by Cora Lee
Cecilia kept her eyes on James. “You wouldn’t be borrowing money from me, then, either—my dowry is yours as soon as the vows are solemnized.”
Eddington coughed again and James glared at him, prompting the man to excuse himself and hurry out of the room with a mumbled, “I’ll just give you two some privacy.”
“Marriage?” James asked, dropping into a wing chair near the fire. “We haven’t been in contact with each other for seventeen years—after you declined my offer of wedded bliss, might I add. You didn’t even acknowledge that you knew me before dinner today. And now you want to become my wife?”
She followed him to the fire and seated herself in the chair opposite him. “It doesn’t have to be a real marriage. We would not have to live as husband and wife.”
But they would still be husband and wife. The dream of his twenty-year-old self come true...too late. “Would your relations help me if I were just a husband of convenience?”
“Probably not,” she said, clasping her hands together on her knee. “The money and my status would be yours, though, along with whatever I can do personally.” She paused a moment and took a breath as if she were collecting herself. “If we told everyone it was a love match, my family would be more than happy to protect you.”
James felt himself shaking his head in frustration. “Why would you even suggest such a thing? You can’t love me after all these years—you don’t know me anymore, nor do I know you. You can’t be out to spite your relations by marrying so far beneath you, since you offered them up as allies. I’d find it very difficult to believe that you long to give up your ways as a grand lady and settle down on my farm. So what is it?”
“I treated you badly, James. I know it was a long time ago, but it still weighs on my conscience. I led you to believe we could have a life together, then cast you aside when you tried to make that a reality.”
“Did it hurt you to refuse me?” he asked quietly. The pain in her voice was oddly touching, even after all the time that had past.
Her eyes darted to his. “Of course it did. I was wounded deeply when I sent you away. That it was a self-inflicted wound made it even worse.”
“Then why did you?” The words came out with more bitterness than he’d intended. “Why did you refuse me after encouraging me for months? Why did you let me think you loved me when you didn’t?”
“I did love you.” The words were soft, almost lost in the popping of the fire. She glanced down at her lap before meeting his gaze once again. “My niece was thirteen and not so far from thoughts of marriage herself. Marrying you, with your social rank so far below mine, would have harmed Honoria’s prospects of a good match.”
He let out a humorless laugh at that. “You think marrying a farmer would have rendered a duke’s daughter unmarriageable?”
“Not unmarriageable, no. But I wanted her to have every opportunity to find a good husband. The scandal we would have created would have touched my whole family.”
There was the real reason she’d refused him. “And they wouldn’t have approved, would they?”
“No.”
“Then why would they now?”
“Because I’m an old spinster,” she answered flatly. “And Honoria has been safely married for over a year now. If my brother and my cousins believe marrying you makes me happy, they won’t care who you are.”
James stood and walked around to the back of his chair, leaning against it. “So this is your chance to atone, to make yourself feel better all these years later.”
“That’s part of it.”
“What’s the other part?”
“Grimsby also has a hold over me. He has one of the letters I wrote to you when we were together, and has threatened to make it public.”
James felt his face flush with heat. Those letters had been for his eyes only, not for a snake like Grimsby and certainly not for the Society gossips.
“James?”
“I was just thinking about the things you wrote in those letters.”
Pink crept into her cheeks, slowly at first then in a rush of color. “Oh.”
Oh indeed. She’d poured both her heart and her physical desires into those letters.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks for a moment and cleared her throat. “I, erm, suppose I could weather the scandal well enough on my own. But I’m terribly afraid it would put too much strain on Alston’s health.”
“He is unwell again?”
She nodded. “I fear the stress of such humiliation would kill him. And I will not let Grimsby tear my family apart.”
James leaned more heavily against the back of his chair. “I can’t fault you for that. One has to protect one’s family whenever possible.”
“Then you agree to my plan?”
“I don’t know, Cecilia.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. He didn’t even know how he felt about seeing her again. How was he supposed to handle her offer to wed him?
“We can do it quickly—a marriage by special license can be arranged while we’re here at the house party. Once our vows are solemnized, my letter becomes moot and you have money to save the farm. We both win, and Grimsby doesn’t get to revel in our disgrace.”
“We will be shackled to each other—and our past—for the rest of our lives.”
“We will,” she said slowly. “Though when everything has been settled we could go our separate ways.”
“How very aristocratic,” he returned dryly. That was the second time she’d mentioned separate lives. Perhaps she was just as reluctant to wed him as he was her.
She sat up straighter. “You’d rather go on living together? Pretending that we can be happy together for the next thirty or forty years?” He watched her press her lips together and take another deep breath. “Let’s prioritize. We can marry, safeguarding my brother, and send Grimsby a bank draft, safeguarding your farm. Then once we have that in hand and know your family to be safe, we can re-evaluate our own situation. Does that sound reasonable to you?”
James nodded, hesitant to agree but seeing no other way out of the mess his father had created. “It does.”
