Laura sometimes feared her husband’s love. It was so vast, so deep, so intense. Especially when Ian was seized by such passion, it felt as though he would devour her, heedless of anything he could see or hear.

Yet, within Laura, there was an emotion that surpassed fear: happiness. No matter the shape or magnitude of her husband’s love, she could embrace it all. Laura’s way of loving was earnest and tender, but in depth, it was no less profound than Ian’s. The only thing she truly feared was the possibility that he might one day stop loving her.

He called himself the fortune a man could attain, but to Laura, Ian was that person—the rarest husband a woman could have.

Laura was not ignorant of society’s ways. It judged a husband’s worth by his wealth. No matter how much a man loved his wife, without money, he was deemed incompetent and irresponsible. By this measure, Ian was a good husband. His wealth ensured Laura’s comfort, and his noble lineage meant that most people in Yorkshire bowed their heads before her.

But to Laura, Ian’s status held little significance. In fact, she had resisted his heart for so long precisely because his possessions were so overwhelming. Had he been an ordinary middle-class gentleman, she might have been engaged to him within a month of meeting her. Loving him would not have felt so audacious then.

For Laura, Ian’s perfection as a husband had nothing to do with external conditions. He was a remarkable man, and his love was equally remarkable by his very existence. No other man could love a wife with such delicacy and devotion.

Before their wedding, Ian had leased two storage rooms in Whitefield’s library for two months. When a spacious, sunlit area was created, he adorned it with beautiful wallpaper and furnished it with a desk, chair, and bookshelves crafted from the finest wood. It was a study, prepared solely for her as a wedding gift. On the day they returned from their honeymoon, Laura, presented with her own study, wept in Ian’s arms—overwhelmed with gratitude and joy.

Ian was a man of sharp intuition. The same intuition that had helped grow his family’s fortune was, after marriage, devoted to making his wife happy. He had an uncanny ability to find gifts Laura didn’t even realize she desired.

A fine fountain pen for Laura, who worked with uncomfortable quill pens; fresh flowers filling the study with fragrance daily; a dessert cart he personally wheeled in during afternoons when her focus waned; gentle massages to ease her tense muscles.

There was one reason he understood her heart so well: love. Loving her with singular devotion, he focused his keen intuition on Laura, peering into her soul.

Laura prioritized his happiness over her own feelings for a reason. She wanted to repay the love he gave her—or, to be more honest, she wanted him to keep loving her.

She wanted to be loved like this forever. To be his one and only for a lifetime.

Excessive happiness breeds anxiety, and this rule applied to Laura as well. Sometimes, she grew uneasy, fearing his love might fade because she was too happy.

Clunk.

The gently swaying carriage came to a halt. Even amidst Ian’s kisses, Laura sensed they had reached their destination: the parsonage.

She tried to pull back to break the kiss, but Ian, sensing her intent, held her head more firmly.

Growing anxious, Laura tapped his shoulder with her palm, but his lips refused to part from hers.

This man must be mad!

The coachman’s footsteps approached the carriage door. Her heart shrank. The coachman had served at Whitefield for over forty years. If he caught the young master and mistress in a curtained carriage, entangled in affection, the embarrassment would be unbearable.

More importantly, her husband’s authority might be undermined.

What do I do? What do I do?

In a final effort, Laura grabbed Ian’s ear and yanked hard. Unfazed by the pain, Ian kept his eyes closed, still entwining his tongue with hers.

He’s doing this on purpose.

For a fleeting moment, Laura resented her husband fiercely.

No choice, then.

Laura bared her teeth and bit his lower lip hard.

“Ugh.”

Ian’s lips parted. Seizing the moment, Laura pushed his shoulders away.

The next instant, the carriage door opened.

“Milady, we’ve arrived at the parsonage.”

Laura, quickly wiping her lips, nodded calmly.

“Lower the footboard and unload the boxes from the back.”

“Understood.”

As the coachman disappeared from view, Laura sighed in relief and turned to Ian.

He was wiping his lips with a handkerchief. Blood trickled from his lower lip.

Laura glared at him.

“You’re mad.”

“Yep. Mad for you.”

