“You did all this in just a week?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“First, I gathered all the capable carpenters in Yorkshire. I promised them five times their usual wages if they completed the repairs and extensions within five days, so they worked day and night. I couldn’t leave the site, fearing shoddy work due to the rush. Once the house was habitable, I brought in laborers to scrub, polish, and wallpaper. It took a full day to drive out the rats and insects. For the rest, I had help from Remswick. They played a big role in sourcing furniture and decorations.”

‘You went through all that trouble? Just for my simple request to make a happy anniversary?’

Laura wanted to burst into laughter, but strangely, her eyes grew warm. She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at them.

“You can’t cry yet. There’s still the barbecue I learned from Philip and an 1870 Veuve Clicquot waiting.”

He brought out a large platter covered with a silver lid and a bottle of champagne. The two savored hot duck barbecue sprinkled with basil, paired with frothy champagne. The duck was crispy on the outside, tender inside, and the champagne was cold and sweet.

Laura set her slender champagne flute on the table. Uncharacteristically for someone who rarely drank, her glass was completely empty.

“Two years ago, we were shivering here, waiting for the rain to stop. Now, we’re sitting across from each other, drinking Europe’s finest champagne.”

He refilled her empty glass with a soft glug-glug-glug.

“You said we were shivering, waiting for the rain to stop?”

“Well, not just shivering. You stole my shawl, and I racked my brain helping you marry another woman.”

“How foolish we both were.”

They chuckled softly.

Ian propped his chin, sifting through memories.

“We listened to the rain together, shared honest stories by a warm fire. We were open, kind to each other.”

“I remember. You said there was a woman in your heart, but she didn’t know her own feelings. How did I not see it? You told me you were entirely reliant on me to solve the puzzle of love.”

“We loved each other but couldn’t see deeply into one another. Blinded by each other, we didn’t realize the love before us was meant for us.”

“Such fools.”

“Fools, indeed.”

They looked at each other and laughed again.

By the time the champagne bottle was empty, Laura’s cheeks were warm, flushed the color of pink tulips.

“I only imagined something simple, like a picnic by the coast. I never dreamed of this—an event like this. Turning an abandoned cabin into a pastoral cottage, learning to cook for me… You always give me more than I could wish for.”

She fiddled with her napkin.

“…What can I do for you? For preparing such a wonderful anniversary, what could I possibly…”

“There’s something I’d like.”

Laura gazed at Ian with clear eyes.

“Is it something naughty?”

Ian grinned mischievously.

“If I said yes, would you do it?”

Laura nodded.

“Really?”

Laura rubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“I must’ve had too much champagne.”

He laughed loudly.

“Veuve Clicquot isn’t famous for nothing. To turn the conservative Mrs. Dalton into a servant of love, willing to grant anything.”

Laura’s cheeks deepened to a rich rose. Ian gazed at her, his smile lingering.

“What I want might be a little embarrassing. Not so much as to torment you with shame for days, though. I’d never ask that of you. So, what do you say? Will you do it?”

Laura nodded.

She was intoxicated—by wine and by love. Even if he’d proposed some sin forbidden by scripture, Laura would have followed gladly.

Raised her entire life with conservative English upbringing, Laura was a typical Englishwoman. Yet, in love, she couldn’t escape the reckless mindset of young lovers. The line between good and evil blurred, her defenses weakened, and she became a fool ready to throw herself into any danger.

They moved to a plush sofa embroidered with wildflower patterns, where they ate sweet sherbet and cookies.

With no servants to mind, they did as they pleased. They held each other tightly, fed each other, and kissed lips smudged with food.

“Laura.”

“…Yes?”

Laura, now perched on Ian’s lap, her arms around her husband’s neck, answered dreamily.

“Shall we go upstairs?”

Laura nodded. Ian scooped her up and headed for the stairs.

Her heart pounded uneasily as they climbed. The cold sherbet had long sobered her. He wanted something from her—something different from what Ian usually desired.

They reached the second floor. There were two rooms. He entered the one on the right.

A lamp hung on the wall. A large bathtub. A pitcher of water, faintly steaming.

Ian whispered in her ear.

“Let me bathe you.”

