Hang Paris. She wanted to hang Paris, and yet she might still end up there. Jenny eased back, but did not leave Elijah’s embrace. “Happy Christmas, Elijah.”

His cheek rested on her hair. “That is your version of a holiday greeting now? I’ll not be introducing you to my brothers, if that’s the case.”

Jenny inhaled the scent of him and closed her eyes. To be in Elijah’s embrace was better than Paris, better than the world. “You left Morelands before I could give you my Christmas token.”

“I don’t need any tokens from you, Genevieve.”

He also apparently did not need to let her go, which was a fine thing indeed. Jenny, however, needed to see his eyes when she bestowed her gift, so she eased away.

“I need to offer this to you anyway, Elijah.”

He joined his hands behind his back, the same gesture His Grace had made when Jenny had announced a pressing need to add Surrey to the Itinerary from Hell. “If it’s a farewell, Genevieve, then you may—”

She put her fingers to his lips. “My gift is a question. I want to give you a question.”

He took her hand in his, his expression grave. “Ask, Genevieve. With me, you have ever only to ask.”

His fingers were warm around Jenny’s abruptly cold hand. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribs.

“Will you come to Paris with me?” That wasn’t what she’d wanted to ask, but it was close.

Elijah’s expression didn’t change. “Paris stinks, it’s full of Frenchmen, and they have addled notions of chivalry. Why do you want to go to Paris, Genevieve?”

He hadn’t said no. Jenny clung to that and to his hand. “I don’t want to go to Paris, and I’m not sure I ever did. I don’t want to go anywhere that means I can’t be with you.”

“Do you want a travel companion, Genevieve? If that’s what you’re asking, then I must refuse the honor.”

Pain threatened to buckle Jenny’s knees. “Not a travel companion. Not just that.”

“Somebody to paint with and appreciate art?”

“Not that either.” Because she would set aside her artistic aspirations happily in favor of creating a life with him.

“Good, because as much as I admire your talent and dedication, as much as I would enjoy seeing all the great capitals and treasures of the Continent—of the world—with you, I would decline that invitation too.”

It dawned on Jenny that he wanted her to ask a different question.

“What invitation would you accept? Tell me, Elijah, and I will extend it.”

He took a step closer. “You already have. You have invited me to love you, and I do, Genevieve. I love your heart, I love your gentleness and determination, I love your concern for all around you, and I love your kisses.”

He kissed her, a quick punctuation mark at the end of a lovely little list.

“But you won’t travel with me?”

“I’ve seen the wonders of the Continent, Genevieve. Stared at them for so long I was blind to much else, such as the wonders of a loving family and a welcoming home. Marry me, and I will happily explore those more impressive wonders with you, regardless of what country we find ourselves in.”

Marry me. The question she hadn’t known how to ask him. Jenny bundled into Elijah’s arms. “Yes. Yes to the family and the home, yes to becoming your wife. Nothing would make me happier.”

In the small parlor curiously devoid of pink or red, Elijah held her close, which was very good indeed, because Jenny felt as if she’d fly apart if he let her go, so great was her happiness.

“We can make Paris our wedding journey,” Elijah said, kissing her cheek. “Though I’d spare you a winter crossing if I could.”

She aimed for his mouth and ended up kissing his chin. “A New Year’s crossing, please.”

His hand slid down her back to cup her derriere and draw her closer. “I can’t wait a year.”

“This New Year.”

“Better,” he growled against her mouth. “Nearly tolerable, in fact. Kiss me.”

She did, and she was still kissing him when a tap sounded on the door.

Elijah smiled crookedly and eased away, pausing to tuck a lock of Jenny’s hair behind her ear. When he opened the door, Jenny saw his parents and Her Grace in the hallway.

The marchioness led the parental parade into the parlor. “Excellent! You are showing Lady Jenny your sketches. Her Grace tells me she has a similar collection, most of them done by her daughter.”

“Perhaps it will be a family tradition, then,” Elijah said. He slipped his arm around Jenny’s waist. “I am happy to inform the assemblage that Lady Genevieve has consented to be my wife. His Grace led me to believe my suit would be accepted, and Genevieve has indeed agreed.”

His Grace? As Jenny accepted a hug from her mother, she spared a thought to wonder when His Grace-of-the-never-ending-journey might have said such a thing.

