“You think that by marrying me,”––or rather Cecily––“you are fulfilling your promise, and you can simply dismiss me? I am your wife! What kind of promise-keeping is that?”
A faint blush covered the healthy part of his cheek.
“It is the only way for me to honour both our fathers’ wishes and take care of you, while simultaneously ensuring that you are not imprisoned here. You are free to go.”
“Imprisoned,” echoed Birdie. “I find it rather difficult to understand your train of thought.”
“You will have nothing to do with all this here.” Eversleigh gestured to the medieval hallway around them. “You can lead a trouble-free existence elsewhere. Return to your father’s town, if you wish. Or set up house in London. As Duchess of Dunross, all doors will be open to you. My pension won’t allow for a lavish lifestyle, but it’s sufficient for you to enjoy the season. Take lovers. I don’t care what you do with your life, as long as you leave me in peace here.”
Birdie’s mouth dropped open.
He wanted to get rid of her, did he? Well, he hadn’t counted on the stubbornness of Birdie.
“I think I shan’t,” she said, in a quiet but firm tone. “I think I’d like to stay here.” As she cleaned out her porridge bowl, she added, “I’d prefer to be properly married. With a proper family that comes with it. Children and all that.” She reached for his bowl. If he wasn’t going to eat it, then she would.
Chapter 7
Gabriel Eversleigh, Duke of Dunross, found himself in an odd situation.
He’d married a girl and had expected her to leave right after the wedding.
Except she didn’t want to.
Maybe he shouldn’t find that so surprising, since they’d been married for not even three hours. When one married, the wife, under normal circumstances, tended to stay. For life. That was commonly accepted to be the purpose of marriage.
She’d said that she wanted children. Sweet, pudgy babies that smelled of milk and sunshine. That would cling to his legs and call him Papa. Then they would grow up and go to war and kill and get killed.
He got up so quickly that the chair toppled over and crashed to the ground.
“Never.”
The girl looked up from her bowl, surprised. A smear of porridge stuck at the corner of her mouth. “Never?” she echoed dumbly.
“This whole thing, this whole marriage, is only to fulfil a vow, to take care of you. Nothing more.”
“And what about your vow to me? You made it barely two hours ago.” Her eyes bore into his. He felt himself breaking out in a sweat. She’d made him say it, hadn’t she?
“To love and honour him ’til death do us part…” she whispered the words as he recalled them in his memory. “That is a very serious vow to make.” She propped her elbow on the table. “I think that vow supersedes the one you made earlier. It encompasses the previous vow as well.”
Love. There it was again. She’d not only made him take a vow of love, but she insisted he kept it.
It was insupportable.
Mumbling something unintelligible, Gabriel backed away, hit his legs on the stairs, and stumbled up the staircase.
“We can discuss this later if you want,” he heard her call after him. “Are you going to be here for luncheon?” He grabbed hold of the bannister and hauled himself up three steps at a time.
Away.
Away from her.
She had to leave immediately.
Well.
That had been the oddest conversation in her entire life.
Birdie looked down at her bowl. And that had been the horridest porridge she’d ever had, even if she’d ended up eating two bowls. The cold porridge sat like a stone in her stomach. Clearly, the cook wasn’t the best. The poor meal lowered her spirits. Or perhaps she was feeling rather upset about the conversation she’d just had.
