I apologise for the length of this one. This one is not quite so crack, but I've put in it this series because of the setting, even if I've romanticised it beyond belief. Don't hate me to putting Edith in this situation: it all turns out well in the end!
Dedicated to Lady Eleanor C.
TRIGGER WARNING: set in a brothel, with description of the circumstances that force women to work in them.
Period, canon, sometime after 4.4.
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The street corner was cold. Edith didn't particularly pay it any attention, only at a forced and equally cool, detached distance from her feelings. At least it meant that when – if – she attracted any custom she would be less likely to feel anything.
She frowned. A cold body might put the gentleman – no, man – off and he might refuse to pay. That thought worried her, so she tried to keep warm by stamping her feet when no one was looking. Several men had looked at her in a strange way, but they had continued walking. Was she doing something wrong? Perhaps she wasn't looking at them with the correct, accepted expression. Edith had no idea what that expression might be. She hadn't said anything; was she meant to? And if so, what? In fact, she didn't know what she was doing at all.
.
Six months – it felt like centuries – previously she had agreed to become Michael's mistress. She'd also expected to become his wife soon enough. He had got his German citizenship and his divorce was going through.
Then her father found out; a photograph in The Sketch of her with Michael had left no one in any doubt as to the nature of their relationship, and she had been disinherited and cast off, told never to contact the family or use the Crawley name ever again. She had fallen too far; she had renounced it.
That would have been hurtful enough, but troubles come not single spies. Michael's wife, Lizzie, had recovered. Although he was torn, Michael eventually had chosen to stand by his existing wife. He'd asked Edith to leave his house and his life, apologetically at first then increasingly insistently so as to prepare for Lizzie's homecoming.
Edith had found herself standing outside of Aunt Rosamund's house with two cases containing all she owned in the world. The butler had not looked her in the eye as he informed her that Lady Painswick had no niece of the name of Edith, shutting the door with finality.
That had been a fortnight ago. She'd got a bed at one of the missions for a night or so, but they didn't let you stay long. Food was difficult to find with no money; all she had been able to take from Michael's flat had gone within the first two days. What the soup kitchens in the East End doled out was really no more than a bitter, thin stock.
At last, in cowed, frightened desperation and hopelessness, she'd been forced to face the fact that, like millions of women wronged by men before her, there was now only one way she could earn enough money to feed, clothe, and house herself: to continue being wronged by men.
.
"This patch is taken, love, so hop it, there's a good girl."
Edith pulled her thoughts back to the dingy present and the girl in the lace-trimmed dress standing before her.
"I'm sorry" she stammered, confused.
"This is our patch" stated the girl's companion, in the sort of voice one reserved for dim children "and the men round here are our customers. We don't want any nastiness. Just move on, all right?"
"Where do you usually work, love?" asked the first girl, more kindly.
"Er…" Edith murmured, not quick enough to think of a believable lie.
"This is your first time, isn't it?" asked the second girl.
Edith didn't answer but she didn't have to. Her tears said it all.
The two courtesans looked at each other, judging their next move.
"Look, love, take a tip from a girl what knows. You don't want to ply the trade out in the open. It's dangerous and you can't charge as much. Susie and me, we work at Madam LeCoq's. Would you like us to take you there and introduce you?"
Edith still looked like a hunted animal, much as Susie imagined she herself had looked on her first night.
"It's warm, we could give you a cuppa and a sandwich, talk it over, like. And if you don't want to join, you can just walk away. No one'll stop you."
That was enough for Edith. It couldn't be worse than standing here, trying to advertise her body to anyone willing to pay for it.
.
It was warm at Madam LeCoq's. Sitting in front of the fire in the parlour at the perfectly ordinary townhouse (at least from the outside) was the warmest Edith had been for two weeks. The tea was so hot and she'd forgotten how good something so simple could taste. The ham sandwich was so delicious Edith almost wept.
"Are you feeling a bit better, dearie?" asked Madam LeCoq herself, sat in the armchair opposite Edith and looking at her with an expression of both maternal concern, and a businesswoman's calculation.
"Very much better, thank you…" Edith hesitated.
"Oh, just call me 'Mother'. All the girls do. That is…if you're still interested to hear about the terms here?"
"Would…would you accept me?" Edith was surprised. Madam LeCoq had made up her mind already, so quickly and without really asking her any questions.
