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“Mr. Laramie is here,” Cara said from the window, spying the man exiting a carriage stopped in front of their cottage. Clouds blanketed the sky in gray, and Lily prayed it would drench him in a sudden downpour rivaling the one that sent Noah’s ark floating around the world. She could use a bit of cheer after a week spent avoiding Owen and all thoughts of him. Not very successfully, though.
He crept into her dreams without warning, their evening together morphing into one of continued pleasure rather than the catastrophe of reality.
“But...we have one more day.” Iris’s light brows wrinkled in worry at the hurried end to Laramie’s timeline.
“Would it really make a difference?” Lily asked, noting the frustratingly dry weather outside. For the past two weeks, they had worked hard to follow through on Cara's foolhardy plan of creating the book themselves, but it was no use.
They weren't their father or mother. They didn't have the skills or knowledge to compile an in-depth book of research on moss. Thwarted by a bloody plant.
“Well, he's here. Early or not, we're going to have to give him what we have.”
“Which is nothing.” Scoffing, Lily sat in her father’s favorite chair, crossed arms matching her crossed legs with calves encased in breeches from her earlier outdoor meanderings. She hadn't wanted to change, and now it seemed Laramie would catch her in such an unladylike repose—again.
No matter, she thought. What did she care what he thought of her manners when he was kicking her family out of their home without a second thought? Politeness clearly wasn't in his repertoire, so it wouldn't be in hers.
An imperious knock rapped against the door, and Lily inhaled a breath of preparation for what was to come.
“Mr. Laramie.” Caraway greeted him with a grim smile. “What a surprise to see you so soon. I thought we had until tomorrow for your proposition.”
“You’re not mistaken, Miss Taylor. However, I arrived early in the village and figured we should get this nasty bit of business over with. Have you obtained the payment?”
Lily tried hiding her disgust. Of course, his immediate concern was jumping right to the topic of money.
“Why don't you have a seat?” Caraway gestured to an armchair across from Lily. “And maybe some tea?
Mr. Laramie held up a placating hand, and she noted another peculiar brown spot on the back of it, one to match the one she’d seen on his first visit. “I'm afraid I prefer a quick visit, thank you.”
“Why the haste, Mr. Laramie?” Iris asked. “Do you have other plans while visiting the countryside?”
“Hardly.” Disapproval rang in his tone. “After my travels abroad, I prefer London these days instead of rustic communities.”
He made it sound like they were backwoods Neanderthals instead of a perfectly charming English village. One Lily sometimes resented after her scandal, but the rolling hills and forests made up for the lapse.
“I see.” Caraway sat next to Iris on the settee, her hands clasped in her lap. “To the point, Mr. Laramie, I fear we have not been able to gather enough funds to cover our father’s contract with you. However, if you could only—”
“I thought as much, which is why a new plan occurred to me.”
This couldn't bode well for them. What other plan could he possibly contrive? They either had the money or not and clearly, they did not.
“Oh?” Iris leaned forward, light blonde wisps falling over her shoulder.
“I've been thinking... I'm not getting any younger. I'd like to leave more than my work behind when I pass.” He paused and Lily felt his gaze travel over her, pausing on her trouser-clad legs. For the second time, she regretted not changing and felt out of place wearing breeches instead of her dresses. The way he ogled her made the hair on the back of her nape rise in warning.
“It occurred to me that if you don't have the money to offer, you still have something else of equal or greater value.” A pit formed in Lily's stomach as she raced to work out his meaning. Something of equal or greater value? Did he want to buy what’s left of her father’s supplies? Journals?
“And what would that be, Mr. Laramie?” Cara asked, a worried note entering her voice.
“I am in need of a wife to birth my children, and while it might be customary for me to marry the eldest...” He glanced at Cara. “I would prefer to have someone more to my tastes. A hearty country girl who can withstand the elements of wherever we may travel.”
Lily understood where this was leading, as no one had ever described Iris as hardy, not with her fae-like aura. Cara must have worked out what he meant, too, because mutual expressions of shock bounced between the two of them. “You can't be serious.”
“What? You’d prefer to lose your childhood home? I'm not being unreasonable. You owe me a debt. This way benefits everyone. I've heard the talk at the inn about Miss Lily's exploits in her youth, and I'm willing to overlook them. You won't be getting a better offer than that.”
