Chapter 11

The storm had ceased.

The driving snow of the blizzard had gave way to gentle flurries, and the once jagged landscape of forest, townhouses, streets, had transformed into a pure white blanket that glowed blue in the moonlight.

She loved him.

Fairweller worked in the main stables, harnessing LadyFair. He had no inclination to sleep. He would ride, yes, even in this new snow. His mind whirred like a locomotive engine.

She loved him!

In the ballroom, Fairweller had dared to hold her in his arms—how perfect it felt!—and stroked her hair as they spoke as soft as the lamps' dimming light.

"All this time?"

"All this time."

"Miss Clover, I wish you would have told me! I've been in wholly agony these past months. It was worse than being on the battlefield…and I know what that's like."

"Oh Minister—how could I? I was too frightened."

Fairweller touched her cheek.

"You never need be frightened again, my princess."

Clover laughed sweetly and picked a bit of straw from Fairweller's hair. Remnants of the stable event from earlier had remained with him. Fairweller laughed as well.

They could have remained there forever, seated on the velvet ballroom chaise, Clover's golden hair tumbling over his arms. Both of them spoke softly, attempting to speak their feelings of the past months, only to fail because of the clumsiness of words. In lieu, they held each other more closely.

But Fairweller could see Clover was worn out from the day, and though he very much wished her to fall asleep in his arms, he helped her to her feet—she wove her arm around his-and he escorted her up the flights of stairs to her room.

At the door, Fairweller could not bear to part from her. It was like tearing a piece of his soul away. Clover reached up and touched Fairweller's cheek with her delicate fingers.

"You are crying," she whispered.

"Am I? I hadn't realized."

Clover smiled and nuzzled her face into his neck. Overcome, Fairweller pulled her deeply into his arms and gently pressed his lips to hers. They were soft and warm, and he could feel her heart fluttering against his chest. Just as his was. The kiss made years of regret and hurt and anger melt away, and Fairweller was like a child again, on a horse, galloping through the forest for the first time.

Clover gently drew away with one last kiss on his cheek.

"Good night," she whispered, and slipped into the bedroom, leaving Fairweller with the warmth of that kiss. When they were married—and the thought made him dizzy-they would never need part.

"Minister."

The cold and familiar voice sounded at the stable entrance behind him. Fairweller turned, and bowed.

"Highness," he said.

The King stood at the door, bundled in a thick coat and hat, snow up to his knees. He grasped his horse's reins and frowned at Fairweller. He had, Fairweller surmised, come to fetch Clover the moment the storm let up.

"I expected more horses here," said the King coldly. "There were rumors King Albert had brought his entire household to have tea with you."

Fairweller unbuckled LadyFair's harness.

"King Albert came," he said, "and King Albert left. Without incident. No tea was taken."

"Oh, indeed?"

"The word no was used, Your Grace. A very powerful word, indeed."

The King made a noise in his throat that clearly indicated that he didn't believe Fairweller. Fairweller's face remained stolid, serious, and the King frowned, then assented. He seemed to have no words for this.

"Miss Cover is upstairs, asleep," said Fairweller, removing the harness from LadyFair, and leading the horse back into her stall. "I will take you to her."

Miss Clover sat up in bed when the King arrived, a pearl among the soft pillows and sheets of velvet and gold. She beamed when she saw him.

"Sir," she said shyly.

"Miss Clover," said the King. A smile might have made its way onto his stern face. It was clear he was very fond of Clover. Fairweller certainly did not blame him. "You are well?" he said.

"Yes. Now I am. Very well, indeed," she said. "Minister's household was very kind to me."

"Were they? Hm. Well. Your sisters say they cannot complete the Madeleine Reel without you. Whatever that is."

Clover smiled shyly. "It's a dance," she said.

"Imagine that," said the King. "Well. We shall not leave them bereft. Get dressed, then. I'll meet you downstairs."

Clover arrived at the entrance hall of Fairweller's manor, bundled up in a fine coat and thick shawls, and they exited as a servant brought Dickens to the bottom of the entrance stairs.

Fairweller helped Clover as the King lifted her to the horse, her hand on his, gripping it tightly. She held on one moment more, and released as the King mounted behind her. Fairweller wished he had a parting gift for her, though he knew he could never offer it to her with the King watching.

Good heavens. The King would be his father, too!

Fairweller wasn't quite certain what to think of that. To be sure, the King was a far better father than Fairweller's own had been.

"We will see you at church, Minister?" said Clover, as the King took the reins around her.

Fairweller's immediate answer surprised himself.

"Yes," he said, ignoring the King's immediate scoff. "And, perhaps...in the gardens?"

Clover smiled, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Fairweller bowed. She had caught his meaning perfectly—they would meet in the gardens whenever possible. Fairweller suddenly wanted to live in the gardens if he could.

The King did not say goodbye to Fairweller, or even Thank you as he snapped the reins and Dickens forged forward into the landscape of snow. He did say, to Clover: "Minister Fairweller, at church? Miss Clover, really."

Clover's soft answer was lost in the distance. Fairweller didn't need to hear her words, he felt them in his heart. It occurred to him that Father Benedict had been correct, those weeks ago. And his desperate prayers to find Clover in the storm-all these had been answered. His belief that God cared very little for the affairs of man faded and was replaced by a new belief-one that God, perhaps, knew Fairweller, and wanted him to be happy.

Fairweller watched as they disappeared into the forest, and he remained standing on the front staircase, warmth all through him, the memory of Miss Clover in his arms bringing peace to his soul. His heart had been touched, and he was new.

{_{_{_{_}_}_}_}

{Ah! And so ends the story. I like to think when Clover turns 17, they are married and have a very happy life-which is nothing less than either of them deserve! Thank you, my friends, for all your kind comments and being so patient for each chapter. I wish you all a Merry Christmas, and a wonderful New Year!}