Isaiah placed the velvet box containing a wedding band in his pocket, pushing it down deep to be sure it was secure.
He could not recall ever having had such trouble making a purchase. One saw what one wanted and bought it, confident that one’s choice was appropriate and pleased to be quickly finished.
This time was different—unsettling, to be honest. The ring was something his bride would wear all her life and he had no idea if she would even like it.
According to the jeweller any woman would adore the warm gold engraved with evergreen needles and dusted with tiny diamonds. Sadly Mr Thompson knew no more about Felicia Merry Penneyjons than Isaiah did.
He would have welcomed Abigail’s advice, but she was not here. Mr Thompson had taken one look at Eloise popping out of the basket his sister carried and emitted a room-shattering sneeze.
With the jeweller’s eyes growing red and itchy, there had been no choice but to send his sister to their next stop, the dress shop.
With the wedding set for the day after next, time was of the utmost value. It was vexing to think that the cat might cost him some of it.
As young as she was, he did value his sister’s opinion. Females, he had come to learn, had opinions on fashion at a very early age. Her advice on the ring would have been helpful.
He really did want to put his best foot forward for his bride. The woman deserved that respect.
He wondered if perhaps their paths had crossed at a social gathering in the past. It was possible for it to have happened. Now he wished he had paid more than passing courtesy to the ladies presented to him. Had he done that, he might have some idea of who his bride would be.
Stepping outside the jeweller’s shop, he shivered. Everything indicated snow was on the way. He would need to hurry if he was to be home before it began to fall.
Hopefully it would not inconvenience Miss Penneyjons.
Isaiah hurried across the street and went inside the dress shop.
Abigail was not there. The shopkeeper shook her head, looking puzzled. Apparently his sister had not arrived.
That could not be! He had watched her cross the road and approach the shop door.
Dashing out of the shop, he pivoted on his heel. Where could she have got to? He felt his skin grow tight, pinched with worry. For all that he tried to smooth his frown before someone noticed, he could not.
Where was she?
Surely she had not become lost. She was familiar with Windermere, every shop and eatery in the village, each street and alley. She knew everyone and they knew her. But she was only eight years old and tourists—strangers from all over—were common.
As if to reinforce his concern a man came out of the hotel, his expression grim. Isaiah reminded himself that just because the fellow scowled while he walked towards the dress shop did not mean it had to do with Abigail. It was unreasonable to think it did.
To say that he was overzealous in protecting his sister would be true, yet he could be no less. On her deathbed his mother had given Abigail to him, trusting that he would keep her safe.
He had failed once when he did not notice that she had toddled outside in a snowstorm. He would never be careless with her safety again.
As soon as he found her he would have a stern, brotherly word with her about caution.
While he thought about what words would best express discipline tempered by love, he heard a screech. It came from behind the dress shop.
Abigail!
On top of Abigail’s cry came another. This one seemed to come from a woman.
Skidding on a spot of mud while rounding the corner of the building, he nearly went to his knees.
There was Abigail, her arms spread wide as if to catch a woman dangling from a tree limb. Even from here he could see the lady’s grip slipping.
If she fell, both she and his sister would be injured.
‘Stand away!’ he shouted on the run.
Abigail jumped aside just in time to avoid being knocked over.
‘Let go, miss! I’ll catch you!’ Feet flailing, she nearly smacked him in the head. As it was, she grazed his hat and sent it flying.
She glanced down, blinking at him with eyes the loveliest shade of green he had ever seen, for all that they were wide with consternation.
Biting her bottom lip, she shook her head fiercely. A lock of red hair lashed her nose. Even in the midst of the crisis he noted that it was softly lustred rather than blazing wildfire.
‘You can trust me not to drop you.’ Still, she hesitated. ‘I promise I will not.’
‘He is stronger than he looks,’ Abigail explained.
In the next second the lady did tumble, but not, he thought, by choice.
He locked his arms when her weight fell on to him. She gave a small squeak, then stared at him in what could only be surprise.
‘You see?’ Abigail pointed out. ‘Much stronger.’
‘I do thank you, sir.’
This was no feather of a miss who would blow away in a breeze. In fact, she filled his arms in such a pleasantly solid fashion, he did not want to put her down.
But he ought to—her bloomers were showing and one long, lovely pink toe peeked out of a rip in her stocking.