"Oh yes, dearie. You'd be a good investment, I'm sure. Your skin is good, your eyes are clear and expressive. Any special skills? No, I didn't think so, not yet. Well, there's time and if you're willing to learn…"
Edith must have looked alarmed because Mother touched her hand gently.
"Don't worry dearie, that sort of thing isn't necessary. But it does give you a bit of variety, and higher rates. What do you want to know from me?"
Edith was almost drowning, and she knew the woman opposite her was her only lifeline. She was lucky to have fallen in with Madam LeCoq and her girls rather than anything worse.
"Where will I live?"
"You can stay here if you like. Some of the girls do. Some of them have their own places and come here to work."
Mother didn't waste words when she talked business. She waited patiently for Edith to form another question from all her scattered feelings.
"What…when do I…how am I paid?"
"The gentleman pays me when he arrives. That stops them doing a runner. I set your rate depending on the market which I know, dearie, and you don't. I take twenty five per cent to cover the house and suchlike, you have the rest, cash, after the last gentleman has gone."
"If I don't like a gentleman?"
"Ah" Mother sighed and her face softened with understanding and regret at the girl's innocence, "that's the unfortunate bit of being a professional, dearie. You just have to get on with it. But there are tricks that me and the girls can teach you to make it bearable."
She watched Edith in silence again for a while.
"Anything else?" Edith shook her head, unsurely.
"I don't think you're in a fit state to start tonight. I'll take you up to your room: Jenny's just left, so you can have hers. Can you make beds, dearie? No, I didn't think so."
If Mother wondered how a woman so obviously high-born and coddled as Edith came to be on the streets, she didn't ask, not then, not ever. Everyone was entitled to their secrets.
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The next night, with a couple of good meals inside her, scrubbed and with her hair done and wearing new, tight-fitting undergarments and loose-fitting, very frilly overclothes, Edith waited in her room for her first gentleman. She fidgeted with nerves. She had a new professional name: The Lady. All the girls had professional names. Susie was Angel, because of her very fair hair. The girls all thought The Lady fitted Edith because of her manners. Little did they know, Edith thought to herself. Mother met the gentlemen and discussed their requirements with them, took their payment, and then matched them up with the girl nearest to what they wanted, sending them up to their room. The first Edith would know about her first gentleman was when he entered through that door.
She suddenly didn't want to be looked at. She knew she had to go through with what was to come, but things would be easier if there weren't so much light. She turned down the two oil lamps and rummaged about in the dressing-up box that each girl was given. Once she had a veil on, in the dark, she felt she could get through tonight. How she would feel in the morning…well, she'd deal with that then.
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Madam LeCoq opened the front door and ushered the three gentlemen through to her parlour. She could smell the brandy, but that was fairly usual. The sort of gentlemen who patronised her establishment were not the sort of men who did this because they really wanted to. They did it because they had no choice, were lonely, or their wives had ceased to be interested. The girls said that sometimes they just wanted to talk to someone who listened, who would be affectionate to them. Yes, there were some who came regularly, indulged their carnal appetites, and left, but none of her gentlemen were not gentlemen. If they turned out not to be gentlemen they didn't return. Mother employed a lad whose name was Stanley, but whom everyone called 'Knuckles', who was slow and had more muscles than brains. Out in the world he would have been lost, but here he had his niche. He loved Mother and was fiercely protective of her and the girls. Gentlemen who turned out not to be gentlemen were taken care of by Knuckles and taught the error of their ways.
But these three. They certainly were gentlemen, she could see that. One older gentleman and two younger bucks, they were all dressed in white tie and opera hats which they had removed when she answered their knock.
"Madam, I wonder if you have any young lady who could assist my uncle?" asked one of the younger men.
"I'm sure I have, sir."
"His…his heart's been broken, see? Needs mending, see?" said the other young man, very much the worse for drink than the first.
"And for your two gentlemen…?" asked Mother.
"Well, while we're here, I suppose we could…have the company of a couple of saucy wenches of our own, eh, Henry?"
The two boys laughed, and the older man tried to object.
"Uncle, you need something to take your mind off it. This'll be just the thing, trust me."
"I have a very nice new young lady whom I think will be able to give you relief from your heartache, sir."
So it was settled. The more sober of the young men paid and all three were taken upstairs, the young men would go to rooms of more experienced young ladies; the older gentleman to Edith's room.