“Welcome to the family,” Lord Flint said, bowing over Jenny’s hand. “Elijah, I suggest you complete the ceremony before you allow your lady to meet your brothers.”

“Flint, that is not funny.” Her ladyship bussed both of Jenny’s cheeks. “Now that Elijah has found a lady willing to put up with him, his brothers might well see the blessings to be enjoyed in the state of holy matrimony. Genevieve, well done.”

As Lord Flint led them back to the paneled parlor and poured generous cups of wassail, Jenny stayed by Elijah’s side.

“Do you really want to see Paris, my dear?” Elijah had bent close to whisper his question, while their mamas debated the use of the Windham chapel or the facilities at Flint Hall.

“Paris can wait. There are other things I want to see more.”

“Such as?”

Jenny gave him a very direct look. “If I’m to give up my art, then I expect certain consolations, Elijah.”

He set his drink aside. “Papa’s brew has addled your wits. What nonsense is this?”

“Someday you will become a Royal Academician, but not if your lady wife is showing up at Venetian breakfasts with paint on her fingers. I understand that.”

He studied her for a moment, as if trying to puzzle out which pigments would accurately depict her hair in strong sunlight. “You would stop painting, stop drawing, stop even embroidering?”

She hesitated only an instant before nodding. “I expect that home and family you allude to will keep me adequately occupied.”

“My mother bore twelve children, six of them boys.”

What did that have to do with anything? “I look forward to meeting your brothers and sisters.”

“Come with me, Genevieve. If you think a few babies will excuse you from your art, then you have much to learn as a future marchioness of Flint.”

He dragged her from the parlor, barely giving Jenny time to set her drink down, and hauled her up two flights of stairs and down a long hallway.

“This is the portrait gallery, also the cricket pitch, skittles hall, and pall-mall pitch, among others.” He opened a carved door and ushered Jenny into a room at least ninety feet long. “It’s cold. Take my coat.”

Frigid was a better word, but as Jenny gathered Elijah’s coat around her shoulders, she was content to endure the cold.

“You lot!” Elijah called to a group at one end of the room. “Clear out! I’m proposing to my prospective wife.”

Hoots and whistles resulted, and smiles from the young ladies, two of whom looked exactly alike but for their attire. As Elijah’s siblings filed past Jenny, the youngest fellow winked at her, and Elijah cuffed him on the back of the head.

“Pru is the worst,” Elijah said as he closed the door. “You must not allow him to cozen you, ever.”

Jenny made no reply, because she was too busy staring at the chamber before her. This was not a collection of a dozen or so renderings of the various Lords of Flint, but rather an exhibition, a room stacked as high as any in Carlton House with portraits, still lifes, landscapes, ensemble pieces, and the occasional academic study.

“Mother finds time to paint,” Elijah said. “You will too.”

Jenny turned a complete circle, taking in dozens upon dozens of completed works. They weren’t all brilliant—some were clearly experiments, others were quick efforts more whimsical than beautiful—but they all showed talent.

“She hid her talent for you,” Jenny said, hurting for the marchioness. “She did not want the Academy taking you into further dislike because she was so talented.”

“You’re wrong.” Elijah laced his arm with Jenny’s and started her on a tour of the room. “Mama has given away any number of paintings. She embroiders the most fantastic receiving blankets and christening gowns you’d ever want to see. What I’ve concluded is that she put aside the Academy’s notice because it really did not matter. In her day, she might have lobbied for membership, but she chose to be my father’s marchioness instead.”

Jenny gazed at smiling children, doting ancestors, Lord Flint on a bay hunter, Elijah as a young boy—she was going to study that one at length. “She made the better choice. The wiser choice.”

“She did, and we will too. There’s an epistle downstairs bearing the seal of the Royal Academy, and it has my name on it. I’m going to decline the nomination.”

As she had turned away from Paris?

“Accept it, Elijah. For your parents, for me, for yourself. You accept this gesture of recognition, and I will not give up my art.” He sent her a look that revealed his uncertainty, and Jenny fell in love with him all over again.

“You’re sure? I will never hide my wife’s talents, Genevieve. Not for them, not even for you would I do such a thing.”

Jenny wrapped her arms around him. “Your wife would not ask it of you, nor would she allow you to hide yours. But, Elijah?”