‘What—’ barked a man’s voice. Ah, it belonged to the scowling man he’d spotted coming out of the hotel. ‘Unhand my cousin! What do you think you are about?’
He would have to, he supposed, the fellow had good reason to be outraged at what he saw.
Setting the lady to her feet, he found that they were of a height, gazing at each other eye to eye. But she was not wearing boots. He imagined when she put them on he would have to adjust his gaze up an inch. The idea intrigued him.
Most women he met were wary of him, of his size and the stern image he tended to present without fully meaning to.
Quite contrary to what his sister had to say, he did not appear a weakling.
‘No need to look so surly, Peter,’ the lady said, her smile a flash of sunshine on this gloomy day. ‘All is well. I was simply fetching the cat out of the tree and I slipped. This kind gentleman caught my fall.’
Eloise chose that moment to claw her way down the tree trunk. With her tail proudly lifted, she sailed across the grass to Abigail, purring and ready to be cooed over.
His sister scooped up the basket from the ground.
‘You silly thing,’ she gently admonished. Easing Eloise inside, she shut the lid.
This was Isaiah’s own fault, he supposed, for not inspecting what she had in the basket when they left Scarsfeld.
‘Abigail, did I not instruct you to leave the cat at home?’ Perhaps this was best spoken of in private, but the woman might have been injured and he felt his sister ought to apologise. ‘Offer your regrets and tell the lady you are sorry to have involved her in your reckless choice.’
‘Oh, truly there is no need.’ The woman’s smile dimmed. ‘No harm was done.’
‘Your clothing has been torn. Lady Abigail will find a way to repay you.’
Glancing down, the lady blushed, yanked the hem out of her skirt and let it drop, securing her shapely pink toe from his view.
‘Your brother?’ she asked Abigail with an inquisitive-looking tilt of her chin.
‘You see? It is true what I said.’
‘I thought you were speaking of someone much smaller.’ The lady shifted her glance to him, her frown settling more firmly into place. ‘But I do see your point.’
What point?
‘Tell the lady you regret having risked her safety and let’s be on our way. I’m certain she would like to get out of the cold.’
She was not wearing shoes after all and her toe—dash it, he must put the somehow seductive image of it from his mind. He was to be wed and thoughts of a ripped stocking were not appropriate.
‘I would.’ The cousin shivered, hunching his shoulders against the nip in the air. ‘The weather is a bit of a beast compared to what we left behind in London.’
‘I regret that in helping me you were nearly injured.’ Abigail cast him a frown, one which he was fairly certain she had learned from him. ‘I also apologise for my brother’s severe attitude. I will suffer no lasting harm from it, though. Nor will Eloise.’
As if she was suffering even an ounce of harm in the moment. He nearly huffed out loud.
‘Naturally not. I’m sure…’ In stooping to pick up her shoes, the woman glanced up at him. ‘Goodness, I’m only grateful you were close by.’
If his bride was half as lovely as this lady, he would be a thankful man.
Of course, he did not require that his bride be a great beauty. He only prayed that she would be a charming woman who would dissuade Lord Penfield and Lady Penfield from upending Abigail’s life.
He squatted, reached for his hat which had come to rest on the heel of her boot. As he gazed at her eye to eye, his stomach took the oddest turn.
An image flashed in his mind, but was gone before he could secure it.
In the instant she grabbed for her shoe, their hands collided. Her bare fingers looked flushed with warmth. He was grateful that he was wearing gloves because to feel the warmth of her skin would twist his belly even further.
He frowned before he could call the gesture back. What a cad he was for getting lost in the colour of her eyes when he ought to have been wondering what his intended’s eyes looked like. The situation between him and his bride would be difficult as it was without his interest wandering.
‘Have I injured you, sir?’ she asked, her voice a horrified whisper.
His dashed frown! Scrubbing it from his face with an open palm, he sent her a smile of reassurance that she had not.
‘Oh…’ she gasped ‘…you have been hurt!’
‘I have not. As my sister pointed out, I’m stronger than I look.’
The corner of her mouth quirked up. A merry green twinkle flashed in her eye. It was a lucky thing he was squatting because it nearly cut him off at the knees.
‘Rest assured, sir, you do not look at all frail.’