“We’ll have to make my family believe we’re in love to secure their protection for you. And it will negate the need to tell them about the blackmail. Will you agree to that?”
He sighed. There really was no other way to save the farm if Grimsby went back on his word. Nor would his father appreciate James telling strangers about his financial situation. “Yes, I will agree to it.”
“Then congratulations, Mr. Fitzsimmons, you and I are betrothed.”
~*~
What had she done?
Cecilia lay sprawled on her bed staring up at the ceiling, wondering how she’d managed to affiance herself to a man who wanted little to do with her.
“It’s for the good of us both,” she told the pillow beside her. “And for our families.”
The pillow was unmoved by her declaration, so she tried again. “Yes, the provision about pretending ours is a love match is necessary. News of my wedding a farmer to give him money would be at least as shocking to my brother as the letter in Grimsby’s possession.”
Still the pillow sat in silent judgment.
“I wasn’t lying when I said our parting weighed on my conscience—I gave James every indication that I would welcome his proposal, then I refused him when the time came.” She rolled onto her side and poked her index finger into the center of the pillow. “The worst part of it was that I wanted to accept him. I loved him and wanted nothing more in the world than to be his wife. But I was scared...”
“Scared of what?”
Cecilia planted her face into the pillow as Margaret closed the chamber door behind her, then flipped onto her back. “Have you forgotten how to knock?”
“I’m sorry. I heard your voice but no one else’s and wanted to be sure you were well. From what I heard, that may not be the case.”
Cecilia sat up and patted the bed beside her, hugging her cousin when
Margaret came to sit down. “I am well enough in body, and I may have routed Grimsby. But I fear my heart is in for a turbulent month.”
“What happened?”
“I am going to marry Mr. Fitzsimmons.”
Margaret’s lips parted as if she wanted to speak. When no words came, Cecilia filled her in on the details of the agreement she’d made with James. By the time she was done, Margaret found her voice.
“I thought you weren’t going to even tell him about the letter. Why did you offer to marry him?”
“I did it on impulse. He was there before me, and in such difficulty. But he refused the help I could easily give, and I just blurted it out.”
“He didn’t agree with you so you proposed marriage?”
Cecilia heard the amusement in her cousin’s voice and felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “It sounds silly when you say it like that.”
“What would you say to Honoria if she did such a thing?”
“Honoria’s much more in control of herself than I am,” Cecilia replied, picturing her niece at the last party they’d attended together. “She gets carried away with things from time to time, but I’m the impetuous one in the family.”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Margaret asked, taking her cousin’s hand. “That you’re too rash to be a wife?”
“The consequences of my actions would fall upon my husband and his family, too, not just on me. But that wasn’t it.” Cecilia felt her whole body tense, but forced herself to say the words. “I sent James away the first time because I was afraid of the consequences Honoria would face, but I was also afraid to live as a farmer’s wife. What if I couldn’t adjust to his level of income? What if I couldn’t do the things I was expected to do?”
“What if you couldn’t be the woman he needed?”
Cecilia leaned her head against Margaret’s shoulder. “Yes.”
“And now you have a safe way to find out—if it doesn’t work, you go back to being Lady Cecilia without any consequences.”
“And I feel like a coward all over again because of that.”
Margaret put her arms around Cecilia. “Then don’t think of the escape clause. Put your heart and soul into your marriage as if you were planning to live with him forever. If you’re a total failure, you’ll know you did the right thing all those years ago. If you’re a brilliant success, then you’ll vanquish your fears. Either way, you’ve spared your brother a blow to his fragile health and saved the Fitzsimmonses from ruin.”
“Those are terms I think I can live with.”
“But if you fall in love with him again...”
Cecilia shook her head against Margaret’s shoulder. “It won’t matter if I do. He hasn’t forgiven me for the way I treated him when we were young, nor is he inclined to try.”
“Then that’s his loss.”
“I only hope it isn’t mine, too.”
Chapter 4
“Here comes your bride.” Eddington flashed a grin at James over his plate of eggs and kippers.
James pushed his food around his own plate, glancing up at Cecilia as she entered the dining room before his eyes darted to the other guests enjoying their breakfast. “Yes, there she is.”
She smiled at him, her eyes lingering on his face just a little bit longer than was strictly necessary. James managed a smile in return, but if it looked as sincere as it felt then he wasn’t fooling anyone.
“You should be over the moon,” Eddington continued. “You came here to find a solution to your problem and you did. Your father’s name will remain unblemished and the farm will remain in Fitzsimmons hands.”
“I am very relieved about that. More so than even you might realize.”
“So why don’t you look it?” Eddington leaned over his plate and lowered his voice. “Is it because help came from a woman? Or because help came from that woman?”
James put his fork down and picked up a piece of toast, contemplating the golden brown triangle. “I wasn’t expecting to confront a seventeen-year-old heartbreak during my stay...or ever, really. And everything has happened so fast I’ve barely had time to comprehend it all.”
