The Bedding Proposal

by Tracy Anne Warren

  The doctor had been called after all to examine the body. He’d pronounced Gordon dead of an apoplexy. His heart had simply stopped. Word had been sent to Gordon’s next of kin and the body moved to Lord Kemp’s town house.

  Thalia supposed she ought to feel bad about his death, yet her strongest emotion was relief. The long ordeal was over. Gordon was gone and would never plague her or Leo again.

  Leo wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close, kissing her forehead. “Shall I ring for tea?”

  “No. Unless you want some?”

  “Brandy, then?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “It might help you sleep.”

  “I’ll sleep well.” She caught his skeptical look. “Really. I will.”

  “Very well.” He kissed her again, pausing before adding. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  “What what means?”

  “You’re free. In the eyes of the law, you’re a widow now.”

  She sat up, turning to look at him. “You mean—”

  “Yes. We can marry.”

  Her heart picked up speed, a sudden, terrible pressure spreading through her chest. “You’re right.”

  A short pause fell between them.

  “Then why aren’t you smiling and throwing your arms around me?” he asked. “Don’t you want to get married?”

  “Of course I do. It’s just . . .”

  “Just?” he coaxed, his eyebrows drawn into a frown. “Just what?”

  “It’s only that maybe you don’t. Not really. Maybe you’re just saying this because you’re an honorable man and it’s the expected thing to do.”

  She drew a quick breath and rushed on before he could reply. “All the old difficulties remain. I’m still older than you. I cannot give you heirs. And I will never fully escape the taint of having been a divorced woman. It will always be there even after Gordon has long been in his grave. People will always whisper about us and try to bring you shame. Because of me. Maybe you should give yourself some time to make sure you don’t have second thoughts.”

  A thunderous expression came over Leo’s face; he was angry in a way she’d never seen him. “Thalia Geneva Lennox, I have always held your intelligence in high regard. Now I’m not so sure. After all that we’ve been through, I thought you understood. Clearly, you need reminding.

  “Do you love me?” he said.

  “That is beside the—”

  He gazed into her eyes, his own a vivid combination of green and gold. “Do. You. Love. Me?”

  Her heart throbbed beneath her breasts, her throat tight. “Yes. More than I thought I could ever love anyone.”

  “And do you believe I love you?”

  As she looked deeper into his eyes, a quiet calm stole through her veins. “Yes,” she whispered, “I do.”

  “Good.” He gave a satisfied nod. “Then there is only one more thing to say.”

  Before she had any inkling what he meant to do, he slid off the sofa and knelt on one knee before her. He took her hands in his. “Lady Thalia Lennox, I give you my heart, my happiness and my life without reservation. I have no second thoughts and never will. Say you will be my wife, not just of my heart, but in all ways. In every way. For the rest of our lives together.”

  This time she didn’t hesitate. Instead, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I’m sorry I was being silly. Yes, my love! Yes, I will be your wife.”

  He deepened their kiss and pulled her tight against him, making her blood sizzle and her senses whirl. She laughed suddenly against his lips, overwhelmed by a joy that knew no limits.

  Then he was laughing too, deep and exultant and happy.

  Climbing to his feet, he bent and swept her off her feet, cradling her high against his strong chest.

  And she knew in that moment that everything would be all right, so long as they had each other.

  She tugged his head down for another fervent kiss as he strode into the bedroom, then sighed in bliss as they sank into their own private heaven.

  Epilogue

  “One final touch and you’ll be ready,” Mathilda Cathcart declared one month later as she slid a sapphire hair comb into place in Thalia’s sable locks. “That is your something borrowed—and I do want it back, by the way, since it was a gift from Henry. The diamond and gold shoe buckles from the dowager duchess are your something old. Your gloves are new and your gown is the blue. You have everything you need for a perfect wedding.”

  Thalia arched a brow and smiled. “I believe a groom is required as well.”