He should not ask her name, but rather rise and carry on with purchasing a dress for his sister. The less he knew of this woman the better. As it was, he feared he would imagine her face in moments he ought not to. Which, given his circumstances, would be any moment at all.
‘Come along before we freeze,’ complained the lady’s cousin.
‘The weather is lovely, Peter, you simply need to adjust your attitude towards it.’
They were nearly knee to knee when she reached for the package she must have dropped when she went to Abigail’s aid. Somehow it felt the most provocative position he had ever been in with a woman, which did not honestly make much sense.
‘You’ll make an icicle of me, Felicia. Let’s be on our way.’
Felicia?
‘Felicia?’ Surely heaven was smiling upon him.
‘Felicia Penneyjons,’ she muttered, rising and casting a ‘look’ at Peter.
Isaiah came to his feet, feeling half-buoyant.
‘I’m grateful to—pleased to, that is—meet you.’ He took her hand, bent slightly over it. ‘I am Lord Scarsfeld.’
* * *
‘He’s not an ogre, at least,’ Felicia muttered to the bedroom at large while dressing for dinner—dinner with Lord Scarsfeld. In her mind, she was not ready to call him Isaiah.
‘Not an ogre, perhaps, but as formidable as he was at Lady Newton’s ball.’
It surprised her that she had not known him right away when he’d caught her tumbling from the tree. There had been a flash of familiarity, but given the situation she had suddenly landed in—and, well, to be honest, the exceptionally strong arms—she had been so distracted that she had not fully recognised him until he introduced himself.
Something else about the man remained the same. It came to her in the moment she understood who he was. Lord Scarsfeld was still an amazingly handsome man.
She could not deny that looking into his eyes had made her heart flutter. In fact, she wondered if he noticed her fingers trembling a bit when she reached for her boots.
She walked to the mirror, twirled about. She did look like a peppermint stick, but subtly so that only she was likely to know it.
Of course, that was what she intended. While one might wish to feel like a peppermint stick inside, one also wished to appear sensible.
She stopped suddenly, her skirt twirling about her calves.
How sensible, she had to ask herself, was wedding a stranger known to have a less than cheerful disposition?
When it came to his sister he was abrupt, even overbearing. But young Lady Abigail had been unfazed by his attitude. She had said what she wished to her brother and about him. If he truly was the man he appeared to be, she would not be so comfortable—bossy, more than that—in his company.
Lord Scarsfeld did confuse her.
Fluffing her skirt, then smoothing her hair, she was determined to sort him out over dinner.
Lady Abigail needed no sorting. Even knowing the child for only a few moments, Felicia liked her immensely. No doubt as the child grew, she would prove equal to society’s changes, to the progressive times she would be growing up in.
From what she could determine, her brother had been the one to raise her. In Felicia’s opinion he had done an outstanding job.
In the beginning of all this—the summoning of a bride—she had imagined herself playing the role of a martyr to her poor shy sister.
But now…well, having looked into those dramatic, amber-coloured eyes, she was not quite sure she was martyring herself after all. Truly, how many martyrs went to their doom all aflutter over a pair of shapely lips?
None she had ever heard of.
Peter’s familiar rap tapped on the door, indicating it was time to go down to the dining room.
Perhaps the flutters had to do with nervousness as much as with a vision of masculine lips and captivating eyes.
Things could be a great deal worse.
Indeed, much worse. Flutters, for whatever their origin, were not a horrid fate. And for all her bravado about offering herself to duty, she had reserved the right to change her mind.
It did seem important to know his reasons for wanting to marry so suddenly after all this time before she committed to it.
Surely he must also have questions for her, such as why she had agreed so readily to the marriage?
She opened the door to find her cousin with a half-smile on his face.
‘You are trying to hide the fact that you are worried,’ she said, closing the door and taking his arm while they walked towards the stairs.
‘Concerned only. You are taking a very big step.’ Peter looked her over, at last settling his gaze on her face. ‘I’m not sure the two of you will suit.’
‘It does remain to be seen, but what we do know is that I am far better suited to Lord Scarsfeld than Ginny would be.’
‘You can refuse. I’ll take you home this instant.’
‘The Viscount and I will dine together. At the end of it I will know if you need to take me home.’
‘Very well.’
