Gretna Green: Town on the England-Scotland border famous for elopements.

Winter's heart pounded in his ears as he rode up the drive to the manor that had been repurposed to become The Sanctuary's headquarters. He quickly deposited his horse with a stable hand and half ran indoors, and while his heart urged him to go left to where the employee residences were, his brain reminded him that there was somewhere he needed to go first. Up the stairs, third door to the right.

He knocked.

'Enter.' His mother's cool voice came from the other side. He eased the door open to see her peering down at a paper through spectacles perched on her nose. His heart gave a fond thud. His mother was getting older. Her eyes flicked up, delight glimmering through them as recognition settled. 'Oh, darling! What are you doing here? Is something the matter?'

She got up and approached him, hands extended until he clasped them. He placed a quick kiss on the side of her cheek and then took the seat she motioned to.

'Tea? I bet Cook can whip up those sandwiches you like in a trice.' She patted his hand. 'Oh, my poor child, you have been working too hard. Your face is all sunken and you've lost weight. Tch, you must come stay with me for a few days and let me take care of you.'

He allowed her to fuss over him, gathering the courage to speak.

'Have I ever told you that I am immensely proud to call you my mother?' He began, wondering why he had never told her this before. Now it would feel forced and untrue once he got to the crux of the matter. 'You have worked for years upon years to bring this place to what it is now. You've somehow managed to make people care about the plight of women that don't fit into the box society meant for them.'

'Well.' His mother's lips twitched in amusement. 'I don't know if I've made them care. I just made appearing to care fashionable. Any reason you bring this up now? Is everything alright?'

'You've worked so hard to get to where you are.' Winter took her hand and gave it a fond squeeze. 'And I'm here to ask your forgiveness for I am going to expose you to scandal once again.'

His mother snorted, dismissing him. 'I hear enough about your exploits, boy. Surely nothing can be more scandalous than some of the things you've done.'

'It is,' Winter took a deep breath. 'I am getting married.'

His mother pitched forward in shock.

'I beg your pardon?' She frowned at him severely. 'Have you come all the way to Richmond to play some sort of jest?'

'No.'

'I see.' Her eyes narrowed. 'And she is someone you believe I would disapprove of. Hence all this sugarcoating.'

'Not sugar coating,' Winter winced. 'Just....softening the blow?'

'I see.' His mother's tone turned disapproving. 'I do not appreciate that.'

Winter felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment. 'I really did mean what I said.'

His mother offered him a skeptical raise of an eyebrow and he resisted the urge to fidget under her scrutiny. He was thirty, damn it! He needn't squirm like a schoolboy caught skipping lessons.

'I did not hear of you courting anyone. This is a recent development I take it?'

'She is not a gentlewoman. We did not have a traditional courtship, per se.'

His mother choked. 'An heiress?! Or an American?! Winter, you are not destitute! The coffers are flush. Your future wife is more than just your wife. She will be a Marchioness. With duties and obligations, not to mention the constant scrutiny she would be under. There are intricacies, politics, and etiquettes that an outsider simply cannot understand. You know how I dearly care for Lady Rothbury, but you cannot deny that she has an incredibly difficult time navigating our sphere.'

'I know all these things. I have told myself these things time and again. But I find myself helpless,' he admitted. Then, as if in consolation, he added, 'Also, she is English.'

Half. He added silently, crossing his fingers behind his back.

His mother closed her eyes, as if willing to hold on to her patience. 'By God, if you have been romancing some poor maid that works in your home, I will thrash you! You, as an employer, hold a position of power above someone whose very livelihood depends-'

'Not an employee.'

Not mine, in any case. Fingers still crossed.

His mother exhaled loudly. He braced himself for all the arguments he knew were coming, he'd been fighting the very same battle with himself for months now.

His mother let out a strangled sound of outrage.

What the devil?!

'You shameless cretin! How could you have come from my womb?! Oh my God, forgive me. I have failed in my duties as a mother.' She railed. 'You've gotten some poor girl pregnant out of wedlock! You shameless, addlepated.....ravisher of women!!'

....She thought he had what?

'For God's sake, Mother!' He grabbed her by the shoulder, shaking her gently. 'It is nothing of the sort. I haven't so much as seen her elbow. '

Belatedly, he remembered that he had, in fact, seen her entirely nude when he had bathed her. But surely that didn't count? He crossed his fingers once more, just to be safe.

