‘Good morning, Miss Martin.’ He made his bow.
‘Did you wish to see me? Or perhaps Mrs Tuttle misunderstood. I could fetch Mrs Crawford.’
‘Indeed, no. I expressly asked for you.’ He spoke in a crisp, authoritative tone.
‘Oh.’ A shiver of nervousness tingled through her. ‘Pray be seated.’
They both sat. Sarah felt stiff, as if her arms and legs had lost fluidity. It had been easier to talk to him while rescuing Albert, as though the very oddness of their occupation had made social conventions unnecessary.
She rubbed her hands together. They made a chafing sandpaper sound, emphasising the chill silence of the room.
‘May I offer you refreshment?’ she asked belatedly.
‘No, thank you. Indeed, I will get straight to the point.’
‘Please do.’ She exhaled with relief. ‘I much prefer blunt speech.’
He straightened his shoulders and shifted to face her more squarely as though putting his mind to an unpleasant task.
‘Miss Martin, I need—May I have the honour of your hand in marriage?’
Sarah gaped. Her jaw hung loose. Her eyes widened and her breath left her body in a winded gasp.
For a moment, her brain could not make sense of his words as though he had spoken German or another foreign tongue.
Then she understood.
Anger flashed through her, hot and powerful. She bounded to her feet, her cheeks heated and her hands balled with fury. ‘My lord, I am not without pride and I will not allow you to make sport of me.’
He stood also. ‘Miss Martin, I am quite serious and never make sport.’
She stilled. ‘Then you are mad.’
‘I do not believe so. Lunacy does not run in my family.’ He paused, his expression suddenly bleak. ‘I hope.’
‘You expect me to believe that you are serious?’
‘I seldom have expectations, but I assure you that I am serious,’ he said.
She stared at him, taking in his even features, the dark grey eyes flecked with green, the dark sweep of hair across his forehead and the firm jaw. There was nothing about him to hint at madness or jest.
Turning, she rubbed her fingers along the mantel, studying their outline against the wood’s grain as she tried to marshal her thoughts.
The clock ticked.
‘If you are neither mad nor making sport of me,’ she said at length, ‘you must have a reason.’
‘I need someone to look after Elizabeth.’
‘For which one employs a governess.’
‘They have a habit of leaving,’ he said.
‘Marriage seems a somewhat extreme action to ensure continuity of staff.’
‘It does,’ he said.
She raised her brows.
‘My daughter is...quiet.’
‘A quality generally admired in children.’
He did not answer for a moment and when he did, his words were slow as though reluctantly drawn from him. ‘She hasn’t spoken a word in six months. They find Elizabeth’s silence unnerving. She also rocks her body and, according to my housekeeper, has now taken to riding on the rocking horse in a compulsive manner.’
‘I am sorry. Is she ill?’
‘I have two children,’ he answered, his voice still flat and drained of emotion. ‘Their mother chose to leave for France with them and her lover. She was subsequently executed.’
‘How awful.’
‘I presume it was for her.’
Sarah shivered at the detached tone.
‘Both children were held for ransom. I paid and my daughter, Elizabeth, was returned to me.’
‘And your son?’
‘I don’t know.’ A muscle rippled in his cheek.
Instinctively Sarah shifted towards him; the stark loneliness of his grief touched her. ‘I’m sorry.’
He nodded. They fell quiet.
She broke the silence tentatively. ‘But I still do not see why marrying me would help.’
He shrugged. ‘It probably won’t. But there is something about you—’ He paused before stating in a firmer tone, ‘You speak French.’
‘Yes. My mother taught me, but why would it matter?’
‘Elizabeth has been away from England for two years and I presume whoever cared for her spoke French.’
‘And you thought she might be more conversant in that language.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She has always been oddly silent.’
He paused, before continuing.
‘As well, my great-aunt Clara demands that I marry.’
‘What?’
‘My elderly aunt, who is also extremely wealthy, wants me to marry,’ he said flatly.
‘Why on earth would she want you to marry me?’
‘I doubt she would choose you, but she insists that I marry someone.’
‘But why?’
‘She feels it would be better for Elizabeth and that it would help me to rally, to focus on my surviving child and give up on my son.’
‘She would have you stop searching for her own nephew?’
‘She feels the case is hopeless,’ he said, his voice raw with pain. ‘And wants me to look towards the future and rebuild my life.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said inadequately. The silence fell again.
She broke it with an effort. ‘But if you are so opposed to marriage, why even agree to your aunt’s request?’
‘The crass matter of finances. Between the ransom and the ongoing search for Edwin, my financial resources are not as I would like and I will not cripple my tenants for my own purpose.’
‘So you chose me to comply, but in a way bound to anger your aunt?’
‘No...’ He paused, drumming his fingers against the mantel. ‘I am not so petty. Nor am I cruel. And it would be cruel to tie a young girl with prospects to one such as myself.’
The clock struck the hour.
‘But you would tie me?’ she asked into the silence.
‘It would seem that your life is difficult at present.’
‘And I have nothing to lose.’ It stung despite its truth. ‘You did not consider that I, too, might have no interest in marriage?’
‘Every woman has an interest in marriage.’
‘I—’ She frowned, thinking of Mr and Mrs Crawford’s union and Lord and Lady Eavensham’s for that matter. ‘In my experience, marriage hardly seems conducive to happiness.’
‘I would concur but, in your case, it might be preferable to living in a cold, bare house with an elderly and perhaps unbalanced recluse.’
‘I...’