‘And, Peter, I need you to sit at another table. I have questions for Lord Scarsfeld and I wonder if he will answer candidly with you sitting there looking as though you will pummel him at the least provocation.’
Peter huffed out a breath through half-parted lips. ‘I’m your guardian. It is suitable for me to appear fierce.’
‘You are also a gentleman. Surely you can appear so.’
‘Yes, all right. But I will be close by. If you need me, raise your hand in the air, crook your finger and I will come.’
* * *
Isaiah would have married any woman and considered himself lucky. It was all for Abigail, after all. Whether the lady was a thistle or a rose, he had prepared himself not to care as long as she was willing to wed him.
Ah, but now, while standing to welcome Miss Penneyjons, watching her willow-like figure as she strode towards him on her cousin’s arm, seeing her confident smile when she had every reason to be quaking in her slippers at the prospect of dining with the stranger she had agreed to marry, a stranger his own sister had labelled crusty, he could only admire her.
If she was uncomfortable with gazes shifting her way, she hid it well. Being as tall as she was, she did command attention.
Felicia Merry Penneyjons soaked up every bit of his. To his mind she looked like Christmas.
For an instant the swish of her green skirt, the red beading and white bow at her waist made her appear a walking peppermint stick. A long-dead whisper of Christmas joy echoed in his memory. He sucked in a shallow breath, held it, then snuffed out the feeling before it overwhelmed him.
Christmas joy, the anticipation of something wonderful on the way, all that had died when he was seven years old and his mother had gone away. Without a kiss or a smile, without even a word of farewell, she had vanished from his life.
‘Thank you for joining me, Miss Penneyjons, Lord Cliverton.’ He nodded in heartfelt welcome while a waiter pulled out a chair for his—his intended was what she was.
Peter shook his head when the waiter went to pull a chair out for him. ‘I’ll take a table by the window if one is available. The view of the lake is stunning.’
It was, or would be once the sun was shining on it. Being totally dark, the only interest the lake held were a few lights from the opposite shore shimmering through the drizzle.
Isaiah was glad for the empty place at his table. What he wanted was to get to know Felicia. It would be easier with only the two of them making conversation.
‘The dining room is lovely,’ she said, glancing about the space with a smile.
The woman had an uncommon smile, to be sure. It was pretty, but more than that it made him feel warm inside.
‘I dine here often. The food is delicious and there is a beautiful view of the lake when the weather is clear.’
‘Everyone does seem to be enjoying themselves.’
‘It is cosy with the fireplace burning.’
Humph, if this start to their conversation were any more brittle it would crack.
To prove the point, it did. For a long uncomfortable moment they stared at everything but each other. The silence became embarrassing.
‘Do you enjoy it?’ she asked at last.
‘I do. I find the lamb to be excellent and the wine superb. May I offer you a glass?’
‘The rain, I mean. Do you enjoy it? And, yes, a splash of wine would be wonderful.’
‘It is a nuisance,’ he answered while pouring them each a modest glass. ‘I enjoy rain best when it stops.’
For some reason his answer seemed to disappoint her, so he hurried on to another topic. ‘My sister sends her thanks for helping to rescue her cat.’
That rallied her smile. ‘It’s been an awfully long time since I had occasion to climb a tree. But then I don’t believe the cat needed rescuing after all. In the end she came down on her own terms.’
‘Eloise does live on her own, feline terms, but she is as attached to my sister as Abigail is to her.’
‘Your sister seems to be a sweet child and very intelligent to go with it.’
‘She’s only eight, if you can believe it.’
Silence felled the conversation once more, but this time he nearly saw thoughts swirling past her eyes. She had something she wanted to say, but did not know how to begin.
‘Feel free to speak, Miss Penneyjons.’
‘Yes, well… I must, mustn’t I?’ She took a long sip of wine. ‘Do you remember us at all? I’m told you and your mother visited Cliverton upon occasion. Also, my sisters and I did encounter you at Lady Newton’s ball three years ago.’
‘I can’t say that I recall meeting you at the ball.’
‘I would not expect you to, of course. Ginny and I were only making our debut. A gentleman like you would naturally have his attention focused on the more sophisticated ladies in attendance.’