He grinned, blood and all, looking truly unhinged. Laura let out an exasperated sigh.

“But tell me, is it really so shameful to be caught kissing?”

“What?”

“We’re married, aren’t we? What’s wrong with a husband and wife kissing? It’s natural.”

“There’s such a thing as decorum, Ian. You must act befitting the head of a distinguished family. Behaving in a way that earns respect in the community is part of your duty as lord.”

Laura was incredulous as she spoke. To think she had to explain such obvious truths to her husband, a year her senior. This wasn’t even the first or second time. In their year of marriage, she had repeated this lecture over thirty times.

Ian’s love was like a volcano. Once it erupted, it spared no thought for circumstances or the feelings of those caught in its path. He wanted to hold Laura, kiss her, touch her.

Laura didn’t mind his touch and was willing to reciprocate—when they were alone, that is.

But Ian often ignored that simple condition. When the urge to express his love struck, he would whisper to Laura.

Can I kiss you?

I want to hold your hand.

Shall we step out for a bit?

Asking first was fine, but posing such questions in entirely inappropriate settings left her flustered. He had asked her this during a Sunday service, of all places.

Instead of answering, Laura quietly pinched the back of his hand. Ian would fall silent, seeming to understand—for about five minutes. Then, unable to resist, he’d poke her knee with his finger.

Let’s do it. Let’s do it. Come on, please?

To make him stop, Laura had to pinch him harder.

It wasn’t just at church. At Dunville Park dinners, tea with tenant families, even at funerals, he couldn’t restrain himself. Pleading with him to maintain decorum worked only momentarily. When it came to affection, he was as stubborn as if Big Ben’s clocktower were lodged in his ears.

Laura continued her admonition.

“Intimate matters between husband and wife belong in the bedroom. I don’t refuse you there, do I?”

“When you’re beside me, I forget day or night, even where I am.”

He took Laura’s hand, tracing stars and hearts on her palm with a ticklish touch, his lips curling upward.

“Imagine giving food to a starving man and telling him to eat it at night. How would he feel?”

“Don’t compare your wife to food.”

Laura pulled her hand away, replying curtly. Undeterred, Ian gently pulled her shoulder closer.

“Of course, you’re not food. But when we share love, you’re as sweet as tropical fruit, as soft as soup. Even lamb fresh from the hearth isn’t as hot as you. I always want to devour you.”

Laura’s face flushed.

“To speak such lascivious words in broad daylight—God Himself would blush and turn day into night.”

He grinned mischievously.

“That’d be great. We could head to the bedroom right now.”

“Honestly, Ian! What scandalous talk in front of the parsonage in broad daylight? Have some dignity!”

Laura raised her voice.

“Until you learn some propriety, you won’t get so much as a piece of me!”

She leapt off the footboard and strode toward the parsonage.

“Laura. Laura. Laura.”

Flustered, he hurried after his parasol-wielding wife.

“Are you angry?”

“…”

“You’re angry, aren’t you?”

Laura remained silent. Denying it would be a lie, but admitting it bruised her pride.

Ian quickly turned her to face him. Laura looked up at him, her expression sulky.

Ian panicked. He realized too late that his excessive affection had upset her.

He couldn’t bear to see Laura hurt. She was the woman who had overcome countless obstacles to be with him, who had set aside her convictions to give him her heart. To him, Laura’s heart was worth more than gold.

Ian gripped her hand tightly.

“I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!”

“What’s your fault?”

“Kissing you even after you signaled me to stop. Talking back to your advice. Making you uncomfortable with lewd remarks.”

It was a precise confession. Laura’s anger softened by half.

“I won’t forget decorum again. I’ll never lose sight of my duty to act respectably.”

“…Really?”

“If I ever act improperly again, you can cut off my hand.”

Laura frowned.

“How could I do something so barbaric?”

“I mean you can punish me however you see fit. You’re my master. If I don’t obey, I deserve it.”

Laura let out a small laugh. Her anger dissolved completely. At her smile, his face brightened.

Laura turned back toward the parsonage.

“Do it again, and we’re sleeping in separate rooms.”

He laughed.

“That’s harsh. I’ll really have to be careful.”