.
There was a knock at the door. Edith hadn't expected that. These men paid to take, didn't they? They didn't stand on niceties.
The door opened a shade and a male voice called out "Hello?" and Edith answered as loud as she could through her dry throat.
Another surprise: there was a second man's voice. How many men was she supposed to 'entertain' at once? Her fear spiralled as the door opened fully and three men in opera capes milled around.
"It'll do you the power of good, Uncle. Just have fun!"
"We'll all meet up in the parlour afterwards. Relax and enjoy it, Uncle!"
With that the two shorter, younger men left to find their own ladies and the taller man stood awkwardly in the doorway, until Edith stepped behind him and shut the door. The man continued blinking in the gloom, fidgeting with his opera hat.
"I…I apologise, madam…I don't think I really can…my nephews…after all those nightcaps they poured down my throat…they almost bullied me…they mean well, but…" His voice was hesitant and strangled, swaddled in brandy and uncertainty, but it was still very familiar.
"Please, sir, sit. Tell me why your nephews brought you here." She was aware that her own voice was almost squeezed to a squeak with tension. If she could talk to him Edith thought she might get them both to settle and recover some of their composure. Also, it occurred to her that he might run out of time to do anything else.
"Thank you" he muttered, continuing to stand. Edith realised he was waiting for her to sit first, like a proper gentleman; she took a place on the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room, and he sat a decorous distance from her.
"Well…er, my nephews…they're young. They think some things can be mended…if you lose one lady that all you need is another. It doesn't work like that."
"And have you lost someone, sir?" His voice had recovered a bit and was so like his…it was opening wounds she hoped she'd bandaged so long ago, and so tightly that she would never have to deal with them again.
"Yes."
After a long silence which Edith suspected he did not want to break, he clarified.
"Yes, I was to marry her…but…" he bowed his head to his left hand and whispered so quietly Edith almost didn't hear it, "…oh, my sweet one."
Edith heard herself gasp, as did the gentleman. His brow creased.
"Madam, forgive me, but you are not at all what I imagined a lady in this profession would be like."
"Is this your first time, sir?" Edith prayed that it was, for many reasons.
"Good god, yes." Then he realised what he had said, looked up at her for the first time, still swathed in her veil, and added "no disrespect to yourself, of course. It's just that…"
"I quite understand, sir."
"Do you? Thank you."
"May I take your cloak, sir?"
Edith stood and took the garment from him, seeing, as she knew she would, that the man wore his right arm in a sling. It was him.
Anthony saw the girl looking at his arm, and sighed.
"I'm sorry about this. Well, no, don't worry, it won't get in the way, because I really don't feel I can…it's no reflection on you, madam…I just…I just can't…in fact I should leave…"
He stood, but Edith put out a hand to his ruined arm.
"Please don't, sir. Perhaps it might help to talk?"
He dithered, then sat once more. He seemed to be sobering up by the second.
"What was her name?"
That simple question opened the floodgates for Anthony.
"Edith. She was the daughter of a neighbour of mine in the country. We had had a sort of friendship before the War, but it fizzled out. Her sister told me she'd become bored of me, but…well, anyway, after the War when I came home with this wretched thing in its sling, I avoided her for a year, refusing invitations to shoots or dinners. The inevitable happened when her grandmother invited us both to tea. She pursued me then, as if…as if she were still fond of me. I couldn't believe it, of course…"
"Why not?"
"Because I was old enough to be her father. And I was a cripple. Am a cripple. My life was over. There were many reasons for her to want to be married: she was young, even more beautiful than I remembered her from before, vibrant, and just wonderful! She probably wanted to be a mother, and there was the fact that both her sisters were married. Most likely she wanted to be married too and not left behind, though that seems ridiculous to me because she would've been snapped up soon enough. God knows why she decided on me. She could've had her pick of the young men."
"Forgive me, sir, but perhaps she really did love you."
"I can't believe that. I didn't deserve her. I would have held her back, and though I would've done anything not to, I would have ruined her life. She needed to have a grand love with a fit young man who could give her the life to which she was entitled. I did the right thing."
"What did you do?"
"At first I was weak. She was so determined, and I was so in love I couldn't resist. Before I knew how idiotic I'd been, I'd proposed to her. For one magnificent, exhilarating moment, I was happy. She kissed me." Anthony broke down, his voice cracked, the tears flowing unheeded, before he controlled himself again.
