The Light Over London(64)

“We’ve heard an awful lot about you,” said Charlie, with a sly look at Louise.

“Hopefully none of it awful. It’s been a fight to get a week’s leave, but as soon as I had it, I left my base. I couldn’t wait to see my girl again. And”—he stepped back with a laugh—“when I get here, I find you in trousers!”

She blushed, suddenly aware of the fact that she was in battle dress, her hair windswept and wilted after a long night manning the predictor. “Trousers are better for long nights outdoors.”

“The last time I saw her she was wearing schoolgirl sweaters and old-fashioned skirts six inches past her knees,” he said.

His tone was light but there was the slight sting there. From the way Vera lifted her brows, Louise could tell her friend had caught it too, but she shook it off. Paul was here, and that was all that mattered.

“Well, I don’t know that any man dreams of asking a woman this while she’s wearing trousers but . . .” Paul got down on one knee, the long fingers of both his hands wrapped around hers. “Louise Keene, would you do me the very great honor of making me the happiest man in the world?”

The gasps of the women in her unit were lost in the sound of the blood roaring in Louise’s ears. The weight of nine pairs of eyes was bearing down on her, and she didn’t understand what was happening. How had they gone from kisses to months of letters to this? She loved him, but it felt as though he was skipping steps—important steps—and she didn’t know how to catch up.

“Paul.” She choked on his name and gave a slight tug on her hand, as though if she broke the connection of skin against skin she might somehow be able to think clearly again.

A brief flicker of doubt passed over his features. “Darling, I thought—”

“Paul, what exactly are you asking me?”

Then the brilliant, teasing smile that had dazzled her on the dance floor of St. Mawgan was back. “I’m asking you to marry me. Will you?”

A squeal burst out, and they all spun. Lizzie stood there, her hands clapped over her mouth and her eyes shining bright. “I’m so sorry,” Lizzie said, lowering her hands from her lips. “I was excited.”

Louise raked her gaze over all of her colleagues, each of them looking at her with barely contained anticipation except two: Cartruse stood, arms crossed and lips twisted, and Vera’s face was completely neutral as though she were waiting for the answer before calling up the right reaction to broadcast. Louise desperately wanted to pull the slightly older and slightly wiser Vera aside and ask her why. Why was she not thrilled like the other girls? Why was this all happening so fast? Did she really want to marry Paul after so little time around each other?

“Darling,” he prompted, shaking her hand a little.

She pressed her free hand to her forehead. “It’s all just happened so fast. We were just fighting in our letters last month.”

“And there’s no woman I’d rather fight with than you,” he said.

“Paul, be reasonable.”

“I don’t want to be reasonable. Maybe I should’ve waited, but I know I want you to be my wife. I want our lives to start now.” He slipped a hand in his pocket and when he opened it, she saw the little brass compass he’d tried to give her when he left Cornwall. “I haven’t had time to buy you a ring, but you know how precious this is to me. Nothing would make me happier than knowing it’s protecting you now, my wife.”

She swallowed. She loved this man—she’d told herself that enough times that it had to be true—and now he was standing here before her, asking her to leap with him. She was just nervous at the enormity of saying yes to such a simple question.

“You haven’t told me you love me,” she whispered.

His eyes crinkled. “Is that all, silly thing? Of course I love you, darling. I didn’t realize I needed to shout it from the rooftops.”

For some reason, his laughing words made her blush even harder. She should’ve known, he seemed to be saying. Maybe if she’d been a little more sophisticated, she would’ve known how to handle a man’s affection.

“Of course I will,” she said, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

A cheer exploded as Paul swept her off her feet and kissed her. Buoyed by the others’ elation, she set her head back and laughed, letting herself be carried away by the collective joy.

When he set her back down on her feet, Paul slung an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him before turning to the girls. “Which of you are staying in London?”

“I am,” said Charlie.

“Then you’ll play the part of witness,” he said. “Make sure my girl doesn’t get cold feet on Wednesday,” said Paul.

“Wednesday?” Louise asked. That was just two days away.

“I’ve already written to a pastor who said he’d make all the arrangements and marry us. He has a soft spot for couples in service and knows how to make sure a quick wedding goes off without a hitch,” said Paul.

A quick wedding. In Haybourne, the only women who had quick weddings were those who had to. Claris Glisi, for instance, who married a man in a fast ceremony and had a baby six months later at seventeen. Thea White, whose husband left her pregnant with a second child two years after their vows. Louise’s own mother.