Charlotte had slept through the carriage ride and both she and Alexander fell easily into a long afternoon nap in their Paris flat. They awakened at nearly six and, as Alexander suggested, took a boat ride on the Seine, watching as the moon rose over the city. Then they enjoyed a late dinner at the Café des Variétés directly across the street from their flat, where they could look up and see their own terrace above them.

Watching Paris go by in the late evening from a small table in the Montparnasse district was a very different experience than seeing it during the day on the grand boulevards. This was a thriving artists' colony, filled with free-spirited bohemians much like Charles Lockhart, and intellectuals, great thinkers, and writers. The effervescence and creativity of the place was palpable, and Charlotte and Alexander talked and watched and listened until the early hours of the morning.

They finally were too tired to do anything but sleep, but they did so wrapped warmly in each other's arms, and when they woke, they seemed to have caught up on their rest and were ready to take on all of Paris.

Charlotte stood firm on daily wearing her corset because she said she would feel naked without one, but Alexander insisted that from here forward, he would be the one to lace it up for her. In truth, he found the process delightfully intimate, and it was rapidly becoming another item in the long list of lovely surprises of his marriage to Charlotte.

This morning she supported herself lightly on the window frame while looking out at the Paris rooftops as he threaded the laces through the eyelets and pulled gently.

Charlotte spoke dreamily. "I should like to visit Notre Dame today, and the Bibliothèque Mazarine or perhaps the National Library. Charles' recommendations of the art books there have my interest quite piqued." She looked out at the sea of rooftops in front of her and sighed. "I cannot think about the fact that our honeymoon is already nearly over. There are so many things I still wish to do."

"Which is why we will come back, again and again," Alexander said, kissing her neck lightly.

She leaned back into his kisses and closed her eyes. "And there are so many restaurants we have passed by and have not sampled. Crêpes!" She said suddenly, making Alexander laugh. "We have not had crêpes! With strawberries and cream…"

"Crêpe fraise et crème…" Alexander said seductively in her ear, and she sighed audibly. Then, taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and looked back up at the blue sky with just the wisps of clouds. "I wonder who first made a crêpe," she said. "It really is just a thin cake, is it not?"

Alexander smiled and was silent for a moment, and she turned, shaking her head. "You know… of course you know. Tell me then – why do I feel I need to go to a library, when I am, in fact, married to one…"

"Thirteenth century, I believe, a poor Frenchwoman accidentally spilled some thin porridge onto a hot griddle. And since no food is wasted in poverty, she was not inclined to discard her mistake. Her family clamored for more, the word spread, and voilà!"

"You are a wonder," Charlotte said softly. "So, yes, I would very much like some crêpe fraise et crème for breakfast, and it needs to be soon, as I am starving."

"Shall we have them served in the room?" Alexander asked, "Or shall I speed up this corset-tying?"

"No, please, I want crêpes out there, à Paris!" she said, waving her hand in a wide arc.

"Ah," Alexander said, bending more diligently to his task. "Then hastening is required. I am not very good at this, I fear."

"So you're saying that you have never tied a woman's corset before?" Charlotte asked. Before, of course, was how they now indicated events during his marriage to Lucy.

Alexander laughed softly. "Oh, no. I was never allowed to be present when she was dressing. It was why we had separate rooms at Heyrick, and at the townhouse at Hyde Park. She felt it was unladylike for a woman to show herself to her husband in any state of dress that was not appropriate for a tea or a garden party."

Charlotte turned her head and looked at him in wonder, and then gazed back out at the Paris view. "I suppose I must seem a bit wild to you, then." She spoke in jest, but Alexander could hear the real question under her lightness, and he leaned down and rested his chin on her shoulder tenderly.

"In the best possible way, my love," he said in a near-whisper. "I cannot tell you how much I treasure our mornings and nights. You offer me a trust and openness I have never known before, and it is a gift I value very highly."

Charlotte turned around and circled his neck with her arms. "I do trust you. Absolutely and utterly. With my heart, and my life."

