by Emma Evans
“Then, mayhap now you have the opportunity to do just that,” Simon replied, lifting one of his hands so that he might tip her chin. She jerked in surprise, but he did not drop his hand, finding that a ripple of awareness ran all through him as he looked into her eyes. “Your brother sent that letter.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise but before he could explain, the door swung open and Sophia entered, clearly in a state of distress but trying her best to keep herself in check. Regardless of that effort, however, she threw her arms around Miss Dynes and hugged her tightly, just as the maid came in with the tea tray.
“Sit down, Sophia,” Simon instructed gently. “There is something I must tell you both, although it concerns Miss Dynes and the man who obstructed her in the park.” He gestured for the maid to close the door behind her and asked Sophia to pour the tea. She did so at once, her hands only trembling a little as she handed the cup towards Miss Dynes, who took it carefully.
“Now,” Simon said quietly, getting up from the table and pulling the note from the side drawer. “Miss Dynes, this arrived for you late last evening. It bears no seal although the man who brought it told me it was from your brother. He wanted to hand it to you himself and had been instructed to wait for you to join him, but I would not hear of it. Instead, I sent him away but only after I had discovered what was in the note, although I have not yet read it.”
Miss Dynes took a long sip of her tea and looked up at him, clearly waiting for him to continue.
“Your brother, it seems, has arranged a marriage for you,” Simon continued, holding out the note to her. “The man in the park is afraid of the punishment that will be meted out by your brother should he return empty-handed. That was why he was so desperate to have you by whatever means he could.”
Clara shuddered, taking the note with trembling fingers. “A marriage?” she whispered, looking up at Lord Thackery for confirmation that this was, in fact, what he had said. “A marriage to whom?”
“I did not read the note, my dear Miss Dynes,” Lord Thackery said gently. “You must read it for yourself.”
Sophia’s comforting arm wrapped around Clara’s shoulders as she unfolded the note, seeing her brother’s ugly scrawl lined across the page.
‘Clara,’ it said. ‘You must return home at once. Your wedding is in less than a fortnight and I would not have you miss it. Lord Franks is to be your husband and I think him more than suitable. The banns have already been called.’
Her hand shook as she finished reading the letter, bile rising in her throat.
“Do you know who Lord Franks is?” Lord Thackery asked softly. “Is he a friend of yours?”
Clara shook her head, throwing the letter on the table in disgust and fear. “He is my brother’s gambling partner,” she replied hoarsely. “He would have been ages with my father. He is a profligate gambler who does nothing with his time or money other than spend it on himself. He leads my brother into things he ought not to do, although my brother has always had a weakness for such things.” Shaking violently, she leaned forward, put both hands over her face and began to cry, her future looking nothing other than entirely bleak. “Most likely, my brother bartered me to him,” she said through her quiet sobs. “Lord Franks has often made various comments about….me.” She could not bring herself to repeat the snide remarks and lewd comments Lord Franks had made, hating that she had been forced to endure them all so that, according to her brother, she would not offend Lord Franks.
“You will not have to go,” Sophia declared steadfastly. “I will not allow you to leave.”
Clara lifted her tear-stained face from her hands and gave Sophia a watery smile. “You are very sweet, my dear Sophia, but there is very little choice. I must do as he asks.”
“No,” Sophia exclaimed, sounding upset. “I cannot allow that. Lord Thackery, you cannot allow that.”
Aware that Lord Thackery had already done more than was expected of him, Clara shook her head. “I am sorry, Sophia, but Lord Thackery has already done enough for me. This is not your fight, nor is it his. I must endure it on my own.”
Lord Thackery cleared his throat, a dark expression on his face. “And what is it you intend to do, Miss Dynes?”
“I…” The words died in her throat, making her pause. “I don’t know.”
Lord Thackery’s expression grew sympathetic. “Miss Dynes, I know that you are in an unenviable position. Your brother, Viscount Crawford, is as cruel a man as I have ever seen. He is using you for his own ends, determined that he will get his own way, for you have no way out. What can you expect to do?”
Clara, feeling as though she were being swallowed by hopelessness and despair, shook her head as tears dripped onto her cheeks. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I must try to find my own way. I could become a companion, far away from London.”
“But you would never be entirely safe,” Sophia exclaimed, her hand tightening on Clara’s shoulder. “You would be trapped forever, wondering whether or not he would find you.”
“Besides,” Lord Thackery continued, his voice low and thoughtful, “you are much too young to be a companion, my dear Miss Dynes. I am aware that the Baron was aware of your plight and did what he could to save you from that and I know that even I am grateful to him for what he did—for now, I believe that I am able to aid you where there is none other.”
Lifting her eyes to his, Clara tried not to allow the cloud of despondency she felt to overwhelm her, feeling it wrap itself around her as though intent on dragging her to the grave.
“If you will allow me, Miss Dynes,” Lord Thackery said slowly, his gaze intent, “then I will be your steadfast companion, your supporter and your protector for the remainder of your days. You will have as much freedom as you wish, but all with the protection of my name.”