He’d rehashed his past with Cecilia the previous night in the privacy of Eddy’s bedchamber—how they’d courted for nearly six months, how deeply in love James had fallen, how he thought that Cecilia had felt the same way about him but walked away from the relationship when he asked for her hand. Eddington had been there for it all, his bachelor apartments just a floor above James’s when they were both in Town, but saying it aloud had felt necessary.
It all seemed so long ago, but was suddenly very relevant once more.
Cecilia appeared at the table with her plate and took the empty chair beside James. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
Her voice was cheerful and her blue eyes sparkled in the morning sun shining through the window. James wondered if she really was that merry or if she was just a fine actress.
Eddington responded first. “Good morning, my lady. Did you sleep well?”
“I did, actually. It took me a little while to settle down for the night, but once I did I slept like a top. How was your night, Mr. Fitzsimmons?”
“Eventful.”
“Hmm, is that good or bad?”
He put the toast back on his plate, maintaining eye contact with it rather than her. “More good than bad.” Finally he raised his eyes from his plate—after all, if she was going to be his wife, he ought to be able to look her in the eye. “And there’s still a lot to be done.”
“Yes there is. Can you meet me this afternoon? We can settle a number of things today.”
“That will remove some of the weight from my mind.”
“Good.”
She reached over to touch the back of his hand but he reflexively pulled away. “Where and when shall I meet you?”
A hurt expression flickered over her face, but vanished quickly. Was she over the disappointment so swiftly or was she merely hiding it? James suddenly wished he knew.
“I’ll be in Phillip’s study all afternoon.” Her lips curved into a smile and she leaned a little closer. “The ladies are embroidering this afternoon, so I plan to make myself scarce.”
“Don’t you like embroidery?” Eddington asked.
“I do, but not when there are other things that require my attention.” She reached for him again, this time touching his sleeve instead of his skin. “Besides, the ladies here will spend the day talking about the upcoming Season while their fingers stitch, and gossip about who is looking for a spouse. I have no need of that kind of conversation.”
She rose from the table, her plate of food still untouched, and nodded to them both before disappearing through the door.
Eddington fixed a sharp eye on James. “What was that all about?”
“I’m meeting Lady Cecilia this afternoon. Weren’t you paying attention?”
“I was. Were you?”
“What do you mean?”
Eddington glanced around the room, which was empty now of all but a footman. “Aren’t the people here supposed to think that you and Lady Cecilia are falling in love?”
“Yes.”
“Then either your idea of love is skewed or you’re a dreadful actor.”
James considered that for a moment. “I know what love is. Or I did, once. I suppose I need to figure out how to show it when I don’t feel it.”
“Or learn to feel it.”
“What?”
Eddington smiled. “Would it be so terrible to be in love with your wife?”
“In general, no. But when my wife previously decided she couldn’t be married to me because I wasn’t aristocratic enough, it’s a bit harder to fall in love with her again.”
“Maybe you don’t have to.”
James arched an eyebrow.
“Maybe you can summon some of what you felt for Lady Cecilia when you were younger. You don’t actually have to love her, just remember how you felt when you did.”
“Before or after she left me?”
Eddington sighed. “Before, of course. I remember what you were like when she refused you—possibly better than you do, given how muddled your head was then. But if you focus on the good times you two had together, you might be able to bring some of that joy into your actions now.”
James thought about that for a few moments. “It makes sense...if I can ignore the way we parted.”
“Can you do that?”
“I can certainly try. And I don’t have any better ideas.”
James went back to his breakfast with a little more enthusiasm. If he could simply remember how it felt to be in love with Cecilia—truly in love with her—this outlandish plan might actually work.
~*~
Cecilia sat at Phillip’s large desk in the room he used as both his study and library, writing yet another letter in anticipation of her marriage. She’d already completed letters to her solicitor, her niece’s husband, her housekeeper in London, and the Earl of Grimsby.
This letter she’d left for last, hoping inspiration would strike and writing it would be easy. It was for her brother and his duchess explaining why, after years of happy spinsterhood, she was rushing to marry a farmer. She didn’t need Alston’s permission, but she knew it would hurt him to learn of his only sister’s marriage over tea with the neighbors.
“I’d be there to tell you in person if there was time,” she said aloud.
“Perhaps we can visit when the dust has settled, so to speak.”
Cecilia’s eyes snapped to the doorway where James was standing, looking very confident and handsome in sharp contrast to his bearing at the breakfast table. “Would you like that?” she asked.
He entered the room and approached the desk but did not sit. “Probably as much as you would enjoy visiting my family.”
“Actually, I think I should like to meet them and see the farm.” She wondered briefly if that was true or if she was merely being contrary. “I certainly heard enough about both when we were courting.”
His lips curved into a smile sincere enough to produce the infamous dimple. “I did go on about home a bit too much back then, didn’t I? But I would be delighted to show it to you, and to visit His Grace when the time comes.”