"I feel the same…" Alexander said, bending to kiss her. He was still in his nightshirt, and Charlotte only in her shift and corset – and it was early days enough in their marriage that he felt the familiar rush of gratitude for her love, tinged with a healthy dose of overwhelming desire for his exquisite wife.

"Good God, will I ever stop wanting you," he said ardently against her lips, pulling her closer.

Charlotte fully returned his kiss, parting her lips and feeling her rising breath loosening the laces of the unfastened corset. She ran her hands under his nightshirt, feeling the heat of his skin, and she knew that they would be getting another late start on Paris.

The crêpes would simply have to wait.

"I received a letter from Charlotte this morning," Alison said, taking a last bite of eggs and potatoes. Declan looked up from his paper, and Drew, as always, kept his eyes down into his book at their large harvest table.

"And how is the happy couple enjoying Paris?" Declan said, raising his eyebrows.

"She is positively poetic about it," Alison sighed, leaning back in her chair. She placed her hand naturally on her growing belly and Declan smiled – the protective nature of impending motherhood was evident to him every day, and his heart swelled with love for her.

"I believe I owe my wife a honeymoon," Declan said softly, his forehead wrinkled into a light frown.

Alison laughed and shook her head. "No, don't be daft, we had to get back to the farm. It doesn't run itself, as you well know." She stood and lifted her plate from the table, walking around to pick up Declan's as well. She leaned down and gave him a light kiss. "Anyway, every day is a honeymoon with you, love."

Declan smiled up at her. "Ah, sweet talker…"

"So where are you on the farm today?" she asked, pumping the water for the dishes. Declan had installed a small pump inside the kitchen that drew from the well outside so that Alison would not have to venture into the Ulster cold of winter and blistering heat of summer. He had always made do on his own, but with a little one on the way, he found himself doing everything he could to make Alison's chores easier for her.

"Still training the new dogs, and Marianne is supervising the carding now that all the wool is washed. Skimming the wool-wax for lanolin, then we can start cleaning out the shearing sheds. Full day, but I should be back for supper."

"Your lunch is wrapped and ready," Alison said. "Have Marianne bring in the carded wool and I will spin for the day. Just baking bread and pies, so I should have plenty of time." She kissed him on the cheek and turned to Drew.

"Drew, take your nose out of that book and get moving, lad. You will be late for Mr. Tristan if you don't."

Drew took a quick and impressively large bite of his eggs and closed his book. "Did you know, sister, that the main stomach of a cow, the rumen, holds up to fifty gallons of food that has been partially digested?"

Alison made a face. "I can honestly say that I have reached the ripe old age of one-and-twenty in ignorance of that scintillating fact – and I might have gone yet another twenty years happily not knowing it, thank you very much."

She handed Drew his lunch and ruffled his hair. "When you write to Augusta tonight, please have her tell Eva that I will be sending down her knitting wool early next week. Just the color she asked for, in Charlotte's favorite teal green."

"Aye, I will," Drew said.

Alison laughed and shook her head. "Listen to us. I call you 'lad' and you answer with 'aye.' We are turning into proper Irish, right as rain," she said.

"Could do worse," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "They are good people."

Nodding, Alison said, "Yes, they are that. Hurry up, now, or Mr. Tristan will have you mucking out stalls again."

Drew pulled his coat down from the hook on the wall, and she watched him as he tucked his lunch into his saddlebags and mounted his horse. Alison was still watching as he reached the main dirt road and took the turn away from the Fraser Farm.

For a moment she simply stood and looked around her. She laughed softly to herself about her former notion of never marrying a farmer. Had she become an officer's wife as she had wished – Mrs. Carter, as it were – she would have been alone in some flat somewhere, or at the very least, back home with her family in Willingden while William performed his duties in Malaysia.

Instead, here she was in the beauty of Ireland, working the land with Declan and building a dream for their children and their children's children, should they want it. And every night, she had her husband beside her, warm and steady. She finally understood her mother's talk of "a marriage of the land."