"She was so happy. But I knew it couldn't last. She would grow bored of the pedestrian life I lead, when what she needed was adventure. She would grow disgusted at my old, broken body, when what she deserved was youth and vigour. I couldn't bear thinking about what I was doing, condemning her. Her family were firmly against it. Her father had even warned me away before we became engaged, but she, wonderful girl, persuaded him to change his orders. But she didn't change his mind. He told me..."
"What did he tell you?" Edith asked, frightened.
"The night before the wedding, I asked him for his blessing. He refused."
"No!"
"I'm afraid so. Earlier that day, her grandmother had also cast doubt on my ability to…"
"What!" Edith's vehemence startled him.
"It was a perfectly understandable concern."
Edith was seething at her family's treatment of him, but remained silent, desperate to hear the rest of the story from Anthony's point of view.
"She repeated her doubts in the strongest terms to the vicar in the church before the ceremony, as we were taking our seats. And that decided it for me. God forgive me, I left her at the altar. I stopped the ceremony as quickly as I could, wished her well and happy, and I walked away. Her grandmother…"
"You don't need to tell me. Her grandmother encouraged you to go, and held her back from going after you. Am I right?"
"Yes." Edith could hear him weeping again. "I broke her heart. Because I was weak and because I could only see how cruel I was being after her family pointed it out to me so bluntly."
"Have you seen her since?"
"Once or twice." His words hit Edith in the chest. "Never to talk to; I made sure she didn't see me so I didn't upset her. I've seen her in the distance, here in Town, or in the village, or on the train station. I've watched her, longing to ask her forgiveness, as she walks away smiling. I believe she is happy now. There's a young man, I was told a while ago. I keep looking at the papers for their announcement. I think it might kill me when I see it."
"And if you could talk to her right here and now, what would you say to her?"
"I would beg her forgiveness. I would ask if she was happy. I would make sure she never knew how unrelentingly unhappy my life is without her."
They were quiet for a while. Edith made up her mind. She moved slowly over to where Anthony was sitting and softly put her hand on his shoulder.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like a little relief, sir?" Anthony vaguely shook his head.
"At least let me rub your back to ease the knotted muscles?" Edith rubbed his broad back through his tailcoat. He seemed to debate within himself, and begrudgingly nodded.
Edith knelt on the bed behind him and began to massage his shoulders gently. She'd always loved the broadness of them. She'd longed to do what she was doing now on so many occasions during the time they'd had together, but he'd never allow it. At the time, she wondered if he really did feel the same for her as she felt for him; perhaps he was just humouring her. Now she knew what had been holding him back, and the tears stung her eyes.
He sighed.
"Is this alright, sir? I'm not hurting you? Your arm?"
"No, it's not that. It's just…never mind. You are good at this. It's very relaxing."
"What were you going to say?"
"Edith sometimes offered this." She was surprised that he remembered, that this had reminded him as it had her.
"Was she good at it too?"
Edith felt Anthony suddenly tensing again under her fingers.
"I never let her. I didn't think I could resist her if I said 'yes'. I longed for her so intensely." He sobbed once more. "I loved her so. Oh God, I love her now. I'll always love her." Edith hugged him instinctively. Immediately Anthony stood.
"I'm so sorry, madam. I have wasted your time. I cannot bear to be touched by another woman and I have lost her, so I must resign myself to what must be. Forgive me."
He reached for his cloak and hat hanging on the hook on the door.
"Please don't go, Anthony." He froze and stared at her.
"How did you know my name?"
It seemed simplest just to draw the veil from her head and let him see for himself. As she turned up the nearest lamp, she heard his breath catch.
"Edith?!"
She saw the shock on his face, and looked at his eyes now that she could. They were still as bright blue as she remembered, but clouded with confusion now, with a hint of dark shadows underneath telling of sleepless nights, long agonizing days, and too many tears.
"How did you know I'd be here tonight?" he asked.
God bless the man, he thinks I came here for him, not that I actually work here.
"I didn't, Anthony. As of tonight, I am one of Madam LeCoq's…ladies." She let that sink in, while she looked at his long legs, not daring to glance at his eyes. Would he abandon her, like so many others had done? Would he just take his cloak and leave? Would she have to watch him walking away from her once again? She knew that if she had to do that, it would be the last thing she'd ever do.
