“Last time I asked you to marry you, I asked you to change.” He took a deep breath. “This time, I can do better. Let me be the one who supports you. Who believes that you must not be any less. Who adds to your magnificence instead of asking you to make yourself less.”
Jane ran her hand down his back. “I think you owe me a better apology.”
He looked over at her. “I’m sorry. I was an ass. I—”
She set her fingers over his mouth. “I didn’t mean that you should use words, Oliver.”
It took him a moment to understand. A long, slow smile spread over his face. He put his arm around her and then slowly, ever so slowly, he reached out and touched her cheek.
“Jane,” he said softly. “I love you.” He tilted her chin up. “I love you.” He leaned down, his lips so close to hers that if he spoke again, their mouths would touch. “And I am never going to fail you again.”
That whisper brought their lips together. And then he did it again. And again. And again, a sweet kiss that she never wanted to end.
“Very well,” she whispered.
“What’s well?”
“This,” Jane said, sliding closer to him. “Forgiving you. Loving you.” She leaned into him and tilted her head up for another kiss. “Marrying you.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “Good.”
Epilogue
Six years later.
Oliver stood against a wall, watching the room around him. There was quite a crowd in his main salon tonight; he’d given up the count at several hundreds.
Sometimes, it seemed odd to remember that he had a main salon. He and Jane had purchased the house on the event of their marriage, and sometimes, even now, it felt strange to have a room large enough to fit the home where he’d grown up. This one was beautifully appointed: large plate windows at the front looked out over a park. The twinkle of lamplight in other windows was dimly visible across the square.
The window, indeed, was the most beautiful part of the room. Jane stood framed in it, after all, the center of attention.
This gown was an extraordinary one. Purple-and-green striped silk. Gold brocade, perhaps overdone by fashionable tastes. Heavy rubies at her throat.
Everyone had gone beyond wincing at her. They were used to her now; her garb was nothing more than an idle curiosity. She was too important to cut.
After all, at this event, a charity musicale for the Youth Hospital, he was the gracious, smiling spouse.
Over by the window, Jane was talking with animation to a baron, introducing him to the bearded man at her side—one of her sober young protégés, a fellow who—if Oliver recalled—she had sponsored through medical school. He was writing on medical ethics.
“Marshall,” a voice said.
Oliver turned. It was the Right Honorable Bertie Pages, one of Oliver’s colleagues in Parliament.
“Pages,” Oliver said, with a nod of his head.
“Good speech today,” the man said.
Oliver smiled.
“A bit forceful for my tastes, but effective.”
“You always seem to say that,” Oliver said. “If it’s intended as a gentle rebuke, it has long since ceased to work.”
“No… No.” The other man turned and swept his arm out. “When you announced that you were marrying her, I thought you’d made a mistake. A grave mistake. She was…”
“She is,” Oliver corrected.
“Too loud,” Pages said. “Too bright. That gown she’s wearing—it’s got no subtlety at all. There’s never been anything of subtlety to her. And yet…”
“That’s precisely why I married her. You’d best get to the and yet swiftly, because she is my wife.”
“And yet her hospital has already attracted some of the brightest minds in the nation. The symposium she sponsored on medical ethics has had an extraordinary effect on the world. People pay attention to her.”
Oliver smiled.
“And you have only gained respect as her husband.”
In the end, it had been easy to get attention for his parliamentary campaign. Jane had already captured everyone’s interest with her plans. The gowns she’d worn had simply fit in with her personality. She’d fascinated everyone—and once she began to accomplish things, she’d won their grudging respect.
“How did you know?” the man asked.
Oliver shrugged. “I had seen her in action. I knew what she could do. But come. Enough of that. There’s a man I’d like to introduce you to.”
Introductions were made; hands were shaken. Oliver chalked that one up to a job well done, and set his glass on a nearby table. Then he crossed the room. Nobody could tell—nobody but Oliver—but underneath her gown of striped silk, Jane’s belly was growing. In a few months, it would be obvious that she was increasing with their second child. For now…
He stalked toward her. God, she was lovely. Her back was to him, leaving a view of the nape of her neck, adorned tonight by gold and diamonds. The curve of her waist begged for his touch. She was talking with great animation to the people next to her.
“There need to be some repercussions to all this fine theory,” Jane was saying. “It’s all well and good to say that doctors should act in the best interests of their patients, but what if they do not? Who determines what happens next? This is what I need you to consider. Then, we’ll talk to Parliament.”
“Speak of the devil,” the doctor next to her said.
Jane turned. “Oh. It’s you.” But she glowed at him—the smile of a woman completely in her element—and she took his hand, entwining it in hers. “Did you bring Bertie Pages? I wanted to introduce him to Anjan.” She leaned in. “Emily says that Anjan is considering joining you in Parliament.”
“I know. I talked to him earlier. It’s already done.” Oliver gestured across the room, where his colleague was talking to his brother-in-law. Emily stood next to her husband, smiling.
“You are efficient,” she said.
“Sometimes.” He smiled.
Jane was framed in the window. Everyone else might think the décor in the salon a bit odd. There was, after all, a small collection of plants on the table by the window: six of them so far. One cactus for every anniversary they’d celebrated together, plus the one Jane had brought to their marriage. For their tenth anniversary, Oliver was going to try to get her a saguaro—but that was going to take some doing. For now…