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Hertfordshire, February 1817
“Will you marry me?”
Lady Amelia Colvin paused in the act of forming a snowball. He wasn’t serious. They might be bosom friends, but there wasn’t anything the least romantic about their relationship.
She peeked around the stout oak she’d taken refuge behind but saw only the long shadows of their two horses and her groom stretching across a carpet of pristine snow. Weak afternoon sun slanted through the trees. An idyllic scene for certain, but where was Stephen? She resumed molding the icy snow between her gloved palms.
“I am in earnest, Amelia.”
He wasn’t using her Christian name just because he’d proposed; they’d fallen into that informal habit months ago. But this was a ruse to get her out into the open where she would be a perfect target. Stephen Caldwell, Viscount Kensworth, loved to win as much as she did. He most certainly would stoop so low as to lure her out with a proposal of marriage.
She set aside her snowball and began shaping another. And another. Best to have an arsenal at the ready.
“Your silence is unnerving. Come, Amelia, a man deserves an answer to an offer of marriage.”
Another glance around the tree showed her Stephen, greatcoat swirling and boots crunching in the snow as he turned in a slow circle searching for her. Without hesitation she gathered up the snowballs and charged while his back was to her.
She threw as she ran, first hitting him on the shoulder. When he turned in surprise, a second blast of cold snow hit him squarely in the face.
“Why, you little—!” he spluttered as Amelia giggled and ran for the cover of the nearest oak tree.
Sagging against the trunk, she paused to catch her breath—a difficult task when she could not stop laughing. Her laughter turned into a squeal of shock when a strong arm wrapped around her waist. Stephen effortlessly hauled her back against his hip and carried her out into the clearing.
As he set her back on her feet he admonished, “Shame on you, taking advantage of a man when he is most vulnerable.”
She felt a moment’s contrition, as he obviously hadn’t been armed with a snowball. But when he reached behind her head and pulled the hood of her cloak up, sending a shower of snow over her hair and face, her guilt vanished in an instant.
“Ohhhh!” She quickly shoved the hood back but couldn’t suppress a grin. “Nicely done, my lord.”
Stephen reached out and brushed the snow from her hair. “You haven’t answered my question.”
Amelia looked up. A smile played around his lips, although his green eyes were serious indeed. “That was a ploy—”
“No, I was perfectly serious.”
“You aren’t in love with me, nor I with you.” She stated it as truth. This seemed an odd time for him to speak of marriage, for he’d shown no interest in courting her over the past two years. When he was in residence here at his estate, Wakebourne, not a week went by that he and Amelia didn’t see each other. Most of their time was spent discussing Stephen’s true passion: Parliamentary reform.
Folding his arms across his chest, he stared at the snow-covered ground for a moment then raised his eyes. His expression, usually so open, was oddly shuttered. “We are, however, fond of each other and enjoy one another’s company. That seems to me to be an excellent foundation for wedded bliss.”
His wasn’t a romantic, on-bended-knee proposal. Her first offer of marriage hadn’t been either. Nor her second. That didn’t matter, though, because over the past few years Amelia had ruthlessly suppressed her fanciful notions. Everything had changed. She hadn’t accepted Mr. Dutton’s offer a year ago and she wasn’t inclined to accept Stephen’s. And, her refusals had absolutely nothing to do with a certain gentleman she hadn’t seen in three years.
She looked up. Stephen was a handsome man, tall and broadly built, with straw-colored hair worn a little longer than usual. Despite that, she’d never thought of him in a passionate way. Well, perhaps once when they’d first met, but that romantic thought passed. There was no spark between them. Stephen was like a brother.
Her eyes drifted shut as she tried to imagine marriage to him, but an intrusive image supplanted Stephen’s face. This man’s black hair fell in disarray around his thin face. Behind his spectacles, his dark blue eyes were serious but kind. If he proposed to her in such a romantic setting as this frosted forest, she would accept in an instant. As she had the first time, even though really she’d had no other choice at the time.
Her eyes flashed open. No, she would not. She hadn’t seen him in forever. She’d had no direct word from him in all that time, and she had determined long ago that whatever she’d felt for him all those years ago, he was most definitely not her True Love. She’d even determined not to speak his name again. So, she pushed aside thoughts of that man and focused on the one in front of her.
“Stephen, I don’t know what to say.” She fiddled with the ribbons of her cloak. “I have never given a single thought to marrying you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he burst out laughing. “Well, at least I am assured you are not a fortune hunter at heart.”
“Please say you are not taking pity on me,” she said, hoping her words came out as lightly as she wanted. “Society may consider me on the edge of the shelf, but I would like to think one and twenty is not quite so old.”