‘May I tell you a secret?’ He wanted to smile, but according to Miss Shirls the gesture might frighten her. ‘My attention was not on any lady, not that night or on any other. I confess, I am not one for socialising. But there was something, now that I think of it. When you dropped from the tree I had a vague sense of recognising you, but I had no idea from where. Lady Newton’s ball must have been it, then.’
‘Yes, well, I do tend to be noticed.’ She blushed with the confession and for some reason it went straight to his heart, which was odd. When it came to matters of the heart, his was quite dead. ‘But, I wonder, do you have any memories of visiting Cliverton? I would not expect you to, really, since you would have been a young boy.’
‘Not memories in the usual sense, but I do have a memory of a feeling. I recall a sense of having fun at Cliverton.’
Again, he was struck by her smile. He had to remind himself not to let it affect him in any more than a casual way.
Feeling anything deeper than friendship for anyone but Abigail was not something he was willing to risk. The past had taught him the folly of doing so.
‘Well, I’m relieved to hear that.’ She took a sip of wine, her lips smiling against the rim of the glass. ‘The story that my mother used to tell was that when I was a baby I crawled about after you, wailing and screeching, until you relented and took my hand and helped teach me to walk.’
‘Apparently I did a decent job of it. You appear to be agile on your feet. Truly, though, I wish I did remember. No doubt I found you adorable.’
She laughed quietly, pursing her lips in a smile. ‘All babies are, of course.’
‘For all that they demand every bit of your time and your heart.’
At last, they were speaking easily to one another. It was good to know they could carry on a conversation without tripping all over it.
‘Miss Penneyjons, I want to say something—something that cannot be left unsaid.’
‘Please Lord Scarsfeld, do speak freely with me. I feel it important that we should be frank with one another.’
‘It is simply that I understand you must have given up a great deal in leaving London to come here. I do not take your decision lightly or for granted. You honour me by agreeing to become my wife.’
‘Yes, well…in fact, I have yet to give formal approval of the arrangement.’
Had she not? For all that it made sense that she would be cautious, he felt half-sick, fearing she might refuse him. What was he to do if she did?
‘What can I do to help you approve? If you have heard things about me, I assure you—’
‘I do not pay attention to gossip, my lord. I see with my own eyes that you are not an ogr—’ She waved her hand, as if shooing something away. A strand of silky-looking hair escaped confinement, brushing across her ever-so-subtle frown. ‘I find it a more reliable habit to form one’s own judgements rather than trust someone else’s. I promise you that my decision will have nothing to do with anything others might have said about you.’
That was something, at least. The fearful thud of his heart began to ease, the twisting in his gut let up.
‘What, then? How can I put your heart at ease?’
‘It’s my mind more than my heart, I suppose, but what I would like to know is why is it so urgent for you to marry quickly?’
What an uncommon young woman he was going to wed—at least he hoped he was. Some women would not have cared about that, only been content to learn the size, and importance, of his estate.
While he wondered how to begin, he listened to the sounds of silver on china, the quiet murmurs of fellow dinners and the steady tap of rain on the window. His future, and Abigail’s, depended upon him presenting his case in the best way.
He was nearly certain she did not want to hear some trite declaration of how he had become weary of being single and that he yearned for the company of a wife. Or of how Scarsfeld needed a viscountess to make it a success in society.
Those reasons were untrue and she would know it.
‘It is for Lady Abigail’s sake. I must wed if I have any hope of keeping her with me.’
‘May I ask why, my lord?’
‘It is something you need to know, should you choose in my favour.’ He drummed his fingers on the table once then forged ahead. ‘My mother died giving birth to Abigail. I was estranged from her and knew nothing of her life, let alone that at forty years old she would—But eight years ago—I was twenty-two then—my late stepfather’s solicitor brought Abigail to me in the middle of the night. She was only two days old.’
‘It must have come as a horrible shock, finding out about your mother that way.’
‘It was horrible. Yet, at the same time, there was Abigail, who is a great blessing.’
‘Am I to understand that my purpose in marrying you will be to help you with her?’
‘It is more complicated than that, Miss Penneyjons.’ Every noise in the room blurred except the increasing tap of rain pelting the windows. ‘My sister’s uncle, my stepfather’s brother, and his wife have decided that she will be better off in London with them. The reason I am in such a hurry to wed is that they are coming to visit for Christmas—they intend to take Abigail with when they leave. My hope is that if I am married they might think me more capable of raising her.’