Walking away was the very last thing on Anthony's mind.
He took her hand delicately in his good one, as if she might break, and led her back to the bed to sit down. Taking a deep breath he asked "Tell me, please…if you can bear to tell me of all people…what happened?"
She was so relieved he wasn't leaving that that was exactly what she did, right up to the moment when he'd stepped through her door.
"You have nowhere else to go?"
"No."
"And I was the first…?"
"Yes, I assure you."
"Thank God for that. You must have been very disappointed to see me here" he stated baldly.
"That was why I asked if it was your first time. I couldn't believe that you were the sort of man to frequent these kinds of establishments."
"I'm sorry I blurted out about us…"
"Anthony, I needed to hear what happened, what my family did to you, what you thought you were accomplishing. I wanted to know why you did what you did, because I've never truly understood. Thank you for telling me."
"I've not discussed it with anyone else, I promise, and I wouldn't have tonight except for all that brandy and your encouragement."
"You don't need to justify your discretion to me, Anthony. You're the most thoughtful man I ever met. It's one of the things I loved most about you."
Anthony crumbled.
"Did you love me, truly? Or was I just an easy catch?"
"I understand why you thought I might not love you, but I promise you I did. You were my first love, the first real man to take an interest in me, to take me seriously; the only man to take an interest in me for myself. You were always so kind to me, so considerate. I loved you before the War, despite whatever Mary said to spite me, and I prayed throughout those years that you would come home safely when I found out you'd volunteered. Afterwards, I was so desperate to marry you, to convince you to take me despite your worries, before you changed your mind, that I know I rushed you into a wedding before you'd…we'd settled into being a couple, before we'd told each other all our fears and hopes. I'm sorry, it was my fault you were put in that situation."
"Of course it wasn't your fault. You just deserve so much more than…"
"Anthony Strallan, please don't tell me again what I deserve when I have fallen so far into the gutter."
They regarded each other for a few moments.
"I'm just glad that we met by chance this evening, before the rest of my life is spent doing…this. It will help me close a wound and regret it a little less" she said.
"Do you really regret my not marrying you?" Anthony breathed.
"With all my heart and forever. You've always deserved me, Anthony. But now, I cannot deserve even so much as your pity, so perhaps it is best if you leave. God bless you, Anthony, and give you some peace."
Madam LeCoq knocked at the door.
"Sir, your time is over."
Edith couldn't bear the thought of seeing him leave. She knew it would haunt her, so she turned her back to him.
"Would you like to stay a little longer?" asked Madam LeCoq, hoping to get some more money out of the customer.
"Yes. Thank you madam." Anthony's voice was more confident than Edith had ever heard it. He took a note out of his pocket book and opened the door to pass it over. They were left alone again.
Anthony came closer to Edith, without touching her.
"That day in the church, I made a decision for us both that I did not share with you. For that I apologise. I have learned my lesson. I would like to offer to help you. You can refuse it without fear of offending me. But please, if you can accept it, would you allow me to take you back to my house tonight, and give you a bed to sleep in? And tomorrow we can talk about…details and the future."
"You mean, you would like me to become your mistress?" Edith couldn't think this was possible; why would Anthony want her now? But she couldn't think it would be anything else.
"No. I want to support you to become self-sufficient again. You wrote brilliantly, you know; I read every article. Perhaps you would like to pursue that? Or I could just provide you with an income and the use of my townhouse until you decide upon a course of action? If you wanted solitude I would return to Locksley. I cannot bear to see you here, earning your subsistence like this."
"No strings attached?"
"None."
And she knew he spoke the truth. It made her love him all the more.
"I accept your offer, Sir Anthony, but only on one condition."
"Anything."
"That sooner rather than later, we consider marriage again."
She saw how affected he was, his breathing caught, his eyes alight.
"I…I do not want you to think that I am trying to blackmail you into wedlock. I am not going to take advantage of your misfortunes and position" he said.
"I know that, Anthony. But I don't believe in coincidences. You were brought here tonight for a reason, as was I. Can we at least try to heal the past?"
"It would make me the happiest man alive if we could."
Edith trailed her eyes down to his lips and leaned towards him. Anthony reciprocated, a man in a trance, utterly beneath her spell.