Her stomach lurched as she stared at him, wondering if she had heard him correctly. Her blood turned to ice, freezing in her veins, making each of her limbs immoveable. Beside her, she heard Sophia give a soft gasp, clearly as surprised as she was.
“Miss Dynes,” Lord Thackery continued, coming towards her and taking her cold hand in his. “I am asking you to marry me.”
Clara stared up at him, her mind going fuzzy as she tried to find an answer.
“I can see that this is a great deal to take in, but I assure you that I am quite earnest,” he said quietly. “I am in need of a wife and find you to be the sort of woman I know would make me more than content. You are kind-hearted, generous and compassionate, with a grace and beauty that becomes you. I have a country estate where you can have your own quarters if you wish and, whilst I will not seek any kind of husbandly rights, there will come a time when I require children.” He looked into her eyes as though trying to ensure she was taking in everything he was saying. “If you agree to this, Miss Dynes, then I can seek a Special License which, whilst rather difficult to procure at times, would not be all too difficult once I take this note from your brother and explain the situation. The rumors about your brother’s home have circulated around London enough that I am sure the Archbishop will have heard something of them. All in all, I do not think that it would be altogether too difficult to have the ceremony by the end of the week.”
Clara swallowed hard, the painful lump in her throat only fading a little. “I see,” she whispered hoarsely.
“It would mean that you would be quite safe from your brother,” Lord Thackery finished, with a gentle smile. “And that you could continue to chaperone Sophia without fear. I know that there is a deep friendship between you and it is not one I wish to be shattered. You have already taught her so much.”
“Oh, Clara,” Sophia said in an excited whisper. “It would be truly wonderful, I just know it!”
It felt as though she were spinning, dazedly, in a world that did not feel like her own. To go from being a companion to being the wife of a viscount? She could not pretend that she had not any affection for Lord Thackery but to know that he would only be marryi
ng her to save her from her brother flooded her with guilt.
“I could not ask you to give so much up for me,” she whispered, dropping her head. “You might, in time, find a more suitable lady for your wife, Lord Thackery. I do not wish to take advantage of your generosity.”
He chuckled, shaking his head as his eyes warmed. “My dear lady, you would not be taking advantage, I assure you. Instead, I would be honored to call you my wife. It is I who would have the advantage, I who would have the honor. Just say the word and I shall leave this house almost this very moment in search of a Special License.”
“And then your nightmare of a brother will have no power over you,” Sophia said quietly. “Just think of it, Clara. You will be free.”
It was that word that had Clara look up at Lord Thackery, her mind and heart suddenly settling together as she managed a small smile.
“Thank you, Lord Thackery,” she whispered, unable to speak with any kind of volume. “I accept the offer of your hand. You are doing me a very great kindness and I swear that I shall do all I can to be as loyal and as dedicated a wife as I can be. You will never have a moment of regret, I promise.”
His smile was warm, although there was something in his eyes that she could not quite make out. Was it regret? Frustrated that he had been too hasty? A reluctance to do what he had promised?
“Very good,” he said with a short bow. “Then I leave this very moment, as I have promised.” Looking towards Sophia, his smile faded. “Sophia, you are to remain indoors with Miss Dynes. She is not to leave your sight and you must always have a footman present until I return. The butler will not allow anyone entry.”
“I understand,” Sophia said quietly, her arm still on Miss Dynes’ shoulder. “You can trust me, Thackery. I will do exactly as you wish.”
“Thank you,” came the quick reply. “I will be as quick as I can. Rest, both of you. This may be a rather long day.”
Chapter Ten
It was some hours before Simon was able to return to his house. He was weary and greatly frustrated with just how long it had taken him to be able to secure a special license from the Archbishop.
He had known that to be granted a Special License often took a great deal of deliberation, but he had presumed that such rumors had been nothing more than an over-exaggeration. However, he had been asked to wait for hour after hour before the Archbishop could see him, and, on explaining the matter thrice over, the Archbishop had then asked to see the note written to Miss Dynes and required a letter from Miss Dynes herself, stating that she did not wish to marry the man her brother had chosen for her. Since she was of age and her wishes clearly disregarded, the Archbishop had taken into consideration that her brother was trying his best to force his sister’s hand for his own benefit and it had been a great relief to discover that the Archbishop not only knew who Lord Arthur Franks was but had also heard about Viscount Crawford’s strange living situation where he and his wife lived with the Viscount’s brother and the Viscountess’ sister. Simon had repeated often that he did not want to return Miss Dynes to her brother’s home when the situation there was somewhat questionable and it had been this that seemed to sway the Archbishop’s mind.
The note procured and the letter from Miss Dynes written and sealed, Simon had finally managed to get his hands on a Special License which was now carefully tucked away in his breast pocket. All he had to do now was take his two witnesses—Sophia and, most likely, Lord Guthrie, and marry Miss Dynes. All would be well and he would ensure Miss Dynes had a life free from worry.