No one knew any of this, not even the canny Miss Shirls. But Miss Penneyjons did deserve to understand the problem she would be stepping into by accepting his proposal.
‘Abigail’s uncle and aunt are rather high up in society. As a viscount I would have little chance in court against the Earl of Penfield. My only hope is that if I am respectably married, they will reconsider.’
‘Penfield?’
‘Are you acquainted with him?’
‘No, not really, but being a Londoner I have heard of the Earl and the Countess. I have encountered them briefly in society, although I doubt they would know me. Truly, Lord Scarsfeld, I am very sorry to hear of your trouble. How does Abigail feel about it?’
‘She doesn’t know.’ He scraped his hand across his chin, felt the freshly shaved stubble. ‘I can’t bring myself to tell her. I’ll do whatever is needed to prevent it from happening, as your presence here is proof of.’
‘I am taking what you told me to heart.’
‘I throw myself upon your mercy,’ he whispered and not in jest.
All of a sudden, from one breath to the next, the tapping on the window stopped, which probably meant the rain had turned to snow.
Dash it. He had hoped to make it home before it began to fall.
‘Miserable snow,’ he muttered. He could only hope that there were a pair of spare rooms to let here at the hotel. The last thing he wanted to do was force his carriage driver to get them home in the slippery mess.
‘Surely you do not mean that? Will you escort me outside to see it?’ Miss Penneyjons stood up. He suspected she was actually bouncing on the balls of her feet.
He signalled for the waiter to bring their coats. How could he possibly refuse her simple request when he was asking for her life?
In passing by her cousin’s table the man looked up, smiling. ‘You finally got your snow, Felicia.’
‘Isn’t it grand?’ she answered her cousin, but she was looking at Isaiah.
Judging by her bright smile, she would not care that by going outdoors they would become cold and wet.
‘You remind me of Abigail in your love of foul weather,’ he pointed out.
‘Foul or lovely, it’s all in the perception. Snowfall is what it is. It can be miserable or lovely. For me, I choose lovely.’
She was lovely. That was all he could think while he escorted her on to the patio overlooking the lake.
* * *
Regrettably, the roof over the terrace kept snow from falling directly on them. Felicia dearly wanted to lift her face and feel icy fingers pat her cheeks, to open her mouth and catch a flake on her tongue.
Since Lord Scarsfeld clearly did not share her joy in being outside, she contented herself with trying to grab the flakes filtering in at them.
For all that she appeared to be having a merry time—appeared to be because she was—she was also deeply considering everything he had told her.
She was grateful he had not flattered her with promises of happy ever after or eventually having an undying love for her.
No, he had trusted her with the truth, confiding his secret. It was going to be a difficult thing to refuse him, if indeed she did.
‘Do you wonder, my lord, why I decided to honour our mothers’ wishes—to come here and consider your offer? It seems to me it would be important for you to know.’
‘I will confess, I have not thought overmuch about it. I was so grateful that you agreed—I am ashamed of that now and I beg your forgiveness.’
‘Well, you are in a distressing situation and facing it all on your own. I do forgive you because you ask, even though there is no need to be forgiven anything.’
Isaiah hunched his shoulders against the cold, clearly uncomfortable being out in the elements.
‘But why did you come? There are three sisters, are there not? Were you the only one with the courage to face the ogre?’
‘It had nothing to do with courage, at least for me. I’ve told you how I feel about gossip.’
‘Why then?’
‘Since you have been honest enough to give me the truth I shall give you the same.’ He might not like it, but it was what it was. ‘Cornelia, my older sister, is already spoken for. Ginny, the youngest, is terribly shy to the point of being timid. You ought to have seen her face when the news came—oh, well, perhaps you would not have wanted to. She actually does believe gossip. In the event, that left me.’
She shrugged because he could not have failed to be disappointed in her size and her flaming hair. No doubt the thought of being bound to her for ever was daunting.
The only thing to do was to offer him another way out of his problem—because there was one.
‘I think you would have been happy had it been Ginny in my place. She is petite and as pretty as a rose and—’
Ginny would be a bride he could be proud to have on his arm. Felicia would clearly be seen as someone Lord Scarsfeld had rescued from the dusty shelf.
