“Beatrice, I thought you were made of bold stuff,” he said with his eyes melodramatically wide with innocence.
She could not hide her grin, but she did as instructed. She was happy to humor him; he seemed so happy. It was a joy indeed to be with Will now, since he had eschewed the walls and glowering arrogance so inherent to dukes.
Will opened the door, and she stepped over the threshold with his guiding hand.
The decided scent of ink assaulted her senses.
“Open them,” he instructed softly, his lips brushing her ear ever so slightly.
She did—and then she gasped with joy.
A great metal monstrosity met her view. “A printing press,” she cried out.
“It is the best, the most up-to-date, and the finest,” he declared, studying her, waiting for approval. “It will print more pamphlets for you faster than before, and you can do the typeset over here,” he said, leading her to a beautiful set of block letters.
She leaned over, ready to examine them. But when she did, her throat tightened with emotion.
Will had already arranged the block letters, which could be rearranged in any order for the printing press. The letters formed a simple but profound quote.
I love you with so much of my heart none is left to protest.
Overcome, she reached out and stroked the words. “Much Ado About Nothing,” she breathed.
Slowly, he reached out and lightly touched her hand. “Do you remember? When you set your hand on mine at the theater?”
She nodded, unable to reply.
“From that moment, I was yours, Beatrice. Always and forever.”
She took his hand in hers and placed her other atop his. “Always and forever,” she replied, her heart so full, she had no room for anything but their love.