Alison did not even realize it when she placed her hand again on her apron, the strings of which needed to be tied higher every day as her waist disappeared. She cradled the place where life was growing inside her and said a heartfelt thank you to God for all she had.

Then she smiled and turned, singing softly,

"Merrily, cheerily, noiselessly whirring

Swings the wheel, spins the wheel while the foot's stirring

Spritely and lightly and merrily ringing

Trills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing…"

It had been made abundantly clear to Georgiana that she was a Colbourne now, and Alexander and Samuel had even suggested she might take the name to simplify things, but as Georgiana was soon to change her name to Lockhart in any case, she decided to continue to honor Lawrence Lambe for his role in removing Sarah Kingsley and herself to Antigua and being such an exemplary father.

When she married, her legal name would be Georgiana Lambe Lockhart – and although Alexander Colbourne would essentially serve as her guardian in any financial matters, he and Samuel would be her brothers in every other sense.

Eva had walked the West Wing of Heyrick House with Georgiana, and they had selected a room that she could call her own for those times she might choose to spend nights at the estate. It was fully outfitted with toiletries, clothing and some favorite items that made Georgiana feel at home – almost as if she had, in fact, grown up there and this had been her childhood room.

But she would keep her apartments in Sanditon town, and that is where she and Charles would live together, waking up to the sounds of the sea just outside their windows – with the care and assistance of Rosie, who dearly loved Charles already and could clearly see the deep happiness he gave her mistress.

Another pull to Heyrick was, of course, the greenhouse and the palm – so when Georgiana and Charles felt at all restless or needed a change of venue, they would take the carriage out to sit on the benches and talk of their travels. Charles had never been to Antigua, and Georgiana had yet to visit Paris, Madrid, or Rome – so they would sit for hours over tea and cakes, talking and laughing between kisses in the warmth and protection of the glass structure.

The groundskeeper had been called out once by a passing servant who heard muffled voices coming from the building after midnight, and knowing that the Master and Mistress of Heyrick House were in Paris on their honeymoon, worried there might be mischief afoot. After a tentative knock, he was relieved to hear Miss Georgiana say that all was well, and they were simply discussing the benefits of watercolor over oil paints, to the subsequent laughter of Mr. Lockhart. The groundskeeper had smiled as he went back to bed, no stranger to young love himself in his early days.

They had found that one of their greatest joys was painting and drawing together. Georgiana was progressing daily, and Charles was impressed with her sense of composition, her imagination, and her skill at bringing life to her drawings. He offered counsel only when asked, and only in the broadest terms, for the last thing he wanted to do was to curb her natural creativity. He felt that hers might not be the way he would choose to paint a tree, but it was a tree that spoke to Georgiana's heart and that was all that mattered.

Today they were on the bluffs, set up on a quiet terrace sheltered from the ever-present wind by tall rocks and trees that allowed them calm while not obstructing the view of their beloved ocean. Georgiana was trying her hand at a pen-and-ink of the horizon line, which was a challenge without the colors afforded by paints, but one she relished. Charles was painting her while she drew. He never tired of examining the tiniest features of her face, the set of her mouth, the slight narrowing of her eyes as she chose which line pleased her best.

Although Charles was not an accomplished horse rider, he was adept enough to keep up with Georgiana, and they had borrowed horses from the Colbourne stables for today's foray to the sea. The couple's equine companions stood peacefully tethered in the shade of the trees, enjoying the fresh green grass that grew there.

"She is out there, somewhere," Georgiana said cryptically as she gazed at the sea, but Charles always knew she was talking of her mother.

"Yes, and if you are meant to find each other again, it will happen," Charles said softly. "You feel the strong connection, and I cannot help but believe that she does also…" He felt he must acknowledge the possibility that Sarah Kingsley was no longer alive, if only to soften the blow to Georgiana should it turn out to be true. "...if she is able."

Georgiana turned to him with the fire in her eyes that he so loved. "She is alive. I would know it if she wasn't."

"Just so," he said, nodding and smiling at her.

She smiled back. "Do not humor me, please."

Charles laughed softly and looked back down at his painting. "I would not dare."