‘You remind me of a peppermint stick.’ Since she could not tell for sure if he was smiling or grimacing, she was hard put to know what he meant by the comment.
‘I have no idea if, in your mind, that is a good thing or a bad. I rather like that you think so, though. But there is more to my being here than that I was the only one who would suit. For the one thing, I am a traditional person at heart and feel it only right to respect our parents’ wishes. More than that, though, as you surely noticed, I am solidly on the shelf, well on my way to spinsterhood.’
‘And marrying me will save you from that?’
‘Indeed. I sometimes thought I would not mind it so much. But the fact of it is, when your offer came I was relieved to have a way to avoid that fate.’
‘And will you?’ He arched a brow. The gesture made him look younger and somehow vulnerable. ‘Avoid that fate?’
‘Yes…and no.’ It cut her to see him look so crestfallen. ‘I think I have an idea which will help keep your sister with you, but not bind you to a lifelong marriage.’
To a woman no one else wanted to even dance with.
‘It is what I offer you, Miss Penneyjons. My name and my home.’
‘But you needn’t. At least not for all time. Only until after Christmas and Abigail’s aunt and uncle give up their pursuit.’
‘For one thing, they might not give up their pursuit. Even if they do…’ He shook his head slowly, looking grim. ‘At the risk of you turning me down, I will not agree to a temporary marriage.’
He wouldn’t? Something in the area of her heart went completely soft. She had offered him an annulment, but in her heart of hearts it was not what she wanted.
‘Call me traditional if you like, as you said you were, but I believe marriage is not meant to be temporary, no matter if it is a love match or an arrangement. Vows will be spoken. To me they will be sacred. If you accept me, I offer you all that I have or will have. As far as providing Scarsfeld with an heir, I will not force that upon you. The choice in the degree of intimacy in our marriage will be yours to make.’
Her hair and her face must all look like one great flaming mess.
‘You know that I cannot promise undying love—we have only just met.’ He took her hand, squeezed her glove. Even through the fabric she felt the heat where they joined. ‘What I can and do promise is my undying gratitude.’
Honesty from him was quite a bit more than she had hoped for. Until this afternoon her only hope had been that he would be a bearable man to spend time with.
Lord Scarsfeld, while seeming severe, was honest. Forthright in what he wanted and what he had to offer. In spite of his apparent inability to present a genuine smile, she thought she liked him more than she didn’t. And she did genuinely like his sister and cared for her plight.
‘There is something—’ Isaiah dug about in the pocket of his coat. ‘I want to show this to you. Abigail was supposed to help me choose it, but instead she got you stuck up a tree.’
Was that a quirk of a smile at one corner of his mouth?
If it was, she wanted to see more of it. She had the feeling a full grin would banish his vinegary expression at once and expose the man she hoped lived under the mask of severity.
‘The truth is I volunteered to go up the tree. I hope you were not—’
While she blundered about saying she hoped he was not too harsh on his sister, he drew the lid off the small box he had taken from his pocket.
Inside was the prettiest gold band she had ever seen. Engraved evergreen branches imbedded with tiny diamonds that looked like a dusting of snow? Had he known her all her life he could have picked nothing she would appreciate more.
With her hand at her throat, she stared at it in silence while fighting a bout of tears.
For a woman who only weeks ago had been resigned to knitting socks in a rocking chair, this moment was overwhelming. To be proposed to with a beautiful ring—she could never have imagined such a thing would happen to her.
‘If you don’t like it, we can choose another together.’
‘It is the most perfect ring I have ever seen.’ She closed the lid because looking at it one more moment would make her weep out loud.
‘But you are turning me down?’ He slid the box back in his pocket. ‘It’s all right, Felicia. I know I asked a great deal. I wish I could accept your offer of an annulment, but I cannot.’
‘I didn’t want one. I only thought it the right thing to do. And I am not turning you down.’ She moved to swipe away a tear, but he caught her glove.
‘Are you truly willing? It’s not my intention to offer you a trap.’
‘I’m a good bit more willing than I expected to be, if you want the truth.’ If she did not wipe that tear, it would drip off her nose.
‘We will face challenges, Felicia. You will more than I, but I promise to be the best man I can be.’
Saying that, he leaned forward, lifted his lips a scant inch and kissed the tear away.