His heart quickened as he made his way up the stone steps and into the front door of his house. He had surprised himself by asking Miss Dynes to marry him, having not expected those words to come out of his mouth, but seeing the extent of her suffering had made that scenario the only possible solution. She had not wanted to accept him at first, he could tell, and so he had done all he could to convince her that he was quite happy with the idea. The truth was, however, he was still somewhat reluctant.
It was not as though he did not need to marry, nor was it that Miss Dynes was not a suitable lady for him. It was, however, a feeling that his life was about to change forever and that he was not quite ready for that to happen. He had thought there was more than enough time for him to ruminate about the idea, to mull it over and finally accept that he would have to give up his bachelor ways, but now it was as though it had been thrown upon him, even though the suggestion had been of his own making. He did not know what would be expected of him as a husband, nor what he should expect of Miss Dynes as his wife. They would, at some point, have to consider children. He would have an heir to think about, if not daughters to find husbands for. The life he had enjoyed up until this moment would become nothing more than a distant memory.
“Miss Dynes is in the library, my lord,” the butler murmured, as he took Simon’s hat and gloves. “There is a footman with her.”
“And Sophia?”
The butler’s eyes warmed. “She fell asleep, my lord,” he said with a small smile. “Miss Dynes insisted that she retire. The poor child was fraught with worry.”
“I see,” Simon replied, thinking that he could forgive Sophia for such a thing. “I will take my dinner tray in the library then and send a tea tray for Miss Dynes.”
The butler nodded and left at once, leaving Simon to climb the stairs and make his way into the library.
What he saw almost stopped his heart.
Miss Dynes was sitting in a chair by the fire, her head leaning gently against the side of the armchair. A book was in her lap, having fallen from her fingers. Dark tendrils of hair curled around her forehead, her cheeks pink from the small fire that burned in the grate.
She was stunningly beautiful.
And then, right at that very moment, the sheer selfishness of his own thoughts hit Simon square in the face. Here he was, looking at a lady who had been forced to do whatever her brother told her, who had seen and endured so much, and yet was still so gentle and kind. There was no hardness to her, no brittle edge that threatened to break. With no hope of a future for herself, she had taken on the duties of a companion without complaint, seemingly delighted that she had the opportunity to get away from her brother and enjoy the Season in the way only a companion could. The delight in her eyes when he had asked her to dance was something he would never forget, seeing her filled with a happiness and freedom he had not seen before. Her brother had demanded her return, had arranged her husband and her future for her—and here he was, complaining to himself that his life as a single gentleman must, unfortunately, come to an end.
Goodness, he was a selfish creature.
Sitting down opposite her, Simon searched his heart and found himself wanting. He had thought of nothing but his own future, his own life and all that he would have to give up, never once considering the way that Miss Dynes had been forced to live for the last few years. He should be grateful that such a lady had agreed to be his wife, for she would do him more good than he would do her! How often had he found himself mourning over the lack of decent young ladies in the ton? How often had he turned away from them, realizing that they thought of nothing more than his title and fortune? They were all the same, the ladies of the ton. They were all self-centered, thinking not of their future husband but of their own standing and how it might be improved upon with their marriages. That was the goal of any young lady of the ton, was it not? To find the best husband she could for herself—the richer, the better. He had not wanted to marry any of them but had resigned himself to the fact that he would have to do just that come a year or so in the future.
And now, here he was, presented with a young lady who was more than he could have ever hoped for. She had not sought him out, had not batted her eyelashes in the hope of gaining his attention. There was no thought in her head about his fortune or his title, no hope that she might ‘better herself’ by marrying him. Instead, there was a singular lack of self-focus, an almost troubling disinclination to think
of herself in any way. Simon suddenly discovered that he wanted Miss Dynes to consider what she might like, wanted her to be allowed to think of herself in a way she had not been allowed to for some time. It would, most likely, go against her own way of thinking entirely, but Simon was determined to encourage her in it. She would have whatever she wished, be it roses for the garden or diamonds to place around her neck. Sighing heavily, Simon looked over at the sleeping Miss Dynes, aware that he was to have himself a wife who would ask for very little. There would be no demands for shopping trips to London, for gowns of the latest fashion or some new pieces of jewelry with which he could declare his dedication. No, she would simply be grateful for what he had done for her when, in fact, he was the one who should be grateful for her.
He was only recognizing now just what a blessing she could be to him.
The door opened, breaking his thoughts apart, and two maids came into the room with trays in their hands. A dinner tray was set in front of him, and as Miss Dynes shifted in her chair, her eyes fluttering open, a tea tray was set in front of her, complete with a very generous slice of cake. Apparently, his cook was concerned for Miss Dynes, which made Simon smile. The staff, he knew, thought well of Miss Dynes and it behooved them to show her such consideration after what had been a terrible day for her.
“Oh, my lord,” she breathed, suddenly looking mightily embarrassed. “I did not know you had returned.”
A smile stretched across his lips as he looked over at her, thinking to himself that he had never seen her look more beautiful.
“You need not worry, Miss Dynes,” he replied calmly. “I have not long returned home. I thought you might be in need of some refreshment. I hope you do not mind if I…?” He gestured to his plate and saw her shake her head, her gaze not quite meeting his.