“He’s not leaving you,” Mary Frances whispered.
“I heard him,” Tabitha whispered back.
“He scares me,” Mary Frances added.
“Scares you! Why on earth do you say that?”
“He’s so… big and strong and intense. Every muscle always bunched and tense, as if primed for action. He watches everything, like a bird of prey, waiting for just the right moment to swoop in. Most of all, he watches you.”
This description did not frighten Tabitha as much as Mary Frances might have predicted.
Yes, Mr. Frampton was big and strong and intense, but he was also sweet and handsome and kind. He had never once peered down her bodice with a quizzing glass or made her feel like a fruit ripe for the plucking. When Mr. Frampton looked Tabitha’s way, it was with concern or genuine interest.
And duty. She could not forget the duty. No matter how kindhearted her bird of prey might be, he would still scoop her up and deposit her back in the viscount’s nest as ordered.
The thought of sharing Lord Oldfield’s bed later tonight caused Tabitha’s stomach to roil, and she doubled over, clutching both hands over her mouth.
“Are you all right?” Mary Frances asked, alarmed.
“As all right as I will ever be,” Tabitha managed.
But the moment she stepped outside this room, she would not be all right ever again. Marriage to Lord Oldfield would be misery.
“I can’t do it,” she whispered.
Mary Frances’s eyes widened. “You’re going to jilt a viscount?”
Tabitha groaned. “No.”
Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t do that, either. Jilts were socially ruined, meaning Tabitha would never find an aristocratic husband.
Her only choices were Viscount Oldfield or nobody.
Between the two, she’d rather have nobody.
But there was her father to consider, and the promise she’d made him. He wasn’t even strong enough to walk into the chapel on his own two feet. He certainly wasn’t strong enough to withstand a daughter flinging his dying wish into his face because she didn’t like the lord he’d chosen for her.
“I need more time,” she muttered. “Time to think.”
The knock came on the door again. “Lady Tabitha? Are you certain there’s nothing I can bring you?”
“I’m fine,” she shouted. “But this might take a while. Go back to the chapel.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I see that you’re all right,” he answered. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll be here for you, when you’re ready.”
Tabitha grimaced and clenched her fists in her skirt. Those were the exact words she’d hungered for all this time… spoken by the man who could not give her what she needed.
If only Viscount Oldfield would let her take her time! If only her father would have let her make her own decisions!
“He’s not going anywh—” Mary Frances began.
“I know. I knew as soon as he knocked that he wasn’t going to leave.” Tabitha rose carefully to her feet. “But perhaps I can.”
Mary Frances frowned. “Return to the chapel, you mean? To finish the ceremony?”
That was definitely not what Tabitha meant. She hurried to a basin to splash some water on her face. “I’m taking the time I need. Or at least a sliver of it. Which means no wedding yet. Not today, anyway.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Mary Frances said doubtfully. “Mr. Frampton will deliver you to the altar trussed like a pig if he has to.”
