The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,67

him, then took the chair next to his.

Linus sipped the amber brew.

“Milk and honey,” she said. “That’s the way you always take it at the spa.”

“Perfect,” he said, shoulders coming down. “And very observant. Only what I would expect from you.”

She contented herself with her tea. Somewhere a clock ticked off the time.

He’d wanted a private conversation with her, but he found himself all at sea. He set down his cup. “Help me, Abigail. I am coming to care for you, and I’m not sure what to do.”

She lowered her cup as well, but the tea sloshed. “I’m no more sure what you’re asking of me. I’ll never be the demure miss who flutters her lashes and gazes up at you adoringly while you tell her of your adventures. I’m coming to care for you as well, but I wish to stand beside you, sir, not walk behind in your shadow.”

It seemed he had a chance. “I want you beside me as well,” he assured her. “Raising Ethan together, encouraging each other in our work, helping the village. Would you ever consider marrying?”

Both hands gripped her cup, and she gazed into the liquid as if his answer lay at the bottom. “For much of my life, I didn’t think so. And no man stirred my heart sufficiently to cause me to change my mind.” She glanced up, met his gaze, and touched his heart. “Until I met you. So, if you’re asking me to marry you, Linus, to be your partner in all things, then the answer is yes.”

Chapter Twenty

With one word, she was betrothed. Linus surged to his feet, and she met him. His proposal may have been hesitant, but his kiss said he knew his own mind.

And her heart.

Her mother, of course, was overjoyed. “Oh, wonderful!” she cried when they exited the dining room together and told her the good news. She clasped her hands together. Ethan, lying with his head on her lap, woke up sufficiently that they could explain to him too.

“So, you’ll be my mother,” he said to Abigail, face solemn.

Abigail couldn’t hold back her smile. “Yes. Do you mind?”

“No,” he said. “You like me.”

She gathered him close. “I love you, Ethan, and I love your father as well. We’ll all be a family.”

Linus put his arms around them both, and her mother leaned in as well. Warmth spread. Hope with it.

“A little squishy,” Ethan said, wiggling in the middle.

“Get used to it, my boy,” her mother said, releasing them to wipe away a tear.

They were only the first to congratulate her.

“Wishing you and Doctor Bennett all the best,” Mr. Ellison said when she went for bread early the next morning after sending Linus up to the spa.

“How did you know?” she asked, accepting the loaf from him.

“Your mother mentioned it to Jack Hornswag, who told his cook, whose son is sweet on my Jenny,” he told her. “The Misses Pierce were in before you. I let them know as well. They promised to order whatever you like.”

So did the Inchleys when she dropped by to purchase tea and sugar before opening her shop.

“How big a wedding breakfast do you want?” Mrs. Inchley asked as Abigail debated bohea or green tea. “I imagine the church will be full—he is the physician after all, and every lady in this village owes you a debt. But you likely won’t want to feed everyone.”

“I haven’t given it any thought,” Abigail told her. “But I’ll let you know as soon as I have plans.”

“How did you do it?” she asked Jesslyn when she went up to the spa that afternoon to make sure her friend had heard the news about the Regatta. Most of the ships had returned to their moorings, but the Siren’s Call was still missing, so the magistrate had delayed the running of the races until Monday.

“Do what?” Jesslyn asked, holding a crystal glass under the sparkling water of the fountain as her guests continued to buzz about the sighting of the French ship the previous day.

“Plan a wedding while working,” Abigail clarified. “And one of the most-attended weddings in Grace-by-the-Sea. I don’t know where to begin.”

Jess peered closer. “Is that Abigail Archer speaking? You built a business that supports most of the families in the area; create works of art that grace the finest homes. Planning a wedding should be nothing.”

Abigail dropped her gaze. “Perhaps it would be nothing, if it wasn’t my wedding.”

A crystal glass edged into her line of sight.

“Drink,” Jess said. “It