“Me? You?”

“Yes.”

Laura nodded.

Ian set her down gently, washed his hands, and filled the tub.

After checking the water’s temperature, he approached Laura and began undressing her. Her purple dress fell to the floor with a soft thud. Corset, chemise, and drawers slipped off slowly in his hands.

Laura stood bare. He lifted her into the clean tub and filled it with warm water.

A soft brush, lathered with foam, glided gently over her skin. His touch was cautious, as if building a sandcastle that might collapse at the slightest misstep.

Laura flinched occasionally as his hands passed over her most private areas but sat quietly. His touch held tender care, not lustful desire—like a mother bathing a child.

After washing her body, Ian moved to her hair. Laura closed her eyes, feeling the gentle hands massaging her scalp.

“Ian.”

“Yes?”

“Was this really your wish? To tend to me like this?”

“Yes.”

His voice carried a contented smile.

“I’ve always wanted to feed you, bathe you, put you to bed.”

“Like a baby?”

“That’s a good analogy. Like a baby.”

He wiped foam from her ear with a wet hand.

“Sometimes, I wish you were a child. One whose life depended on me, who’d cry helplessly without me.”

“…I’m already halfway there.”

“Liar.”

“No. I… I’ve been tamed by you. Without you, I wouldn’t last three days before withering away. Like a plant, I live relying on you as my water and sunlight.”

With her eyes closed, Laura was honest.

“I’m a flower you nurture. Rooted in the pot you’ve provided, I can’t go anywhere. Nor do I want to.”

Normally, Ian would’ve teased her to repeat it, but today he only smiled quietly. He rinsed her hair, lifted her from the tub, and washed the foam from her body with warm water.

Wrapped in a robe, Laura was carried to another room in Ian’s arms.

It was a simple bedroom. A bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a vanity—that was all. Yet, the room offered a breathtaking view. Beyond the wide-open window, the moon, stars, and forest unfolded in a panorama. No marble palace gilded with gold could rival this enchantment.

Ian sat Laura at the vanity. He squeezed her hair with a towel to dry it, then began brushing it slowly.

Through the mirror, Laura watched Ian standing behind her. His lowered eyes. His focused gaze. His fingers tracing her hair for tangles.

‘It’s how he looks when we make love.’

Laura’s face flushed. Her body shivered as if her hair had grown nerves. Overwhelmed by the improper feeling, she fixed her gaze on a candlestick on the vanity until he finished.

At last, the brushing was done. Ian helped her up, removed her bathrobe, and dressed her in a loose silk nightgown.

The fabric felt like rolling in clouds, so comfortable she never wanted to take it off.

‘Though I’ll have to soon.’

Laura thought, blushing. It was their anniversary. Making love was natural.

And the night would be longer than usual. Laura steeled herself. For the husband who’d created such a wonderful anniversary, she’d give herself as much as he desired—however much that might be.

Ian toyed with her hand.

“I have one more wish.”

Laura nodded.

She expected him to lead her to the bed, but instead, he retrieved something from the nightstand. A small box.

He guided her to the balcony beyond the window. It was a full-moon night. The balcony gleamed milky white, drenched in moonlight.

He opened the box. With a soft click, music box notes filled the air—Johann Strauss II’s The Beautiful Blue Danube.

Laura understood what Ian wanted.

He placed the music box on the railing and extended his hand. Laura took it gladly. His arm encircled her waist; her hand rested on his shoulder.

They began to waltz slowly.

Under the moonlight, they recalled a single moment. The Lance family’s ball, the waltz they’d danced alone on a moonlit terrace. No words were needed. Their two bodies housed one soul.

Ian led his wife gently, whispering.

“Let’s waltz like this every anniversary. Even when we’re old and gray.”

“Through the grave, in heaven too.”

He smiled faintly.

“Yes. There, forever.”

Believing in God meant being promised eternity. It gave certainty of an afterlife.

The young couple was grateful for a God they could trust. Even if their bodies crumbled, they’d find each other in the next world.

And dance together forever.

At midnight, when the clock struck twelve, their first anniversary ended. But their dance continued.

As long as they were together, time meant nothing.

Epilogue Part 1, Fin.