  Tilly grinned. “Well, lucky for you, he’s been pacing a hole in one of the duke’s best Aubussons this hour past. His brothers are under strict orders not to let him come up here, since he absolutely cannot be allowed to see you before the ceremony.”

  “It seems a bit ridiculous considering our living situation.”

  “Which is why you spent last night here at Clybourne House. A little separation is good. Builds anticipation for the wedding and the night to come. Lord Leopold is going to be bowled over; you’re so beautiful.

  “Is she not the most beautiful bride, ladies?”

  “Exquisite,” Mallory said with a wide smile as all the other ladies assembled made heartfelt murmurs of agreement.

  Mallory had just returned from the upstairs nursery, where she’d been feeding and tucking her infant son into his crib.

  She took a seat now among all the other Byron women—Meg, Grace, Claire, Sebastianne, Esme and Ava. Thalia’s friend Jane Frost was in attendance as well and would serve as one of Thalia’s two matrons of honor—Tilly, of course, being the other.

  It was Thalia’s second wedding, yet everything felt brand-new, as if she’d never been married. But rather than being nervous, she was brimming with excitement, because this time was special.

  This time she would be taking marriage vows for all the right reasons.

  This time she was pledging herself to the right man.

  The man she loved.

  She did hope Leo would think her beautiful. Rather than white, she’d chosen a gown of sky blue silk that billowed around her ankles when she walked. The bodice and half sleeves were sewn with Belgian lace. The dress also had a sheer overskirt that was just as ethereal as the rest of the ensemble. Her hair was swept high on her head, yet simply dressed with only the hair combs she’d borrowed from Tilly and a lace veil that matched her gown.

  Esme came forward and handed her the bridal bouquet, made from lily of the valley and forget-me-nots. The fragrance was sweetly intoxicating.

  Thalia thanked her sister-to-be with a smile.

  She was still getting to know her new family and liked them all. But Esme held a special place already, perhaps because of her love of animals—she adored Hera—or maybe it was because she was the youngest and saw the world through fresh, enthusiastic eyes. Esme had also been unconditionally supportive from the instant she and Thalia had met, coming up to give her a deep, warm hug as though they’d been friends for years.

  “Perhaps I shall be able to do this for you soon, Lady Esme,” Thalia said. “Are you quite sure there were no handsome suitors who caught your eye this Season?”

  Esme laughed. “Very sure. Several gentlemen were handsome, but none took my fancy. Frankly, I shall be glad to get back to my animals and my painting at Braebourne. There is nothing like the countryside this time of year.”

  “Maybe next Season, then?”

  Esme gave a noncommittal shrug. Unlike most girls, she was in no hurry to marry.

  “It is time, my dear,” Ava Byron told Thalia, sharing a happy smile with her. “Ready?”

  Thalia nodded and listened to the strains of music winding up the stairs. Tightening her fingers around her bouquet, she followed the other women from the room.

  * * *

  Leo waited next to Lawrence, whom he had chosen to serve as his best man. His heart hammered, his gloved hands slightly unsteady.

  “You have the r
ing?” he asked his twin in a low voice.

  “Yes.” Lawrence sighed. “It’s right here in my pocket, where it’s been the other ten times you’ve asked. Relax. She’ll be here any minute.”

  “Easy for you to say. Just wait until it’s your turn.”

  Lawrence gave a gentle snort. “I guess I’m in the clear, then, since I have no interest in taking a wife. Not for years, not until I’m old and gray.”

  “You won’t say that once you meet the right woman. Once you do, you’ll wonder how you ever managed without her.”

  “We’ll see.”

  The music began moments later and they both turned toward the door.

  Leo forgot everything but Thalia, his heart filled to bursting as he watched her walk toward him. He’d thought her beautiful before, but today she was radiant, her dark eyes shining with happiness and love. Then her small hand was inside his own, the minister prompting each of them to recite the words that would join them as one before the world.

  “I do,” he repeated.

  “I do,” she said, never looking away from his eyes.

