CHAPTER THREE - JUNE, 1814: SURREY, ENGLAND
Our engagement was no drawn-out affair. Thomas and I were married within the month, a simple church wedding and breakfast, and before I knew it I was off to his estate. Waverly Manor was a sprawling place, the stuff of gothic novels, with expansive grounds that I knew I would delight in roaming about.
My joy was tangible. All through the carriage ride to my new home, Thomas and I could not stop smiling at each other, both sets of eyes occasionally brimming with tears, and we kissed each other so many times it was a wonder the bumpy carriage never caused us to knock heads together.
"My darling," Thomas breathed as he kissed me again.
"Yes?" I asked.
"You are...you are perfect, in every way conceivable."
"Oh, go on."
"Divine."
"Hardly!"
"I speak the truth, or may God smite me where I sit!"
We both laughed.
Life was easy. It was happy. Every day, I felt a deep, continual contentment that surprised me, though I had always known that Thomas would be the reason for that feeling. I had not expected it all to be so perfect, so effortlessly wonderful. I breakfasted happily, I took my turns in the gardens happily, I attended balls as Mrs. West with the utmost joy...I could not imagine that there could be more to life than this. Than love.