'Truly?' She sniffled. He nodded gravely. 'You are marrying because you love her, then?'

'Yes.'

His mother nodded. 'Who is she?'

Er. Fuck.

'Seraphina Macleod.' He replied with more gusto than he felt.

His mother, typically composed as all aristocratic ladies tend to be, went slack-jawed. It took her several seconds to process what he had just said. And then she let out a laugh. 'Ha! That girl loves what she does, you would have her give it up to be your possession?'

'She would not be my possession.' His nostrils flared. His mother was a very forward-thinking woman! Where the hell was all this coming from? 'And I do not intend on asking her to stop working with the Sanctuary.'

'And the gossip that will invite?'

'We will face it head-on. Rothbury and Rutland will support us. How long can they gossip when two of the most powerful men in the kingdom stand beside us? I am not without influence myself. How long could their disdain last?'

'And what happens when this infatuation ends and you find yourself ridiculed for years over a hasty decision? You will come to resent your wife.'

'It is not an infatuation! I am willing to stand with her through thick and thin, hell and high water. If only she will have me! Now, I wanted to have your approval, but I am getting married whether you like it or not!'

Then his mother beamed. 'Right answer, boy.'

Winter blinked in utter confusion.

What on earth? 

'.......You were testing me.' He said in surprise, the tension leaving his body.

'Indeed,' his mother patted his cheek in affection. 'If you love her, then you have my blessing. She is a good girl, passionate and lovely. If she will choose to walk this path with you, you shall find only support from me. As for the Sanctuary? We have triumphed over scandal before, and we will triumph once again.'

She reached for his palm and deposited something in it, Winter looked down to see that it was the family ring his mother wore on her wedding finger. His eyes snapped to her face and then he pulled her into a crushing hug. 'You are the best of mothers.'

'Naturally,' she patted him with feigned haughtiness, but Winter saw the wetness in her eyes. 'And you are the best of sons. I want you to know that I will be permanently moving to your home once you have children. Just imagine it! A house overrun with chubby, red-haired little babies.'

'You are welcome to visit.' He said sternly as she gave a watery laugh. 'But let's not put the cart in front of the horse, shall we? I have yet to ask her.'

'Then you must hurry!' His mother said in alarm. 'She intends to leave for Scotland in the morning!'

Oh she did, did she? She was welcome to try.

Seraphina walked to her room, bone tired, her muscles aching pleasurably after a session of lessons. She wished she had packed earlier, but there had been so much to do. She had to oversee equipment repair, make sure Lillian was able to pick up the slack for the few months she would be absent, she'd had to pack Caelan's things and find something for him to do while she worked. He'd been more than happy to help out at the stables, his love for horses surpassing even hers. As she entered her room, she realized she was not alone; there was a decidedly masculine figure lounging on her bed.

'Hello, Sera.'

Her knees went weak at the sound of his beloved voice.

'H-hello, Winter.'

The afternoon sun filtered in through the singular window, bathing him in exquisite golden light. His hair glowed as if he were an angel.

'Thought to leave me, did you?' He said softly, getting to his feet to approach her with such fierce intent that Seraphina found herself backing up until her back hit the door. He walked forward until the tips of their boots were touching and his legs were brushing her skirts. He reached out with one hand, her heart quickening in anticipation of his touch, but he merely twisted the lock closed. Her disappointment must have shown because he huffed a short laugh and then dipped to graze his lips against hers. 'I forbid it.'

'Unless you wish me to marry the man my aunt is foisting upon me!' She said a little breathlessly. 'I am escaping to Scotland. And who are you to forbid me anything?'

'Like the devil you will marry anyone you don't want to.' He smiled, all arrogant and handsome, dipping once again to taste her. 'Not when you are mine.'

'This is not what we decided.' She whimpered as his mouth dipped down to her neck, his wicked tongue tasting her. 'We said goodbye.'

'Hmmm,' he hummed in agreement. 'I've changed my mind. Let me shower you with pretty things and fine clothes. Let me give you everything you have ever wanted. Be mine, Seraphina Macleod.'

Outrage roared to life, banking the heat of her helpless desire. 'I will not be your mistress, you arse-'

His mouth came down on her, this time more possessive than gentle. When he pulled back, she tried again. 'I am going to Scotland.'

