‘Because he felt that he had to?’
‘I don’t know about that. Perhaps he was trying to make amends. Perhaps he liked her. Or perhaps he just thought she was interesting.’
‘Or respectable?’
‘Maybe both.’
A shadow drifted across her face suddenly. ‘What if she turned out to be neither? At least not in the way that he’d thought?’
Robert arched an eyebrow. There it was again, the feeling that she was trying to warn him about something—something she couldn’t actually bring herself to say.
‘Perhaps he thought he was a good judge of character. In any case, I don’t think he was the kind of king who went back on his word.’
She dropped her gaze, frowning thoughtfully for a moment before peering up at him through dark eyelashes. ‘Is that story true or did you make it up?’
‘Do you think I’d make up a name like Peredurus? Check the town’s crest if you don’t believe me.’
He grinned and pushed the jeweller’s door open, leading her into a dark room filled with wooden and glass cabinets, each one sparkling with a glittering array of rings, brooches and pendants.
‘Take your pick. Anything you like.’
‘Anything?’ Doe eyes opened wide, seeming to glow with reflected light from the jewellery. ‘I don’t know what’s suitable. Don’t you want to choose?’
‘You’re the one who has to wear it.’
She pursed her lips, peering into the first cabinet they came to and pointing towards a plain band set with a single red stone. ‘That one.’
‘The garnet?’ He looked at her dubiously. ‘Is this because I insisted?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It must be the plainest ring in the shop.’
‘Exactly. Not fussy, just respectable.’
Respectable. There was that word again. He was starting to wish he’d never used it.
‘There are bigger rings.’
‘I don’t want bigger. You said I could choose.’
‘So I did.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘All right, if that’s what you really want, but what about that one?’ He gestured towards the back of the cabinet, towards a thin, delicately wrought gold band with six small sapphires mounted around a single raised diamond. ‘It’s still respectable, but I think it might suit you.’
‘The flower?’ She gave an audible gasp.
‘May I?’ He conferred briefly with the jeweller before picking the ring up and slipping it gently over her finger. ‘There.’
‘My mother had a ring just like this.’ Her voice softened as she gazed at the stone admiringly. ‘It broke my heart when Percy sold it. My father always said it was naturally beautiful, just like her.’
‘My thoughts exactly.’
‘I didn’t mean...’ Her cheeks flooded with colour. ‘That is... It just reminds me of her, that’s all.’
‘Then we’re both convinced. That wasn’t so painful, now, was it?’
‘No.’ She shook her head, a shy smile hovering over her lips. ‘I don’t want to take it off.’
‘Then don’t.’ He turned to the jeweller. ‘Send the bill directly to me in Whitby.’
‘Very good, Mr Felstone.’ The man looked almost as pleased as she did. ‘It’s a classic design. An excellent choice, if I might say so.’
‘It’s perfect.’ She was still staring at her hand, her face breaking into a sudden wide smile, like sunshine bursting through clouds. ‘Thank you, Robert. I don’t think I’ll ever wear gloves again.’
‘Then let me carry them for you.’
He scooped her things up, determined to prevent anything that might chase her smile away, taken aback by an unfamiliar stirring sensation in his chest. She seemed calmer now, as if the ring had actually soothed her—a whole different woman again, the one he’d danced with at the ball, the one he hadn’t wanted to let go...
He held the door open, inhaling the scent of fresh grass as she brushed past him. The happy, wondering smile on her face was dazzling, transforming her features from plain to breathtakingly lovely. For a moment he felt an unwonted impulse to reach down and kiss her, to feel the soft pressure of those wide lips against his. Not that he had any intention of doing so. That would be entirely against the terms of their agreement.
Besides which, he didn’t want to frighten her again. Their trip to the jeweller’s had gone better than he’d expected, as if all she’d needed was some reassurance, but he still couldn’t be certain there wasn’t something else bothering her...
‘Are you sure you’re all right, Ianthe?’ He glanced down at her quickly as they walked side by side up the hill towards her aunt’s house.
‘Yes.’ Her answer came too quickly, and he sighed, unconvinced.
‘In that case, I’ll have my housekeeper make preparations for your arrival. If you wish to prepare a trousseau, you can charge any items you require to my account.’
‘No! That is...you’ve spent enough on my family.’ Her face took on an apologetic expression. ‘I heard what happened last night. When I asked for your help with Percy, I never imagined that it would cost you so dearly. I’m sorry.’
‘You didn’t ask me. I offered.’
‘I’m still indebted.’
Indebted? A muscle jumped in his jaw. Was that the reason she’d agreed to marry him then, because of the money he’d ‘lost’ to her brother? He probably should have expected this, though he’d hoped she wouldn’t hear about any of it before giving him her answer. Two hundred pounds was a considerable amount, not enough to cause him undue concern, but hopefully sufficient to get the youth out of debt. It hadn’t been easy losing convincingly to such a poor player, but he’d been reasonably satisfied with his performance. He certainly hadn’t expected it to backfire on him like this...
‘There’s no debt, Ianthe, I was happy to help. I don’t want you to marry me out of gratitude.’
‘I’m not!’ She seemed shocked by the very idea.