That’s it.
She’d had enough.
Jumping to her feet, Lily straightened to her full height. “I will never marry you.” And a sense of deja vu almost made her dizzy as she remembered uttering the same phrase to Owen five days prior.
“I think you will, my dear. It's either marriage to me, with a hope for a future family, your home safe and sound for your sisters, or the three of you out on the streets.”
“You are a vile man.” Like a feral cat, she wanted to hiss and bite the odious man. How dare he try to blackmail her into marriage! “What a proposal—or shall I say threat—you make to the woman you hope to be your bride. Is it any wonder I refuse you?”
She’d refused Owen, a man she’d once loved. Hell would freeze over before she agreed to become this man’s wife, instead. Lightning bolted through her bones, down to the very tips of her fingers, and she wished she could blast Laramie to ash.
“I've upset you,” Laramie said, lifting to his feet, acting as if her rage wasn’t threatening to pummel him into the ground. “You have until I leave Hampshire tomorrow morning. I’ll stop here before proceeding to London. If you insist on refusing my hand, then I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to move forward with legal proceedings and take ownership of this land and home.”
“We quite understand what's at stake.” Cara moved to the door, forcefully swinging it open. “You will have your answer by then. Now if you will excuse us, we have a lot to discuss.”
He left, leaving them in a wake of disbelief, or in Lily's case, fury. The only silver lining was the heavens opening up in a deluge of rain right over Laramie’s thick skull.
The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent agonizing over what to do next. Should they write to Hazel and Jonathan? Try reasoning with Mr. Laramie again? The one option they didn’t consider—to Lily’s relief—was Mr. Laramie’s proposal.
However, privately, as hours passed with no better solutions found, she knew what had to be done to save her family home, and the knowledge chafed.
Her sisters wouldn’t accept financial aid from Owen. Wouldn’t want to be seen as taking advantage of his friendship. Especially since Lily doubted he’d allow them to repay the debt to him instead.
And while the idea of Owen frightening Mr. Laramie off gave her an unladylike sort of pleasure, it wasn’t a permanent solution because the contract still legally bound them to him.
Which left one option—one her sisters and Mr. Laramie couldn’t circumvent or deny.
She’d visit Owen and accept his proposal. If he still wants you. But she knew he would. His sense of duty wouldn’t let him do anything less.
Against all odds, they’d marry in the end.
Despite the ruining of her reputation in an effort to push him away.
Despite the distrust she’d placed between them.
And bitterness gnawed at her insides.
***
THE NEXT MORNING BEFORE Laramie’s purported return, Lily donned her favorite gown, a light blue muslin with sprigged daisies dotting the fabric, needing the strength and confidence it imbued. She’d spent the entire night debating how to approach Owen, which culminated in purple circles under her eyes, an attractive feature in a future bride, no doubt. However, nothing could be done about it now.
His lordship would have to learn to accept her in all capacities anyway, whether fatigued from a sleepless evening or outfitted for tea with the queen.
Sneaking downstairs with tentative steps, Lily strained to hear the telltale patter of her sisters’ morning routine. Silence greeted her, and the tense muscles along her neck and shoulders marginally relaxed. Cara and Iris must be on their morning walk. Thankful for her good fortune, she hurried downstairs, grabbed her bonnet from a hook by the door, and began the trek towards the Trent Estate.
Though it was too early for proper visiting hours, she knew Owen would see her. How could he resist the opportunity when they hadn’t spoken since the night of his mother’s ball? Curiosity would be too great a temptress.
A quarter of an hour later, Lily stood in a room Marvin the butler had reluctantly deposited her in, the soothing green tones doing nothing to ease her nerves. Chaotic energy tingled from her booted toes to gloved fingertips, and she reconsidered the approach she’d settled on sometime in the night. Perhaps sticking to the blunt route of their past interactions wasn’t wise. What’s that saying about catching more flies with honey?
Except Owen would see through such a ruse, as he’d always been able to glean her true feelings. The blighter. It was unfair how attuned he’d always been to her, even if she felt the same could be said for her in regard to him... At least she used to be.
Only time would tell now.
Time spent together as husband and wife if he accepted her proposition.