'No, woman, you are not.' He informed her, all aristocratic haughtiness and bluster.

'I should like to see you try and stop me, you complete and utter-'

In the meantime, Winter had gathered her hands into his own and had pinned them against the door above her head, interlacing their fingers.

'We are going to Scotland, woman.' He interrupted her once again.

'We?' She sputtered mid-tirade.

'Mhmmm,' he hummed. 'And we'll stop at Gretna Green, how does that sound?'

For a moment, her heart stopped beating and then resumed at a dangerously fast pace.

Oh, She thought to herself. I am dreaming.

'G-Gretna Green? What will we do there?'

She pinched herself.

No. This is definitely real.

'I do believe a man and woman might go to Gretna Green with a certain goal in mind.' He gave her a half smile. 'Afterwards, we can go to Rothbury's estate in Girvan. How does that sound for a honeymoon? Where is your village, we can go there as well if you'd like.'

'Honeymoon?'

'I'm told that is what newlyweds do; never been married before, you see.'

'Married?' She parroted like a fool. 'I can't marry you!'

'Yes, you can.'

'You didn't even ask me! And besides! We have already spoken at length about why we cannot.'

'We absolutely can.' He persisted.

'I am not giving up my life's work to be your wife!' She protested.

'I would never ask it of you.' He grinned, sensing her weakness.

'But-but the scandal! Your society-'

'To hell with the lot of them.'

'What are you even saying?!' She cried in disbelief.

'I am saying, Seraphina Macleod, will you do me the immense honor of facing complete and utter social ruin with me and make me the happiest man on earth? Will you marry me?' His smile seemed almost delirious.

'You're drunk!' She cried out, finally understanding.

'Haven't touched a drop in more than six years.' His smile widened, his arms snaked around her waist, and tugged her fully into him.

'You'll be miserable with a country bumpkin like me,' she warned, her entire body had begun to tremble. 'You will be miserable when your peers turn your back on you and gossip about you. Your mother will kill me. I don't know how to throw a ball! Or plan a state dinner!'

'And you might be miserable as my wife, when you see the way my peers judge you and gossip about you. You'll have to learn about hosting parties and other such things. That might very well make you miserable.' He told her solemnly. 'But I would choose that misery a thousand times over the misery of not being yours in the truest sense of the word. Also, my mother is already planning to be an overbearing grandmother, you have no issues on that score.'

'I-! You-! You've already spoken to her Ladyship?! I don't know what to say!'

'Sweeting, put a dying man out of his misery and say yes. If you think you'll be happier without me, I'll walk away right now.' His mouth crushed hers once more, his kiss almost reeking of desperation. 'But I'm hoping you won't. I love you. Marry me. Please.'

She pinched her arm once more, just to be sure.

'You mean it? You will marry me?' Her voice grew thick with emotion. Surely this could not be real.

'God, yes, gladly. Happily. I love you.' He took a deep breath, his eyes boring into hers with such intensity she could not look away. 'Just think of it; Lady Seraphina Hastings, Marchioness of Graham.'

'I do not love you for your title!' She cried out in alarm, but he only gripped her tighter.

'How about this then; I'll spoil you rotten. I'll have your favorite dishes made, year-round. I'll send your brother to the finest schools in England. I'll bathe you every evening. I will go riding with you every day.' And then his voice lowered into a seductive purr. 'And at night, Seraphina Macleod, I will make love to you until your voice has grown hoarse from screaming my name.'

'Oh,' she gulped loudly, growing hot all over. 'Oh my.'

'Just imagine it Seraphina, our boys will be the finest boxers Cambridge will have seen in decades. And our girls? We will never have to worry about handsy suitors. Tell me what else you wish for, Seraphina, my angel, and I will make it yours. This is the life I offer you. Marry me.'

'You would offer me a dream. A family. Love. As if I could say anything other than yes. Of course, I say yes. I love you.' Her voice shook with emotion, relief, joy, and ecstasy. 'I will be the best wife you could possibly imagine! I will learn all the different forks and spoons and curtsies for you. I will throw the best damn balls to ever have been thrown.'

He stared at her in joy and wonder, easing away from the door at last. He offered her one, final, wicked smile and said; 'Well, madam, looks like it is a race to the border!'