‘Good. Apart from anything else, you might find your brother more reasonable now that his finances are in better order. You might not have to marry anyone.’
She lifted her head, looking at him intently for a long, searching moment before her mouth dropped open. ‘You lost deliberately?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘But you did!’ Her voice held a note of conviction. ‘And the ball gown...it wasn’t Kitty’s, was it?’
‘It is now.’
‘But...I don’t understand.’ Her expression shifted to one of bewilderment. ‘Why are you doing all this? Why are you helping me?’
He hesitated. It was a good question, one that he wasn’t sure he knew how to answer. Why was he so intent upon helping her? Somehow his plans for expanding the shipyard didn’t seem convincing enough reasons any more, but how could he explain what he hardly understood himself? All he knew was that he felt a strange desire to protect her, to keep her safe from her brother and Sir Charles, to save her from a marriage she didn’t want, to hold her tight in his arms and not let go...
He shook his head. Where had that idea come from?
‘I told you last night, Ianthe, I think you’re a risk worth taking.’ The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.
‘I will be.’ Her face took on a strangely determined expression.
‘Good. Then if you still wish to go ahead, I’ll arrange for the banns to be read at once. We can be married in six months.’
‘Six months?’ She rounded on him as they reached her aunt’s doorstep. ‘I thought you wanted to be married as soon as possible!’
‘I do, but unless we elope to Scotland, I think that’s the quickest it can be arranged—Ianthe?’ He reached a hand out as her face blanched so quickly he was afraid she was going to faint. ‘That wa
s a joke. Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ She put a hand to her head, half-covering her face. ‘It’s just...it’s too long.’
‘What is? Six months?’
‘Yes. I don’t want to wait.’
He hesitated, dropping his gaze to her stomach suspiciously. There was only one reason he could think of why she might want to marry in a hurry, though he found it almost impossible to believe. But why else? A respectable woman would never ask to marry in such haste, at least not without some kind of explanation. And an unwanted pregnancy would certainly explain her panicky behaviour that morning, especially if she’d only just realised... Not that it was the kind of thing he could just ask her about. If he was wrong, she’d probably hurl the ring back in his face...
‘It might look improper to marry any sooner,’ he ventured.
‘Why? If this is supposed to be a long-distance courtship, then who’s to know if we marry quickly? It can still look respectable.’ She sounded defensive again. ‘Besides, my aunt can’t afford to support me for so long. And you know what my brother wants. I doubt he’ll give up on that idea no matter how much money he wins.’
‘Surely he won’t try to make you marry Sir Charles once we’re engaged?’
‘I don’t know.’ A tremor seemed to run through her body as he mentioned the Baronet’s name. ‘But I can’t trust him, not while he’s under that man’s influence. I have to get away, Robert, please.’
She looked up at him imploringly, and he felt his resolve weaken. Both reasons were convincing, though he still had the feeling that she was holding something back. The edge of desperation in her voice made him uneasy. As much as he wanted to be convinced, surely it was better to wait and be certain...
‘Three months, then. I’m afraid that I’ve too much work at the moment to make it any sooner.’
‘Can’t you reschedule?’
He frowned. ‘I have a lot of people depending on me, Ianthe. A lot of families.’
‘Oh.’ She looked contrite at once. ‘Of course. Forgive me, I was being selfish. Three months is perfectly acceptable.’
‘Then we’re agreed.’ He heaved a sigh of relief. As thin as she was, a pregnancy would surely be obvious in that time. And if he was being overly suspicious then so much the better. After all, the sooner they were married, the sooner he could buy Harper’s yard.
She nodded and a lock of fair hair tumbled forward, falling loosely over one eye. He reached out impulsively, intending to brush it aside and found himself cupping her cheek instead. To his surprise, she didn’t move away. Instead, she tilted her head, half-closing her eyes as she pressed her cheek against his fingers.
‘Three months then, Ianthe.’ Her skin felt so smooth he had to fight the urge to raise his other hand to join it. ‘I consider myself honour bound, but you should not.’
Her eyes fluttered open again. ‘I gave you my word. I won’t go back on it now.’
‘None the less, if you reconsider, a note to my business address in Whitby will be enough. I don’t know how often I’ll be able to visit, but with your permission, I’ll inform Giles of our engagement. Once he tells Kitty it should be announcement enough.’
‘I’m sure.’ She gave a knowing smile, drifting away from him gently as she opened the door. ‘Won’t you come inside? I know that my aunt will be pleased at the news.’
He hesitated, his fingers feeling strangely bereft. The idea of joining her inside was alarmingly tempting. Once they were inside, the door would shield them from view of the street, they’d be alone...
He scowled deliberately. What was the matter with him? He was acting more like a real suitor than a man of business. This was a business arrangement—he had to remember that—no matter how much he wanted to be alone with her.
‘I ought to get back to my meeting.’
Her face fell, and he found himself taking her hand, lifting it to his lips as he tried to make up for his brusque tone.
‘I’ll write to you, Ianthe.’
‘Will you?’ Her voice sounded faintly husky. ‘Then so will I.’