"Why would she not answer Samuel's letter?" Georgiana asked, looking back out at the sea. "Arthur believes that the postal services in the Virgin Islands are positively archaic and that the letter is possibly still finding its way to her. Not to mention the perils of sea voyages and the fact that it could have been destroyed along the way…"

"All very distinct possibilities," Charles said, nodding.

"And you are still in agreement that once we are married, and I am safely your property, we shall take our honeymoon to St. John?" Although she knew it was no fault of Charles', she fairly spat the word "property" at him. To have escaped slavery only to be put back in legal bondage still galled her – but she had to admit that a woman of color traveling alone to the islands by ship would encounter all manner of dangers. Having Charles, her husband, with her, was the only thing that made the idea even possible, and for that, she was grateful. Charles knew that, and also understood fully her frustration with the way things were.

Charles put down his brush and reached a hand out to her. "I can think of nothing I should like more. To see a part of the world that I have yet to see is my fondest wish, and you know it. Better yet, to be on a ship with you for nearly a full month with all that tossing and turning…" he looked mischievously at her from under his unruly curls and Georgiana laughed.

"You are incorrigible," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"And as you well know, it is my best feature, and one you love well," he said, taking the pen from her hand and pulling her into his arms.

Georgiana gazed into his eyes and sighed. Charles had a way of looking at her before he kissed her, as if he needed to commit her to memory before giving way to the darkness of closing his eyes – and she loved the pause, the moment before his lips touched hers. When they did finally melt together into a kiss and his passion took over, she marveled at how it was as if he thought he might never be able to enjoy her lips again, as if he were a prisoner partaking in his last meal and the appreciation that would bring. He made her feel like a goddess.

"We should get back," she said against his cheek, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

Charles sighed deeply. "Yes, I suppose we should." He pulled away and looked at her. "I do not imagine you have reconsidered shortening our engagement…"

Georgiana smiled at him and raised an eyebrow. "You know this is as difficult for me as it is for you. But I believe it is healthy for both of us to curb our passion. Waiting can be very instructive."

He touched his lips to hers again. "And if I have no desire to be taught restraint and patience?"

She laughed and turned to begin gathering up her things. "The lesson will come to you nonetheless, with or without your consent."

"You are infuriating," Charles said, his eyes narrowed.

"And you are a spoiled child," she said, raising her chin with a smile.

Charles laughed softly and shook his head. "And we are made for each other," he said, moving toward his easel.

"Just so," Georgiana said, laughing.

Charles shook his head. "Now who is humoring whom?" he said, laughing with her.

"We will need to hurry if we are to arrive at the theater in time," Georgiana said, packing her sketchbook into her saddlebag. "Samuel always raises an eyebrow at us when we come in late."

"And Arthur too, from across the way," Charles said. "Although Lady D's accusing scowl strangely gives me pleasure."

"Me as well," Georgiana said, smiling guiltily. "I suppose that marks us as unkind and cruel."

"Those are two adjectives that describe the Dragon Lady perfectly… Oh! And I forgot to tell you. Arthur told me that she has actually planted pineapples on her land and surrounded them with a greenhouse like Alexander's. She has three gardeners who have been tasked with nothing but keeping them alive so that she can have another, and I assume more successful, luncheon with them as centerpiece."

Georgiana shook her head. "The woman never gives up. Now that she is no longer the richest person in town, I suppose she wishes to distinguish herself as patroness of pineapples or some such."

Charles laughed and took Georgiana into his arms, kissing her neck. "May they all be filled with maggots," he said, nuzzling her ear.

Georgiana sighed under his touch. "Do you know that now we have convinced Mr. Griffiths to replace selling sugar with honey at the Mercantile, Lady Denham is having bags of the stuff brought in from London? She has offered to supply it to friends who wish to purchase it from her. The woman is the bane of my existence! She has made it her aim to single-handedly continue the sugar trade."

Charles smoothed a curl back from Georgiana's forehead. "You forget, my sweet, that Lady D has no friends. She is fairly universally hated in this town, whereas you are deeply loved by all… most particularly me…" He kissed her again, and Georgiana found herself calming.