Their kiss was gentle, chaste, sweet, and loving.
"I thought I'd fallen as far in love with you as I could, Sir Anthony Strallan. I was wrong."
"Oh, my love..." He pulled himself together again. "Do you have any possessions to gather up?"
"Some clothes and oddments."
"For your sake, it might be best if I return my nephews to my sister's home and then return to fetch you. I don't want them thinking of you in the future as a woman I brought home from a brothel. I will return, I promise. I will speak with Madam LeCoq before I go. You pack, and I'll be back before you've had time to miss me."
With another kiss, or two, he smiled and left looking twenty years younger than when he had arrived.
.
Edith packed her two cases that she had only unpacked the day before. She wavered between breathless excitement and relief, and a cold fear that Anthony may have second thoughts in the cold of night, until Mother came up to her room.
"Well!" she said, all business-like as usual, turning up the lamps a bit further. "I've never heard the like. You knew that gentleman?"
"Yes, I was engaged to be married to him, a long time ago."
"What are the chances, eh? And now he wants you back?"
"I believe he does."
"My girl, there isn't a man in ten thousand who actually wants a woman for anything more than her body, you know that? Even if he is a lord."
"He's a baronet, otherwise I am sure what you say is true. And Sir Anthony is that one in ten thousand. More to the point, I love him."
Mother sighed. "Well, dearie, if the worst happens you can always come back here."
"Thank you, Mother" said Edith, and meant it.
.
Anthony gave Madam LeCoq more money when he returned, much to her pleasure. He wanted her to be on his side, and to keep her tongue from wagging. Then he ushered Edith into the taxi. Once they were on their way, he turned to her.
"Are you alright?"
"More than alright, Anthony. You are my knight in shining armour. Tonight you have rescued me from a fate worse than death. Up until yesterday I was starving on the streets."
He gave a few rueful laughs. "If it hadn't been for me jilting you in the first place…"
"No, Anthony. I will not allow you to dilute the generosity of your actions tonight with something that happened years ago, which you only did for the best motives anyway. We've been given a second chance. Let's make the most of it, please?"
He nodded solemnly, as she snuggled up to him and drew his good arm around her.
"Will you allow me to show my gratitude? Will you, finally, accept that I love you?"
He swallowed audibly.
"There is nothing in the world I would like more. I'm just so glad I found you when I did, that you're safe."
"I'm safe only because of you."
.
Edith was almost asleep when they arrived. The butler took Edith's cases upstairs with the maids who would make up her room, while she waited downstairs with Anthony. He asked if she was hungry, and saw her holding back, but he wasn't going to let her get away with that. When he'd held her in the taxi he had felt how much weight she had lost.
"You can have anything you like, as long as we have it, my sweet. This is your home now. Perhaps a cup of tea and a teacake; something light?" he assured her, taking her hand again.
"You're so kind" she whispered. He instructed the butler when he returned, and led her into the library.
"It...it doesn't exactly look like the library at Locksley, but it feels the same."
"I suppose it does, yes."
It was then he realised she was weeping. He knelt near her seat, his hand protectively on her arm.
"Oh my darling, what's wrong? Have I done something to upset you? Tell me, what is it?"
"It's…it's just all so amazing…I am home, aren't I? Or am I imposing on you too much?"
Anthony offered her his handkerchief and rubbed her back soothingly.
"We are a couple, aren't we? Each of us always believing we are exploiting the other?" He raised her face to look at him.
"I meant what I said. I love you, Edith. I've always loved you. I'm not even beginning to understand yet the happiness that meeting you tonight has brought me. If I can be of service to you, I want that. If you need someone to help you out of this hole, I want to be the one to do it. No strings, remember?"
"But I want strings, Anthony! I love you too. Michael…he was almost what I needed after you left, but when it came down to it another woman had a prior claim to him and he honoured that. I should allow him that much. But you, Anthony, you were always mine, just as I was always yours."
He took her by surprise by reaching up and kissing her then, a deep, passionate kiss full of worship and desire and reassurance. It was just what she needed: tangible evidence that all this was true.
"Then tomorrow, we will do what you asked. We will discuss marriage. Your family told you never to use the name Crawley again, and I'm going to make sure that you never need to, because you will have mine, if you want it."
She smiled up at him through her tears, and he kissed her again, confidently and full of happiness.