‘And she feels a touch guilty,’ explained Dotty. ‘For stealing a march on us.’
‘Oh, we don’t begrudge you your good fortune,’ said her aunt kindly.
‘No, but...’
‘Well, I can see this sudden reversal in your prospects has overwhelmed you,’ she said, tilting her head to one side. ‘And no wonder, if all you ever hoped for was to obtain some menial position. A good strong cup of tea is what you need.’ She flicked her hand to Lotty, who went to the fireplace and pulled the bell to summon the maid.
‘And you are so shy,’ she added with a knowing nod, ‘that having such a very...masculine man as Lord Havelock positively...bowl you over...’
‘Yes, he did, Mama. He kissed her quite passionately.’
‘Twice!’
Oh, if only the chair cushions would open up and swallow her whole.
‘Oh,’ said her aunt with a sympathetic look as Mary’s face heated to what felt like boiling point. ‘I see what this is. But, my dear,’ she said, reaching across to pat her hand, ‘Lord Havelock must be very taken with you, to propose so quickly. You know, I saw there was something, that very first night at the Crimmers’. Why, he started at the sight of you as though...as though his ship had come in, as you would probably say. It is clearly a case of love at first sight.’
As though that made it all right.
Except that it was most definitely not love at first sight. The things he’d said made that crystal clear. Like, going their separate ways, for instance. And being glad she was no more keen to marry than he was. Immediately after he’d proposed.
She shook her head in complete frustration. There was no way she was going to be able to get Aunt Pargetter to understand her reluctance to marry. Or the girls, not now their heads were full of eligible titled men.
There was only one thing for it. She would have to tell Lord Havelock, to his face, that she couldn’t go through with it.
And then—she glanced at the happy, glowing faces of her aunt and cousins—she’d have to endure their disappointment.
* * *
Lord Havelock was coming to call on Mary the very next day, Aunt Pargetter informed her husband over dinner that night. To talk about arrangements.
So Mary had all night to marshal her arguments. And the longer she thought, the more convinced she became that he wouldn’t be all that bothered to have it all come to nothing. Hadn’t he said he was no keener to get married than she was? He’d probably just thought he had to propose, after kissing her in such a public place. Especially as she’d made it crystal clear she wouldn’t be his mistress.
It was the only reason that could possibly account for it.
Satisfied she’d reached the nub of the matter, and that Lord Havelock would be positively grateful when she let him off the hook, Mary finally drifted off to sleep. And if a few tears leaked from under her tightly closed eyelids, they were only a symptom of the extreme stress she’d been under all day. She was relieved, truly she was. And quite calm, now that the terrifying prospect of being shoehorned into a marriage she really, really didn’t want was over.
* * *
It was strange, therefore, that the next morning she felt as though her limbs were weighted with lead.
It was worry, that was what was making it so hard to dress, or eat breakfast. Worry that she might not be able to persuade her aunt to let her have a few moments alone with Lord Havelock. The fear she might have to continue with the charade one moment longer.
So why did her heart sink still further when Lord Havelock was the one to ask if he could have some private speech with her? He was giving her the very opportunity she sought, to speak freely.
‘Won’t you sit down?’ It was the only thing Mary could think of to say. She’d never been on her own in a room with a man and this one seemed to fill it with his presence. It wasn’t as if he was particularly tall, but he was so full of energy. She could still feel the strength of him as he’d guided her round the ice the day before, his arm effortlessly pinning her to his side. How immovable he’d been when she’d tried to push him away after the kiss.
The kiss. She shouldn’t have thought about the kiss. It made every single inch of her feel far too...feminine.
He took a seat as close to hers as he could find, which didn’t help. Now he could reach out and take her hand, if he wanted. Or she could reach out and take his.
Not that she wanted to. Absolutely not!
‘Thank you for agreeing to speak with me alone,’ he said. ‘I know it is a little unconventional, but there are things we do need to talk about.’
‘Yes, there are,’ she agreed. ‘I understand that you felt obliged to make me an offer of marriage, yesterday, after kissing me.’ She couldn’t look at his face. Not with his mouth right there, close enough that if she leaned forward, and he leaned forward, just the tiniest bit, they could be kissing again. She looked hard at her hands instead, which she was clasping tightly on her lap. ‘And I’m also aware that you do not truly wish to marry me. And so I release you—’
‘You jolly well don’t!’ He leapt to his feet again. ‘No wriggling out of this. You gave me your word....’
‘Actually, I didn’t. You said a lot of things, and everyone congratulated us, but I never, not once, said I would marry you.’
‘Well, you are going to marry me and that’s that.’
‘No.’ She got to her feet, as well. She wasn’t going to risk backing down simply because she felt intimidated with him looming over her like that. ‘It is better to end this engagement now than to take a step we will both regret for the rest of our lives.’
She’d seen, at close quarters, just how miserable two people could become when bound together by chains of matrimony that neither of them wished for any longer.
‘Our engagement will only end one way,’ he growled, jabbing his forefinger at her. ‘In marriage.’
She flinched at the first physical expression of his anger, but held her ground.
‘I’ve already purchased the licence,’ he rapped out. ‘And spoken to your uncle, and taken a light-fingered guttersnipe into my employ all on your account. We. Are. Getting. Married.’
As the volume of his voice increased, the memories of raised voices that led to clenched fists, and thence to bruised ribs, made her recall how dangerous it was to be some man’s wife, some man’s property to deal with as he saw fit. And she began to tremble.
‘If this is an indication of the way you mean to go on, whenever your will is crossed, then...’
His eyes widened. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.
‘I didn’t mean to scare you. Please...’ he waved a hand at the chair ‘...sit down again and I will try to talk this over calmly.’
‘Only if you sit down, too.’
He frowned, then nodded.
Gingerly, she sat in the chair he’d indicated and he sat down, too.
‘Look, Miss Carpenter. I have a terrible, hasty temper. Bane of my life, actually, but I do try not to let it govern my actions, the way it once did. I am sorry I let it get the better of me this morning. Ungentlemanly of me.’ He lowered his head for an instant, the picture of contrition, before lifting it, looking directly into her eyes, and saying, ‘Do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive my...outburst and start this interview again?’
She could hardly believe it. He didn’t appear to believe,