  He slid the diamond ring that had somehow appeared in his palm onto the third finger of her left hand.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

  Family and guests clapped, cheers bursting to life around them. But all he cared about was her. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her near.

  “Leo,” she said on a breathless laugh, “everyone is watching.”

  He grinned and bent his head. “Good. Let them watch. Because I want to kiss my bride.”

  And then he did, quite thoroughly, before one and all.

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Tracy Anne Warren’s next novel,

  Happily Bedded Bliss

  Coming soon from Signet Select

  September 1818

  Gloucestershire, England

  Lady Esme Byron hiked her sky blue muslin skirts up past her stocking-clad calves and climbed onto the wooden stile that divided Braebourne land from that of their nearest neighbor to the east, Mr. Craycroft.

  Craycroft, a widower near her eldest brother, Edward’s, age of forty, was rarely in residence and never complained about her trespassing on his land, so she was free to use it as if it were quite her own. Not that Braebourne didn’t provide plenty of beautiful acreage to explore—it did, especially considering that her brother owned nearly half the county and more besides. But Craycroft possessed a lovely natural freshwater lake that sat a perfect walking distance from her family’s house. The lake attracted a rich variety of wildlife, so there was always something fascinating to sketch. Plus, no one ever bothered her there; it was quite her favorite secret place.

  She jumped down onto the other side of the stile, taking far more care of the satchel of drawing supplies slung over her shoulder than she did for her fine leather half boots. She wobbled slightly as she sank ankle-deep into the mud. She stared at her boots for a few seconds, knowing her maid would give her a scold for sure. But she was always able to talk dear Grumbly around, so she wasn’t worried.

  Grabbing hold of the fence, she unstuck herself one boot at a time. She scraped the worst of the mess off into the nearby grass; then, with a swirl of her skirts, she continued on to her destination.

  She sighed blissfully and turned her face up to the sun.

  How good it was to be home again after weeks in the city.

  How wonderful to be out in the open again, free to roam wherever she liked, whenever she liked.

  A tiny, guilty frown wrinkled her brow, since technically she was supposed to be back at the estate helping entertain the houseguests visiting Braebourne. But all seven of her siblings and their families were in residence, even Leo and his new bride, Thalia, who had just returned with celebratory fanfare from their honeymoon tour of Italy. With so many Byrons available to make merry, she would hardly be missed.

  Besides, her family was used to her penchant for disappearing by herself for hours at a time as she roamed the nearby woods and hills and fields. She would be back in time for dinner; that would have to be enough.

  An exuberant bark sounded behind her and she glanced around in time to watch her dog, Burr, leap the stile and race toward her. She bent down and gave his shaggy head a scratch. “So, you’re back, are you? Done chasing rabbits?”

  He waved his golden flag of a tail in a wide arc, his pink tongue lolling out in a happy grin, clearly unapologetic for having deserted her a couple of minutes earlier to hunt game in the bushes.

  “Well, come along,” she told him before starting off toward a stand of trees in the distance.

  Burr trotted enthusiastically at her side.

  Several minutes later, she reached the copse of trees that led to the lake. She was just about to step out of their protective shelter when she heard a splash.

  She stopped and motioned Burr to do the same.

  Someone, she realized, was swimming in the lake. Was it Mr. Craycroft? Was he back in residence?

  A man emerged from the water—a man who most definitely was not Mr. Craycroft.

  And who was most definitely naked.

  Her eyes widened as she drank in the sight of his long, powerfully graceful form, his skin glistening with wet in the sunlight.

  A quiet sigh of wonder slid from between her parted lips, her senses awash with the same kind of reverent awe she felt whenever she beheld something of pure, unadorned beauty.

  Not that his face was the handsomest she had ever glimpsed—his features were far too strong and angular for ordinary attractiveness. Yet there was something majestic about him, his tall body exquisitely proportioned, even the unmentionable male part of him that hung impressively between his muscled thighs.

