Across the lane, near the edge of the dunes overshadowing the beach, Celian stood on the ground in front of the porch of the little cottage. The wind whipped through his lanky hair, and blew the short sleeves of his shirt open, revealing a slight glimpse of the tattoo on his shoulder that the Groves had come to accept as the symbol of his Leonie form. As long as he took other forms, the same symbol appeared somewhere on his body.
Dr. Grove approached behind him. The sun rose over the roof of the cottage, warming the tops of their heads.
"You're up early," Ash mused, by way of informing Celian of his presence.
The lanky man didn't flinch.
"I'm going to ask to court her."
Ash let the significance weigh on the silence. "Are you sure?"
Celian sighed and nodded without taking his eyes off the rolling surf in the distance. "I am ready. I will ask her permission first, and if she accepts, then together we will go to the house because I must ask permission of her parents." His mouth shut firmly, his jaw squarely set.
"And then?" Ashley asked, feeling very much like a father figure to the grown man who wasn't naturally a person at all.
Celian shrugged. "What will happen, will happen."
The doctor sighed. "What if they refuse? What if Agatha refuses? You've only known each other for a week, at the least."
Celian's lips tightened, and his throat flinched. "What happens," he repeated firmly, "will happen. I have known her for much longer than she has known me. I will tell her the truth. If she refuses me, I will... make my return to the sea." His steady gaze finally broke, and he glanced down to his hand, as if recalling the smaller one so constantly tucked there.
Ash laid a comforting hand on Celian's arm. "You'll come by to see us first, if that happens?" He queried. "To say goodbye?"
Celian looked back toward the beach and nodded. "I will." He squinted up to the sky and stepped away from the cottage.
"Celian!" Ash called after him.
Celian stopped. "Yes, Dr. Grove?" He replied over his shoulder.
"Just..." Ash took a moment to find the words. "If you ever need anything, you know I will not hesitate to help you in any way I can."
Celian nodded. "I know," he said. With a heavy sigh, the slender man lumbered off to meet his friend.
Agatha arrived on the beach and found it mostly empty. The wind tossed the waves and pulled at her hair and clothes, but she clamped a hand firmly on her hat and set about searching the crags and shoreline for Celian. She could usually find him near the water, even on brisk days like today.
Finally, she spotted his long, lean form, watching the waves in his usual, pensive manner. Agatha increased her pace, and finally her fluttering scarf caught his attention. Their eyes met, and Agatha thrust her hand in the air to wave at him.
Celian pulled his massive feet out of the sand to close the distance she had to travel. Well he did, because not five paces from him, her next step sank deeper than she expected, and Agatha flailed as she stumbled forward.
Huge hands gently swept under her elbows, and Celian supported her till she could regain her balance. When she could stand securely, he moved to release her, but Agatha gave in to the impulse and threw her arms around his waist. She felt him tense at the unexpected gesture, but his hands rested gently behind her back as he returned the embrace.
His tall, looming frame blocked much of the wind. Agatha looked up into his face.
"Hello," she said. "It's good to see you."
Celian smiled—really smiled—at her, and nodded.
"It is good to see you, too," he said. "Are you well?"
Agatha nodded automatically. "Fine, thanks—" But as soon as she spoke, she caught herself. She slid her hand into his huge palm, showing him the basket to indicate her intention. "Shall we find shelter and dine while we talk about it?"
Celian nodded and held her hand. "Of course. There is a cove in the cliffs, shielded from the wind."
Celian led her to a place down the strand, where a small stream cut away from the surf and up toward the land. Around behind some tall stones, the noise and the crash diminished, and she could find a firm, flat place to spread the blanket.
Once they had settled, Agatha gave a little gasp in preparation to continue their conversation, but she couldn't find the words.
Celian held the petite lunch plate cradled in his palm, but he only picked absently at the sandwiches. She could feel his eyes examining her closely.
"Agatha," he murmured softly. "What is wrong?"
The young heiress of Dalton House heaved a deep sigh. "I am not well!" She admitted. "Not at all! My parents want me to marry someone with title, or at the very least with money, and I haven't told them about you yet, even though you are quite possibly the most genuine man I have ever met, or ever will meet!"
She saw his face twist, but whether it was a grin or a grimace, she couldn't tell before it fell back into his pensive stare. "Agatha—" he tried to speak up, but she wasn't finished.
"What is more, I've just discovered that this is the last time we will ever come to Afton-by-the-Sea. We'll be selling Dalton House once we leave on Saturday, and once we're gone—" she met his gaze at last, "we will never return here again." There was real pain and concern in his eyes, and it both excited and calmed her to see it. Agatha leaned against his shoulder, cradling his arm in her own. "I just feel that, now that I've met you, I cannot bear the idea of returning to my normal, boring life without you in it!"
Celian
