Her smile faltered, though curiosity glimmered in her eyes. “What is it?”
He drew in a breath. “The night under the stars… I had meant to discuss this then, but I was distracted.”
Her lips curved faintly.
He looked away, a half-smile tugging at his mouth before fading. “A few days ago, I noticed you collected your wages. You bought Sarah new boots, ribbons, and dresses, yet nothing for yourself. Your gowns are worn, Maryann. You should not deny yourself so much.”
A flush rose to her cheeks. “My clothes are fine,” she said. “I would rather save what I can for our future.”
He nodded slowly. “Then allow me to help secure it. I have a manor in Kent—seven rooms, fully restored, with a lake that teems with fish. It is peaceful, beautiful… yours, if you will accept it. And I would see you provided for with a dowry of ten thousand pounds.”
Maryann’s hands tightened on the reins. She stared at him, eyes wide and shimmering. “You… would give me a house?” she whispered. “And money?”
“Yes.” His tone was gentle but firm. “You and Sarah deserve stability. Safety.”
She shook her head, voice trembling as tears welled in her eyes. “Though I am poor, though I have no connections, I will not be your mistress. I will not be a kept woman.”
Her words struck him like a blow, quiet but devastating. “Maryann…” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “That was never my intention. The same care my mother shows Elizabeth and Vivian—their dowries, their seasons, their chance at a future—should have been yours as well. They will marry well, I’ve no doubt of it, and I wanted to do the same for you. You deserve that.”
Her lashes trembled, and she shook her head faintly. “This gift… it is too much.” She drew in a steadying breath before meeting his gaze. “Tell me truthfully, would you have offered it if we were not lovers?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I made this decision before that night we became lovers. It has nothing to do with what passed between us.”
She studied him for a long, searching moment, as though she might see the truth written somewhere behind his eyes. “Sebastian,” she whispered, “you say you offer these gifts as a dowry?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I will also call upon a few good friends to invite you to events for the season.”
“Then… do you feel no pain at the thought of me marrying another man?”
The words sliced through him, sharp and unexpected. His chest tightened, and for a fleeting, terrible instant, he could not breathe. But years of control—of duty and restraint—held him still. He masked the turmoil in his heart behind a calm he did not feel.
“No,” he said at last, his tone even, distant.
Her lips parted slightly, and she looked away, a soft, broken “Oh,” escaping her.
The sound of it hollowed him out. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and the grind of carriage wheels echoed down the drive, breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen between them.Sebastian’s brows drew together in a frown. He turned his head toward the sound, disbelief cutting through his thoughts.
“That’s my mother’s carriage,” he said grimly.
Maryann followed his gaze, her expression tightening. “Your mother?”
“Yes,” he muttered. “She has never visited before as the dust from the renovation offends her sensibilities. Ride with me to welcome her.”
They trotted down the lane, the wind carrying the scent of grass and summer blossoms. When they reached the courtyard, the countess was already descending, her gloved hand resting lightly on the footman’s arm. She was a vision of polished hauteur, her gown a flawless sweep of pale blue silk.
Her gaze landed on Maryann first—cold, appraising. Maryann dismounted and dipped into a graceful curtsy.
“My lady,” she said softly.
The countess’s chin lifted a fraction. “Miss Winton,” she returned, her tone clipped. Then she turned to her son, eyes sharp with expectation. “Sebastian. I would speak with you privately.”
His jaw tightened, but he inclined his head. “Of course, Mother.”
Maryann gave him a fleeting glance before turning away toward the house. He escorted his mother inside. Her gaze swept over the grand hall, lingering on the polished marble floors, the gleaming bannisters, and the elegantly curved staircase. After a pause, she inclined her head with a faint air of approval.
“It is rather impressive,” she said, her tone cool yet begrudgingly admiring.
In the drawing room, Sebastian faced his mother across the gleaming mahogany table. The countess stood with her back to him, examining the floral arrangement on the mantelpiece as though it personally offended her.