She pulled away and smiled at him, her eyes filled with love. "I do adore you so…" she said softly, taking his face in her hands.

They stood for a long time there in the breeze from the sea, listening to the soft nicker of the horses and the calls of the seabirds overhead, until finally they sighed and mounted their horses for the ride back to Heyrick House.

Charlotte and Alexander had been walking toward Notre-Dame de Paris for some time, and were able to see parts of it as they looked over the treetops of the abundant foliage that lined the Seine River. But when they finally came into view of the massive round stained-glass window, Charlotte gasped in delight.

"Oh, it is magnificent!" she said in wonder. "Our Lady of Paris is such a marvelously apt name for her."

"Wait until you see it from the inside," Alexander said. "You cannot imagine the full effect of the colors of glass used in its construction until you see the sunlight shining through from the other side."

The French Revolution just twenty years earlier had caused the great old cathedral to be badly desecrated, and much of its religious imagery had been lost – but the great towers on the west façade with the spectacular rose window between them had survived all.

"She is a bit ponderous, but so very beautiful," Alexander said, leaning his head back as far as his neck would allow to fit the tall towers into his field of vision. "The French do know how to dream of great things."

They ventured inside the church and sat in the far back on a wooden pew that afforded them full view of the rose window. Charlotte took Alexander's hand in hers and brought it to her lips. "How can I ever thank you for this?" she said, her voice breaking slightly. He turned to her and saw tears in her eyes.

"You would have found your way here without me. You are a seeker, my dear Charlotte."

She turned and looked at him. "It would not have been the same without you here with me. My love for you makes everything more beautiful – as I have said, I do understand how it turns men and women into poets."

Alexander touched her cheek with his fingers, tracing a tear that had fallen. "And will you write about this in your journal?" he asked softly.

Charlotte smiled. "I will make an attempt." She turned back to look up at the great window in front of her and leaned her head on Alexander's shoulder. They sat for a time there in awe and gratitude, listening to the echoing footsteps and soft whispers of tourists, penitents and priests on the exquisite tile floors.

Finally, Alexander kissed her on the top of her head and said softly, "Much more of Paris to see…"

Charlotte took in a deep breath. "Yes," she said, looking at him with bright eyes. "And I want to see as much of it as I can."

They walked out into the bright sunshine and the chatter of people feeding the birds in the small square, and then made their way down to the riverwalk on the Seine. A company of street-players were singing a capella Othello arias hoping to find an audience for the opera to be performed in the Latin Quarter later that evening. They were in competition with the Corps-Dramatique, and some excessively energetic actors wishing for the same for a production of Le Misanthrope.

Charlotte laughed at their antics and said, "I feel we should have no lack of things to do in this city, no matter how long we stayed."

Passing the Place Dauphine and a small café, Charlotte looked longingly at the tourtières, consisting of pork, onions, and savory seasonings baked into a pie crust. "Oh," she sighed, "Does that not smell delicious?"

Alexander smiled. Though he had watched her consume a plate of strawberry crȇpes just hours ago, he felt he could set his watch by Charlotte's desire for food on this trip. He pulled his grandfather's watch out of his pocket now and saw that it was almost exactly noon. "It is lunchtime. Will that not be too heavy for a midday meal?"

"After we have walked miles already? It sounds wonderful to me."

He took her arm and steered her toward the café. "Then we shall have it, my love. I seem unable to say no to you since we set foot in this country."

Smiling brilliantly, Charlotte said, "Another reason I do not want to leave."

As they ate, they watched the bâteau-mouche river boats carrying tourists down the Seine, passing the péniches barges holding goods, along with small skiffs and gondolas offering lovers a modicum of privacy under umbrellas shielding them from the warm sun.

Charlotte speared another bite of her pie, and said, "I have been meaning to ask you – was that a letter from Samuel that you received last night when we returned from dinner?"