‘I’d like that.’ He looked down at her hand, knowing that he should drop it and walk away, yet leaning forward instead. What was he doing? He felt as though his mind were watching from a distance, a dispassionate observer as the rest of him moved closer, lured by those captivating doe eyes, a rich shade of toffee brown swirling with coffee-coloured depths...
Their lips touched and he felt a white-hot, tingling sensation, a rush of heat like quicksilver coursing through his veins. Instinctively, his arms swept around her, gathering her into an embrace as her lips moulded to his, even softer and sweeter than he’d imagined, sharing the kiss with equal enthusiasm, as if she shared the sensation, too.
He pulled back abruptly, senses reeling, shocked by the force of his desire.
‘Oh.’ She staggered against him, pressing a hand to her mouth with a suddenly stricken expression.
‘I’d better get back.’ He cleared his throat and made a formal bow, trying to make it seem as if their kiss had been a mere formality. As if he hadn’t just broken every rule of respectable behaviour. As if he didn’t want to do it again...
‘Goodbye then, Ianthe.’ He didn’t know what else to say.
‘Yes... Goodbye.’ She whirled on her heel, closing the door quickly behind her as if she were afraid he might follow.
Robert looked up and down the street, checking that no one else was around before swearing violently under his breath. That was that, then. He was an engaged man, engaged to a woman he hardly knew, who was definitely hiding something and who’d agreed to marry him for reasons he didn’t understand.
And he had absolutely no idea how he felt about any of it.
Chapter Nine
October 1865
Ianthe lowered the sash on the train window and peered out, letting out a long, deeply held sigh of relief as the port of Whitby finally appeared on the horizon, a cluster of red-and-white houses on either side of a wide cliff-walled harbour. Her new home, where her husband-to-be was waiting.
Finally.
‘Not far now.’ Aunt Sophoria was positively bouncing up and down with excitement. ‘What a shame about the weather, but it can’t be helped, I suppose. Look at that view, though! Whitby’s always so beautiful whatever the season.’
Ianthe gave a weak smile. Personally she found the weather quite fitting. The grey clouds and lowering drizzle suited her mood far better than the sunshine her aunt seemed to expect. Her boundless enthusiasm, though well intentioned, was starting to grate heavily on her nerves. Judging by Aunt Sophoria’s beaming expression, anyone would think that she was the bride. Giddy was how a bride was supposed to feel. Not sick to her stomach worrying that the groom had changed his mind.
She chewed her bottom lip, trying and failing to push her misgivings aside. After all, if Robert had wanted to call off the wedding then he’d surely have done so already, not waited until the actual morning, though the lack of communication—any communication—from him in the past week had been enough to tear her already ragged nerves to shreds.
His last letter, if it could be called anything so formal, had been eight days before, a brief note detailing the arrangements for the day. He’d mentioned train times and a rendezvous point, but there had been nothing personal, not the slightest hint of emotion, nothing to suggest that he was arranging anything other than a business meeting.
Clearly he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told her not to expect romance. As wedding days went, it was about as unromantic as it could get. Not that it ought to have bothered her. It was a business arrangement after all, but he might have done something to reassure her. He hadn’t even sent flowers. Even if she had no right to feel neglected, she still had feelings! What was she supposed to think of such ungallant behaviour?
&nb
sp; There was only one possible conclusion she could come to—that he’d changed his mind and was too honourable to go back on his word, hoping that she’d call off the wedding instead. As much as she’d spent the past three months trying not to think about their kiss—a moment of madness doubtless brought on by the traumatic events at the castle—she knew that her wanton behaviour must have shocked him. It had definitely shocked her. There had been nothing respectable about it. She didn’t know which one of them had initiated the embrace...just that they seemed to have moved together at the same time, as if drawn by some irresistible force.
Strange, but after Albert and Sir Charles, she’d assumed that another man’s touch would repel her, but the effect had been quite the opposite. One moment, she’d been bidding Robert goodbye, the next she’d practically thrown herself at him—in broad daylight, in the street to boot!
It was almost too shameful to remember and now clearly Robert thought so, too. His absence spoke volumes, demonstrating that he’d realised the truth about her at last—that she was a wanton, a schemer, everything Albert’s mother had said... In which case she really ought to give him a chance to back out. If he was only going ahead out of honour, then she’d rather he didn’t. No matter how much she needed his protection, she had no desire to marry a man who didn’t want her. She didn’t expect love, but she had more self-respect than that.
She plucked at her cloak, rearranging the fabric to distract herself. At least she was dressed like a bride, in a cream-coloured gown with a round neckline, short summery sleeves and a narrow belt decorated with a sprig of orange blossom. To Percy’s credit, he’d offered to buy her a new dress, but she’d refused, preferring that he pay off his debts whilst she modified one of her aunt’s less flamboyant gowns instead. She’d been secretly pleased with the results, using the excuse of needing a veil to trim away most of the excess lace, leaving just a little to decorate the hem and wrists.
‘No more moping around the house for you.’ Aunt Sophoria gave her a playful nudge in the ribs. ‘It’s high time your fiancé showed his face again. He’s been busy with business, I suppose, but what kind of an engagement is it when the man doesn’t visit?’
The Convenient Felstone Marriage Page 11