“No, you misunderstand. I’m willing to marry you. But you deserved the truth first. If you do not wish to marry me now that you’ve met me, however, I understand.” She looked into the hearth, presenting him with her profile. Her blue eyes flashed silver in the firelight until the fringe of her dark lashes lowered, allowing him the freedom to truly look on her. She was dainty, from her fingers to her pert nose. Tendrils of blond hair escaped the pins at her crown to curl about her temples.
She was lovely, his bride-to-be. But frightened, too. Her fingers clutched the armrests of her chair.
She need never be frightened of him. “Our convenient arrangement might be unusual, but it suits me well,” he said. “We may marry Monday, if it pleases you.”
“It does.”
This was nothing like his first proposal. His heart had skittered like a snared rabbit’s that winter day nine years ago when his father arranged for him to speak to Catriona. They were both nineteen, the same age as Helena was now. A bit young, but his parents desired him to marry at the earliest opportunity. He must produce heirs, as many as possible, because children, as his family knew all too well, were fragile. And heirs were an absolute necessity.
He didn’t resist his father’s direction to marry Catriona. She was a fair lass with a kind demeanor. He’d called on her at the appointed hour and asked for her hand. She had smiled, he had smiled. He gave her a chaste kiss afterward.
Now, betrothed once again, there were no smiles. No kisses, chaste or otherwise, would ever exist between him and Lady Helena. This was a business transaction, no more.
But they were in agreement. Relief soothed his stomach like a healing tonic, yet a niggling of fear would not be displaced. Would he come to regret this? Would she?
Her eyes were large, as if she expected something. Perhaps he should kiss her hand, if not her lips.
He stood and bowed instead. The scent of clean linen and rosewater emanated from her, fresh and feminine and more appealing to him than it should be. “Thank you, Lady Helena.”
“Are we to forever thank one another for our sacrifices?” Her smile was weary. “We shall help one another. But there is one more thing we should discuss.”
A token of his pledge, perhaps? Surely this duke’s daughter would expect something expensive. A small price to pay, he supposed, for what he asked of her. He fingered his signet ring. “Anything.”
“I wish to meet your children before we make an announcement.”
Of course. That should have been obvious. What sort of father was he, to commit to marrying a stranger before he saw how she behaved with his children?
A desperate one, that was the sort of father he was. And he saw no other way to nurture his four charges than to provide them with a well-bred maternal figure to see to their needs. Tavin’s recommendation of his cousin Lady Helena’s character—disregarding the one grave error that brought her here—gleamed like a polished gemstone. She was a lady of breeding and bearing: educated, refined and gentle with her younger sisters.
“Tomorrow? It would be my pleasure to introduce you.” His niece and three children were quick-witted and mannerly.
No doubt she’d love them on sight.
They are just children.
Helena perched on the settee in her betrothed’s drawing room awaiting his offspring, willing her hands to be still. She’d wear through her gloves if her thumbs kept up with this fidgeting.
They are just children. And Lord Ardoch is just a man whom you shall seldom see.
And this was to be her home, the oddly named Comraich. She was more than capable of running it, despite her youth, although the task was a trifle daunting. It was only natural, facing such prospects, for her stomach to stir as if a whirlwind eddied inside her.
But she had not expected to be daunted by him. Lord Ardoch was no longer a distant hope for redemption, but a real man with gold hair curling over his brow, his elbow propped on the arm of his chair, his index finger resting against his lip. Intelligence sparked in his eyes, and his broad shoulders bore an air of confidence. Her husband-to-be was self-assured, noble and handsome.
Handsome? Oh, dear. Her thumbs resumed fidgeting on her lap.
“Your home is a far more comfortable pile of stones than I expected, considering its age,” Papa was saying. “How do you feel about living in such an ancient manse, Helena?”
Her gaze flew to Lord Ardoch’s. His brows lifted, awaiting her response. Heat flushed her cheeks.
“Comraich is lovely.” And it was, with its blue freestone walls and mullioned windows. “This is a pleasant chamber, too.”
The drawing room benefited from southwestern exposure. Light spilled through the windows to brighten the cheerful green and cream decorating the walls and furnishings. A gilt pianoforte occupied the corner by the window, and Helena itched to touch the keys. Once Lord Ardoch left for London and she was alone, she’d play every day.
One side of Lord Ardoch’s lips curved upward. “I’m gratified you think so. My late wife decorated it to her tastes, but you may do as you wish with it.”
Alter his wife’s rooms? Her hand lifted an inch from her lap. “I would not wish to overstep.”
Lord Ardoch’s gaze fixed on her hand. “It’s not an overstep. You’re to be the lady here. Change whatever you like.”
What she liked was to change nothing. To be a grateful little mouse. She lowered her hand.
“Change is your way, isn’t it?” Papa skewered Lord Ardoch with a glare. “I suppose you’ll have some new bacon-brained notion for the House of Lords come January?”
Helena’s thumbs fidgeted anew, but Lord Ardoch grinned, appearing almost gleeful. Her husband-to-be could stand up to Papa. Few could.
“Not new at all, Your Grace. I’m determined to introduce a plan to improve education.”
Papa waved his hand near his nose, as if the notion reeked. “Do not think I’ll support your notions because you are my son-in-law.”
Lord Ardoch’s smile turned impish, taking years off his countenance. Was this what his sons looked like? If so, they no doubt got away with heaps of mischief.
“I would not have dared dreamt it so, Your Grace. But neither will I neglect my determination to see the children of Britain educated.”
“All children?” Helena blurted. Did he mean the poor? Or just poor boys?
Papa stiffened beside her. “He’d insist the government school every urchin.”
At a soft shuffle at the door, her fiancé’s gaze riveted behind Helena. “Speaking of children, mine are here at last.”
A flutter twisted in Helena’s stomach as she and Papa stood. Would they like her? She would be their mother. Not in the real way, but she would try to make a worthy substitute. She’d always wanted to be a mother, after all.
Four children—two boys and two girls—assembled like infantrymen into a line, although the smallest girl needed the assistance of the young maid with mouse-brown hair and a beak nose.
Lord Ardoch made introductions, and the children performed precise bows and curtsies. “’Tis an honor, Your Grace,” they each said to Papa. Mama would approve of their deferential bearing at being condescended to by a duke.
But Helena didn’t wish them to feel condescended to by her. She turned