Alexander nodded. "It was, and it contains some good news. I was waiting to tell you until we had a chance to catch our breath, and here we are." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope, which he handed to her. She read it avidly, enjoying the news of the inhabitants of Heyrick Park, and his recounting of the opening night success of Arthur's theater.

"It seems we missed a party," Charlotte said ruefully. "We can hope that they are ready to repeat the celebrations when we finally see the play."

"Read on," Alexander said, his eyes twinkling.

Charlotte looked at him curiously and bent her head to the second page of the letter. "Oh! How wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Engaged! I thought it might happen soon, but not quite this soon." She finished reading and then folded the paper back into the envelope. "I am so happy for them!"

"As am I," Alexander said, nodding. Then he shook his head lightly and looked out at the river. "Sam. Married. It is hard to fathom."

"No more than what it must have seemed to him to see us married," Charlotte said, taking his hand on the table.

"Indeed," Alexander said, sighing.

Charlotte frowned and worked to catch his eyes. "What is it? Does this concern you in some way?"

Alexander turned and seemed to come out of his reverie. "No, not at all. Marie is lovely and they are very well suited. It is only that…"

"That what?" Charlotte asked softly.

"I have cared for Sam, watched out for him, for as long as I can remember. It is a rite of passage, that is all."

Smiling, Charlotte said, "And do you imagine he will need you less once married?" She laughed softly. "You may be able to offer him a bit of your wealth of experience after two full weeks of wedded bliss."

He squeezed her hand. "And before a fortnight ago, I would not have considered myself worthy of giving even the merest advice on marriage."

Charlotte laughed softly. "Practice makes perfect, my love."

Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed her ring. "I will never expect to be a perfect husband. Only to love you to the extent my heart is able – which right now, cannot be contained…"

"Nor mine," she replied softly.

For a moment they gazed at each other, and then Charlotte took a deep breath. "I do fully understand what you feel, you know? My little sister was married before me and now is prepared to bring a new life into the world – and it is highly likely that I will not be with her when she does."

Alexander frowned slightly. "And why would you not be? I naturally assumed that upon her confinement you would travel to Ulster to be with her."

Charlotte's eyes brightened. "Nothing would make me happier. And what of you?"

"Perhaps I will come too. I know I have spent much time in my study over books, but shearing season is now over, and I can mend a fence and muck out stalls with the best of them. Perhaps it will give Declan more time to enjoy becoming a father."

"And the girls?" Charlotte asked, already fairly sure of the answer.

Alexander laughed. "How much convincing do you believe will be necessary for Augusta to see Drew again? And for Leonora to sit at the feet of a war hero listening to stories of his exploits?"

"And by that time, we should have Sam and Marie, and Georgiana and Charles, well married." She put her arms around his neck right at the table. "Oh, it would make me so happy. And I have never seen Ireland, have you?"

"Certainly not that part of the north. It is said to be unspeakably raw and beautiful. We look out at the ocean from Sanditon, and it is really France that calls to us across the sea. But from Ireland, it is the most vast amount of water possible, all the way to the Americas." He turned to her with a raised eyebrow. "Which I should also love to see someday."

Charlotte's eyes sparkled. "We shall be exploring the world together through a long life, will we not? Finding adventures?"

"Yes, my love," he said softly, holding her hand to his cheek. Then he pulled his watch from his pocket again and tilted his head. "And our next adventure is Le Bal de l'Ópera this evening, and we will be standing before the Paris Opera House at precisely ten o'clock, though the celebrations will last well into tomorrow morning. We just have time for a nap and to make ourselves presentable, and then I shall take Cinderella to the Ball."

"And how did you know that I might be open to a nap?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"It does not take a sleuth to know that when a woman yawns twice in the middle of my fascinating conversation, she must be in dire need of a nap," he said. "I have watched you over the course of the week becoming positively European, and it is a very good look on you, Mrs. Colbourne."

He stood and offered his arm to her, and Charlotte smiled happily. She was already imagining the fresh feel of the clean, white sheets on the featherbed, and snuggling in beside her husband, his now-familiar body warm and strong next to her.