been chatting non-stop and must have bored you to tears.”
She laughed and sat on the small chaise. “No, I assure you—it’s been quite a revelation.” She smiled at Kit as he sank down beside her.
From the armchair opposite, her father looked on; when she glanced his way, she saw a glimmer of understanding and expectation in his eyes.
“But tell me,” he said, looking from her to Kit, “how did you become acquainted? Bristol is a large city, after all.”
Kit directed a laughing glance at Sylvia. “Actually, we first met at my brother’s wedding in August.”
“Ah—of course!” Reverend Buckleberry nodded. “I remember now—the other Lord Cavanaugh who married Felicia.”
“Indeed,” Kit returned. “Your daughter and I were partners in the bridal party. Sadly, Sylvia seemed entirely unimpressed by my beaux yeux.”
He heard the soft snort Sylvia tried to suppress before she hurried to say, “Be that as it may, when the Dock Company withdrew their support from the school, saying we had to vacate their warehouse on the Grove in just days, I sought out the owner of the business displacing us to appeal for help in finding new premises, and lo and behold, the owner was Kit.”
Kit shifted on the chaise so he could watch her face. So he could drink in the liveliness and underlying happiness that glowed in her features as she told her father of all the recent changes in her school for dockyard boys.
“And,” she concluded, “we’ll shortly have a sign hanging above the door proclaiming that we’re now ‘Lord Cavanaugh’s School.’” She glanced at Kit, and he saw the affection in her eyes.
One day, he was going to have to ask her why she’d so taken against him at the wedding; having come to know her so much better, he couldn’t believe it had been solely due to his reputation. But now, pride and warmth in her voice, she went on, “I suspect that will deter any future naysayers.”
He stirred. “And if it doesn’t, I will.”
That declaration prompted a meandering conversation that touched on many political and social issues, drawing Kit and Sylvia both into airing their opinions, which, to Kit’s relief, seemed perfectly aligned.
Reverend Buckleberry was no more of a fool than his daughter. Once they’d covered a broad scope of subjects, proving just how alike their thinking and how compatible their life-visions, Sylvia’s father fell silent, and when they did as well, he looked from Sylvia to Kit and back again and arched his brows.
Kit shared a quick glance with Sylvia, then reached across and took her hand.
He looked at her father and simply said, “With your permission, sir, I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Reverend Buckleberry studied him for one more second, then smiled delightedly. Then he hesitated, looked at Sylvia, then returned his gaze to Kit. “To be frank, my lord, my daughter has been so remarkably reluctant to view any gentleman in a matrimonial light that I had quite despaired of hearing those words.” His smile grew teasing as he switched his gaze to Sylvia. “That said, my dear, the decision remains yours. Do you wish to take Lord Kit Cavanaugh for your husband?”
The gaze Sylvia turned on Kit held a radiance he’d never before seen. “Yes, I do.” For a second, she held his gaze, letting him see to her soul, then she looked at her father. “But it’s important to me—and to Kit—that we have your blessing.”
Her father studied her face for a second, then beamed upon them both. “You have my blessing and my very best wishes. I am delighted and, indeed, expect to be eternally grateful that you have chosen to marry such an eminently worthy man.”
Kit felt his heart swell, not with pride but with gratitude. With a warmth and a burgeoning joy he couldn’t—and didn’t wish to—deny.
Love—it had to be love.
Sylvia looked at him. He captured her gaze, raised her hand to his lips, and gently pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you,” he said and meant every syllable. He might have had the capacity to be the worthy man her father now saw, but only through the challenge of wooing her had he looked for what lay inside him—those qualities he knew she would admire—and brought them to the fore. In many ways, the man he now was—the man he would henceforth be—was the product of his pursuit of her, of his love for her and hers for him.
His voice lower, he said, “I vow to you now, here,