He laughed again. “It’s the other way round. I need you to take pity on me. I need a wife. Whig leaders like Lord Stretton are strongly urging me to marry. I’ve made progress within the party, especially for someone with my, er, less than estimable background. But they say I need a wife and hostess, or I’ll not rise to the top. Someone intelligent, politically aware, able to influence Society... You are all those things and more.” He cupped her chin and ran his gloved thumb across her lower lip. “I need a wife, but I want you, Amelia. We’ll make a dynamic pair, don’t you think?”
She was more intrigued than she wanted to be. She loved hearing Stephen’s zealous arguments for reform, arguments which arose from his humble upbringing in poverty, a fact which didn’t matter to her in the least, except that it made his observations that much more insightful. In addition, over the last couple of months she’d even begun debating the merits of said reforms with him, and just last week he’d asked for help in writing a speech he was to give in the House of Lords. She’d been thrilled to help him.
“We would do very well together,” she agreed. “However...”
“Stubborn woman. I knew I would need more to convince you.”
“Very well, then. Convince me.”
He reached out and looped her arm through his, setting out across the field. “Reason number one: You would become Lady Kensworth and yet would not have to leave the bosom of your family.”
He paused, undoubtedly knowing how much that last would mean to her. Her mother had succumbed to consumption when Amelia was a young girl, and despite some feeble attempts to reform himself after his dastardly behavior toward her sister Tessa, her father had died two and a half years ago estranged from his daughters. Amelia now lived with Tessa and her husband Peyton, whose estate Applewood bordered Stephen’s Wakebourne. Amelia couldn’t bear the thought of moving away from them or their children.
“A point decidedly in your favor,” she admitted to Stephen. Seeing her family once a year or less was not how she wanted to live her life. She wanted to be there when her niece Phoebe spoke her first full sentence and when she wore her hair up for the first time. She wanted to be there by Tessa’s side now that she was increasing again. Though, a nasty little part of her noted the black-haired man who tormented her dreams would keep her close to her sister’s family as well.
A groan escaped her lips.
“What was that?” Stephen asked.
“Nothing, nothing.”
They both started when a rabbit cut across their path, his long legs pushing deep into the snow as he made for the wood on the other side.
Amelia stopped and faced Stephen. “Have you any other arguments?”
He sighed. “I thought for certain the nearness to your sister would be enough. Very well. Reason number two: I can keep you in the manner to which you are accustomed, and I promise to be more than generous with your pin money.” He drew her gloved hands into his own, his green eyes sparkling. “But here is my best and final argument: I will not allow my cook to put kippers on your breakfast table.”
Amelia laughed. She did so detest kippers. “You are persuasive, my lord.”
Stephen was offering her the things she wanted most in the world, a family of her own and the opportunity to remain near her sister. Still, she was not wholly convinced. Her stubborn heart was holding out. As a young girl she’d intended to marry her True Love. And she’d found him, she’d believed: the tall, quiet man who heroically offered to marry her when she’d been endangered by another man. Then their secret trip to Gretna Green came to an abrupt end, she no longer needed the protection of marriage, and her hero jilted her and fled England altogether.
As far as she knew—and well she knew, living with his brother—he had never since set foot on English soil.
She’d taken all those foolish romantic thoughts and channeled them into writing novels, where they belonged. She didn’t need romance and passion in her marriage.
Her silence must have unnerved Stephen. He squeezed her hand and drew her close. “You know I am fond of you. I would rather marry you, my friend, than some girl I don’t know from Eve. We will make a great match.”
He offered her much. Still, she had to ask, “What of love? What if, years from now, you find the woman of your heart and fall head over ears in love with her?”
Stephen stared for a long moment and then shook his head. “Where is my practical Amelia? Save those fanciful notions for your books. Besides, I am certain we’ll grow to love each other. Here.” He pulled her against his chest and lowered his head, taking her mouth in a decidedly non-brotherly manner.
The kiss surprised her—in the unexpected way, not the pleasant way. Not that his kiss was unpleasant. However, his lips were cold, and this was Stephen. Not him.
Amelia broke the kiss. This was ridiculous. She had a fine-looking, dependable, considerate man standing right here offering her marriage. Where was the one she’d thought was her True Love? She had no idea. He had left and wasn’t coming back.
Why was she allowing a small thing like the absence of love to stand between her and a good man? Stephen had to be right. Passion and love would come for them in good time.
More importantly, Stephen wasn’t going anywhere. He’d traveled with the army during the war, but now his feet were firmly planted in England, doing what he could to make the country a better place to live. And she could help him.
He smiled down at her. “Well, Amelia, shall we give marriage a go?”