The knowledge shining in his sister’s eyes … Bran didn’t like it.
Again he grunted.
Gwyneth’s hand returned to her rucksack. This time it emerged holding a heavy leather sack that clinked when she let it drop onto the stone between them.
Bran’s eyebrows winged together. “What is this?”
If he’d interpreted that clink correctly, it was a bag full of coin.
“You can have this back,” she said.
“Are those my winnings from the St. Leger?”
“Yes.”
“It’s foryou.”
Through the determination shining in her eyes, she smiled. “And I appreciate what you’ve done for me, brother. My whole life you’ve been there for me. Even when you were in France and Africa, you were my support and my rock.” She patted the bag. “But I don’t need this.”
“It’s for your London season, Gwyneth.”
She shook her head. “I no longer need a London season.”
“What are you on about?” Why did every turn in the road of life have to yield a surprise? “How is it you no longer need a London season?”
“I’ve received a marriage proposal from Sir Charles Hadley.”
“The neighboring baron?”
She nodded. “And I mean to accept him.”
This was allwrong. “Gwyneth,” said Bran, looking firmly into her eyes, “if it’s the money you’re concerned about, there’s more where that came from. I can train more horses and collect more winnings. You don’t have to sacrifice?—”
Her smile widened, and she shook her head slowly. “It’s no sacrifice, Bran. Charlie and I are in love.”
Further protest died in Bran’s mouth. It was the look in his sister’s eyes. She was speaking the truth. And there was another look about her, too—the softness of a woman in love.
“He is coming to speak with you this afternoon.”
“Me?” asked Bran. “Stoke is your legal guardian. Shouldn’t Hadley speak to him?”
“It’syourpermission that I need, Bran.”
Sudden emotion washed through him. “Is he a good man?”
“He is.”
“Does he make you happy?”
“He does.”
“Is he the only man for you?”
Tears of happiness pooled in Gwyneth’s golden eyes. She bit her lip between her teeth and nodded. Bran reached for her hand and squeezed. “I suppose you won’t tarry with a long engagement.”
A laugh escaped her. “A winter wedding would be lovely. I wouldn’t dare dream of competing with Sir Abstrupus’s Annual Autumn Harvest Ball.”
Bran’s brow furrowed. “What does Sir Abstrupus’s ball have to do with anything?”