  Clearly unaware that he was being observed, he casually slicked the water from his hair with his fingers, then walked deeper into the surrounding area of short grass that was kept periodically trimmed by the groundskeepers.

  She shivered, her heart pounding wildly as she watched him settle onto the soft green canopy of grass and stretch out on his back. With a hand, she motioned again to Burr to remain quiet. She did the same, knowing if she moved now, the beautiful stranger would surely hear her.

  One minute melted into two, then three.

  Quite unexpectedly, she heard the soft yet unmistakable sound of a snore.

  Is he asleep?

  She smiled, realizing that’s exactly what he was.

  She knew she ought to leave; this was the perfect chance. But then he shifted, his face turning toward her, one hand resting at his waist, his knee bent at an elegant angle.

  And she couldn’t leave.

  Not now.

  Not when she was in the presence of such artistic majesty—as if the universe itself had given her a gift. How could she refuse the opportunity? She simply had to draw him.

  Without giving the impulse so much as another moment’s consideration, she sank quietly onto a nearby rock that provided her with an excellent view of her subject. Burr settled down next to her and laid his chin on his paws as she extracted her pencil and sketchbook from her bag and set to work.

  * * *

  Gabriel Landsdowne came abruptly awake, the late afternoon sun strong in his eyes. He blinked and sat up, giving his head a slight shake to clear out the last of the drowsy cobwebs.

  He’d fallen asleep without even realizing. Apparently, he was more tired than he’d thought. Then again, that’s why he’d come here to Craycroft’s, so he could spend a little time alone, doing nothing more strenuous than taking a leisurely swim and lazing away the day. He could have done the same at his own estate, of course, but the place always put him in a foul mood.

  Too many bad memories.

  Too many unwanted responsibilities to ignore.

  His usual crowd would laugh to see him doing something as prosaic as taking a solitary afternoon nap. On the other hand, he was out of doors naked, so they would most certainly approve of that.

  Smir
king, he stood up, brushing an errant blade of grass from his bare butt. He was about to cross to the stand of bushes where he’d left his clothes when he heard a faint rustling sound behind him. He turned and stared into the foliage.

  “Who is it? Is someone there?” he demanded.

  The only answer was silence.

  He looked again, but nothing moved; no one spoke.

  Maybe it had been the wind?

  Or an animal foraging in the woods?

  Suddenly a dog burst from the concealment of the trees, its shaggy wheaten coat gleaming warmly in the sun. The animal stopped and looked at him, eyes bright and inquiring but not unfriendly. He seemed well fed but was of no particular breed, a medium-sized mix of some sort. Part hound and part something else.

  “Who might you be, fellow?” Gabriel asked.

  The dog wagged his tail and barked twice, then spun around and disappeared into the trees once more.

  Just then, Gabriel thought he spied a flash of blue in the woods.

  A bird?

  The dog must have sensed it too and had gone off to chase whatever it was.

  Shrugging in dismissal, Gabriel turned and went to retrieve his clothes.

  * * *

  “It’s high time you were home, my lady,” Grumbly scolded as Esme hurried into her bedroom a couple of minutes after the dressing gong rang. “I was on the verge of sending one of the footmen out after you. Och, and look at those boots. What new mischief have you been about this afternoon? Tromping in the mud.”

  “Oh, don’t carry on, Grumbly,” Esme said, using the maid’s old nickname given to her when Esme was still in apron strings. “I went for a walk, then stopped at the stables afterward to check on Andromeda. Her wing is still healing and she needs food and exercise twice a day.”

  Andromeda was a hawk Esme had found in the woods last month, shot with an arrow. She’d nursed her through the worst and hoped the bird might be able to fly again with enough time and care.

  Mrs. Grumblethorpe tsked and turned Esme around, her fingers moving quickly to unfasten the buttons on Esme’s dress. “You and your animals. Always worrying over some poor, misbegotten creature. Rabbits and birds, hedgehogs and box turtles. You’re forever dragging something back, to say nothing of all the cats and dogs and horses.”