He said, “Then I advise you to get accustomed to this idea, that you are worth any effort. Learn to live with the burden of being adored. Take all that righteous anger, darling, and go forth to battle the dragons of injustice … but you must always come home to me.” He kissed her nose.

“Because I intend to be, above everything, a devoted husband.” A sly gleam stole into his eye as he added, “And a doting father.”

She gasped. “How did you know? Even I’m not certain yet.”

“I’m certain. And I knew it the moment I saw you. I’ve three older sisters, with ten nieces and nephews between them. I can just tell.”

She buried her face in his coat. “I’m frightened. I’m not sure I know how to be a good mother.”

“You will be the most loving, patient mother who ever lived.” He held her tight. “Except on the rare days you aren’t. On those days, I’ll take the children to the park.”

She laughed into his chest. “How do you do it?” She raised her face to his. “How do you always know exactly what it is I most need to hear?”

“That’s easy.” He bent to whisper in her ear. “Here I divulge a great secret, darling. I just say what ever it is I’d most like to hear back.” His breath warmed her cheek as he murmured hopefully, “I love you.”

“Oh, Toby.” She melted inside. If there were a better man on this earth—she would still want this one. Forever. “I love you, too.”

EPILOGUE

FIVE YEARS LATER

“Well? Did you manage to kill anything today?”

Toby stretched out on the grassy riverbank, reclining on one elbow. “Bagged one partridge. Henry has himself a fine brace of pheasants.”

“That’s all? I knew I should have gone with you.” Lucy looked up at him, the faint gleam of bloodlust in her eye. It was an expression completely at odds with her otherwise maternal appearance. She sat on a quilted picnic blanket, resting her weight on one outstretched hand while the fingers of the other combed her infant’s dark curls.

Beside her, Sophia shaded a charcoal sketch of the slumbering baby boy. “Eventually,” she said without looking up, “we’ll have to stop calling this our annual hunting party. You men so rarely bring anything back.”

“True enough,” Toby said, watching the play of sunshine and brisk autumn breeze on the stream’s dappled surface. “But then, our annual ‘tromping-through-the-woods-to-prove-ourmanliness party’ lacks that certain ring.”