Serena smiled and leaned to brush her lips on his cheek. ‘I’m hoping to return properly betrothed, Papa.’
He looked at her, head to one side.
‘Edward—Mr King—would probably like to ask your permission first, but he is not up to the task. May I ask on his behalf for your blessing?’
Papa’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. ‘Of course. Tell him that I give my whole-hearted approval of this match.’
‘Thank you, Papa.’ She kissed his cheek a second time.
Half an hour later, she knocked tentatively on Mr Moncrief’s door, the jig in her stomach having become a whirlwind. Serena didn’t have to wait long before Mrs Moncrief answered the door with little Edmond on her hip, and gave her entry, bidding her wait in the parlour.
Mr Moncrief soon joined her with a welcoming smile on his face.
‘How is Mr King?’ Serena asked as soon as the pleasantries were exchanged.
‘As I suspected, he slept most of the time, and was not enormously sensible in the moments he was awake. He often weeps. He kept repeating the words, “he heard me,” and I’m sure I don’t know what that’s about. But, he seems much calmer this morning and has, in fact, been asking for you.’
‘He has?’ Serena’s heart fluttered so powerfully she felt light-headed for a moment.
‘Yes. We have had quite the catch up this morning.’ Mr Moncrief could not hide his contentment.
‘Does he understand what has happened?’
Mr Moncrief nodded. ‘For the most part, I think so.’
‘May I see him now?’ Serena needed to get this over with so she could breathe normally again.
‘Of course. I shall send him to you.’
‘Oh.’ Serena had expected to sit by the invalid’s bed. Edward had been so weak when they had taken him from the asylum.
Her heart was still thumping in her throat and neck minutes later when footsteps sounded outside the room and Edward stepped in. Serena stood to her feet, wanting to run and throw her arms around him. Instead she pressed her hands hard against her stomach, fighting the urge to cry or giggle or faint. She drew in a shaky breath as far as possible and let it out slowly.
‘Serena.’ He stretched his hands out toward her. ‘How beautiful you look. Broughton is an exceptional dressmaker, is he not?’
She stepped forward and put her hands in his, blinking traitorous tears away. Edward looked so much better. His eyes were still ringed with shadow, but there was a faint light in them now. What to say? Where to start?
‘Did I imagine it, or did an angel meet me in that purgatory and agree to marry me?’ The hope in his eyes was unmistakable.
A wobbly laugh burst from her. ‘I would never claim to be an angel, but you did not imagine the rest.’
‘Oh, but you are.’ The gravity in his voice was unwavering. ‘My angel. I love you so, Serena.’
‘And I love you, my darling Edward.’
He put a stop to anything else she might say by pulling her into his arms and pressing his warm lips firmly on her mouth. Was it possible that his kiss could turn her upside down so? And yet she was spinning, falling, into a dream of bliss. A dream from which she never wanted to wake.
Eventually, he drew back, and gazed into her eyes. ‘Sit with me.’ Edward drew her to a small sofa where they sat together, still holding hands, the warmth from his clasp reaching her heart. ‘I need to ask you again, if you are certain you want to marry someone who is cursed as I am.’
A bubble of frustration rose within Serena. Why could he not let this go? ‘It is not a curse, Edward. You have an illness, and yes, I will marry you with that illness. I suspect your sister has encouraged you to believe the curse was real. But it’s not. Mr Moncrief and your own diary can attest to that. Did you never read back over your journal?’
Edward’s brows lowered. ‘Do you mean to say you’ve read my journal?’
Serena opened and closed her mouth, sudden guilt assaulting her. He must feel violated. She squeezed Edward’s hand, apologetic. ‘Only because I wanted to understand. And if I hadn’t, we would never have uncovered your sister’s duplicity.’
He let go of her hand and stood, pacing away from her, at war with his own feelings. ‘I never read back over it. It was private. My deepest thoughts. Things I could not express to others for fear they would condemn me as a lunatic.’ Edward ran a hand through his hair. ‘Although that ended up happening, anyway.’
Serena moved to him and placed her hands on his cool cheeks. ‘You need not fear that from me. I have read it all and I still promise to join my life with yours.’
Edward turned and looked at her, studying her face. ‘You really love me, despite the curse.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘But there is no curse.’ Mr Moncrief stood in the doorway, hands thrust in his pockets. When they both started, he explained. ‘I’m sorry. I was coming to see if you would like tea, but overheard this tripe about a curse, Ed.’
‘It’s not tripe.’
‘It is indeed.’ Mr Moncrief entered the room and sat. ‘You and I spoke the day after you met with the monk, don’t you remember?’
Edward shook his head, but looked in doubt.
‘You spent hours having theological and philosophical debates with him. In the end, he told you that you were too closed-minded and lost in your own pride. I suspect he got fed up with your high-minded, I’m-smarter-than-everybody-else attitude and gave you the cold, hard truth.’
‘And what truth is that?’ Edward pressed his lips into a grim line.
‘That pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. It’s a verse from Proverbs, and not a curse. The monk told you that you needed to stop fighting the truth and acknowledge God as the giver of your gifts.’
Edward remained silent.
‘The earliest entries in your journal that mention this say the same
