Free The Lady Always Wins by Courtney Milan

had disappeared.
    At least it had for the present. A white-haired man sat on a bench beside a trowel and a burlap sack.
    “Good morning, Father,” Simon said.
    The man turned, and his face creased into a smile. “Simon. You managed to convince her to come. Miss… well, it’s not Miss Barrett any longer, is it? Mrs. Croswell. I would offer you my hand, but…” He held up the trowel, and showed her his dirty gardening gloves. “I was just finishing pulling the last of the primroses.”
    He was going to be her father-in-law. She would see him at holidays. It was best if they started off right.
    “By the by, Mrs. Croswell,” the elder Mr. Davenant offered, “you can have no idea how terribly sorry I am for what I did. In my defense, I believed it was nothing more than calf-love.”
    “From Simon?” Ginny smiled. “Surely you knew that even at nineteen, he was too bullheaded to be a mere calf.”
    His eyes twinkled at her. “I was still hoping, back then, that he’d grow past that. If I had known how difficult he would prove to be, I would have shoved him at you straight away and wished you well of him. But then, England wouldn’t have had its finest railways constructed, so I suppose it’s all for the best.”
    Their eyes met. They shared a tentative smile. And in that moment, Ginny knew it was going to be well. They could be friends. They could share in a teasing affection.
    “What are you planting?”
    “Oh, these?” He looked down at the burlap sack. “Well, Simon. You’d better be the one to explain, as you won’t let me help.”
    Simon upended the sack and wordlessly let its contents spill across the path. Ginny would have known those smooth, papery roots anywhere. It felt as if a giant fist closed gentle fingers around her heart.
    “Tulip bulbs?” she asked.
    “There are three more sacks in the carriage house, and what I had to do to find this many bulbs in early summer…” He gave her an easy smile, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. “I’ve been planting them, these last days.”
    She took a breath, but her lungs couldn’t quite seem to contract properly.
    He picked up a bulb. “You told me that the tulips at Barrett’s Folly made you think of madness—of money tossed away without thought for the future.”
    His voice had grown a touch raspy. She turned to him.
    “I was hoping that when you saw these, you would have different memories.” He took her hands in his. “I’m not done with it yet. But I planted every bulb with my own hands. And with every one, I make a promise. I promise that from here on forward, I will guard you from your darkest fears. I will keep you safe. I will hold you dear to me.”
    Her eyes stung, and Ginny found herself blinking rapidly.
    “You were right,” he said. “The lady always wins.”
    “The lady,” Ginny said, reaching out to him, “can share.”
    He took her hand. “I know. That’s why you should always win. Ginny, will you marry me?”
    The tulip bulbs were strewn around them. Their hands were connected over fertile soil, rife with promise.
    “Yes,” she said. “Yes. A million times yes.”

Epilogue

    O N THE GLORIOUS MORNING three and a half weeks later when Simon finally made her his, he could think of nothing but his bride.
    He scarcely noticed the blue and cloudless sky, nor the white stone of the church when he entered. He didn’t take note of the decorated chapel, of the sheaves of tulips that adorned the pedestals, or the petals that had been strewn down the aisles. It was the wedding of the Season, but he barely realized that his guests were streaming in. Instead, he focused on the doors where his bride would enter.
    He almost couldn’t quite believe she would be here.
    When the organ began playing, and the crowd rose, his whole heart swelled. And when she entered... Ah, sweet Ginny. She wore a gold gown of watered silk, swept up in complicated bows and flounces. She carried a simple bouquet of yellow