pulled her closer under the raincoat.
"That was Henry." She looked up as the
lightning zig-zagged through the sky. "He demands
another platter of doughnuts."
Kit laughed, his eyes crinkling as the rain
dampened his hair.
"We should leave now, love. Neville
Williamson and his wife are holding tea for us;
we should at least arrive on time. And we
promised your mother we'd ring her this evening." Kit
took a deep breath and glanced over her head at
the maze, barely visible in the misty distance. "I
think we've seen all there is to see."
"I suppose." Then she reached for his hand.
"Have you made a decision yet?"
"Yes, I believe I have."
"Well? Tell me, Kit, are you going
to sell? That's a heck of a lot of money they
offered. I mean, how many fledgling airlines are
the center of an international bidding war?"
"Not many, I imagine." He raised an
eyebrow, unable to keep the smile from his face.
"But then how many airlines are composed completely
of vintage propeller planes?"
"It's the service everyone goes nuts over,
Kit. It was brilliant of you to think of it: the
old decor, the outfits worn by the flight
attendants, jazz and old radio shows on the
headphones, the antique magazines offered
in-flight, those great old movies."
"Shush." He placed his hand over her mouth.
"Don't tell me what happens at the end of
Casablanca. Every time I almost reach the end,
some pesky phone call interrupts."
"Pesky? Like British Airways doubling
their offer? So you haven't told me, Kit: Are
you going to sell?"
He paused and rotated his shoulder, feeling the
ache of the old wound in the English dampness.
"I've been thinking, Deanie. I have no real
desire to sell. There's nothing quite like flying your
own plane, and I don't believe I could give
that up. Certainly not now, maybe never. But here
in England, where the taxes are brutal and
available land is so limited, it would be
almost impossible for the airline to grow." His thumb
traced over her hand as he spoke. "How about if
I move the operation to the United States?"
"Really?" The excitement made her voice
shrill.
"Someplace with lots of land nearby, so
Monarch Air could expand. Perhaps someplace in the
South. It might take awhile, with rough going at
first, but we've been through worse. I have my eye
on a bit of land outside of Nashville and--"
The rest of his words were cut off by her lips on
his, as the black raincoat slipped off their
shoulders and landed in the dirt, forgotten and muddied.
At first he laughed at her response, but the
laughter died in his throat, replaced by fierce
desire, overwhelming passion for the woman in his
arms.
His fingers combed through her hair, droplets of
water drizzling from the ends as their embrace
became tighter, their kiss deeper. She noticed
the scratchy feel of his whiskers and the soft
fullness of his lower lip, and it didn't matter
where they were or when they were. It only mattered that
they were together.
"A-hem," came an embarrassed voice.
In her haze Deanie did not respond, and
Kit, only half aware of the intrusion, chose
to ignore it.
"A-hem, a-hem."
Completing one last kiss, Kit raised his
eyebrows, glancing at the red-faced gardener standing
under a large black umbrella.
"Excuse me, sir," he said discreetly.
"A-hem, and ma'am. The grounds are closing.
You'd best be off, and get out of them wet
clothes."
Deanie giggled, her hands dropping to Kit's
chest, her eyes still steady upon his face.
The gardener cringed. "That's not what I meant."
Kit held up a hand. "Please, don't
worry. We'll be off."
The gardener seemed reluctant to leave them
alone. Kit gave Deanie's shoulder a light
squeeze and scooped up his soggy raincoat.
"You should come back later in the spring," said the
gardener, struggling for something to say. "It's
lovely then, it is. Magical, almost."
The ghost of a smile traced Deanie's lips.
"We know," she whispered, ducking under Kit's
arm. "It's pure magic."
Together they walked back to the parking lot, the
gardener holding the umbrella over their heads,
chattering about the flora and fauna of Hampton
Court.
But Kit and Deanie said nothing. For as
magical, as glorious as the garden was in the
spring, they alone knew the most magical thing of
all is love.
Author's Note
The Hampton Court maze was not actually
created until the reign of William and Mary,
more than a hundred years after Kit and Deanie
and, incidentally, Henry VIII. Anne
Boleyn's family home, Hever Castle,
did have a maze, however. Perhaps Henry wooed his
vivacious ill-fated second wife there.
Only they know for sure.
Anne of Cleves never did return to her
homeland. She was granted the palace of
Richmond upon the annulment of her marriage, as
well as the extraordinary sum of four thousand
pounds a year. Henry threw in the title of his
"Honorary Sister," as well as the manor of
Betchingly and his reviled late wife's Hever
Castle. Her brother the duke of Cleves
breathed a sigh of relief and admitted that he was
"glad his sister had fared no worse."
Anne became something of a fashion
trendsetter, and her unique position as a
self-sufficient woman at court gave her a
delightful sense of freedom. Although she never
remarried, she remained good friends with Henry and his
eldest daughter, Mary.
And after the annulment, Henry allowed Anne
to become a mother figure to his little red-haired
daughter, Princess Elizabeth.