“I don’t want you tomarryme out of a sense of duty. Or because my father commands it.”
She shakes her head. “It is not that. It is not your father. You will suffer more if I keep you here as mine for the whole world to see but not as my husband. I can have Perry draw up documents. They will be to my advantage.”
Imagining myself as her husband sends a warmth cascading through my chest. But the position will mean nothing if she doesn’t really want it. If I am just a burden to her.
“You don’t want to be my wife.”
“Perhaps not,” she says. “But I want to be the person in the world with the greatest claim to you. Not your father. Not your friends. I want toownyou, Alfred. And if marriage is the way that I can get that, if it is the way that I can silence your father and have the greatest claim toyou, then I will do it. I didn’t realize before that this would be necessary. Now, I see that it is.”
“That is not the same as wanting to marry me.”
“Listen to me, Mr. Alfred Saintsbury,” she says, her voice low and almost frightening. “You will marry me. It is what I command.”
“No.”
She lifts her chin and I know what is coming before she says it.
“Then I will break with you. Give you a portion and send you back to London to shift for yourself. Because I will not sit here and watch you suffer for something I can fix.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“You wouldn’t do it.”
“I would.”
“Do you love me?” I ask.
She looks at me, her expression almost pitying.
“I cannot love anyone, Alfred.”
“That’s not true. You love the Ludlows. I have seen it. And you must love your friends—the ones back in London.”
“I am fond of them all. I would not call it love.”
“I want you to want it. I want you to love me.”
For the first time, she steps forward. She places her hand on my cheek.
“I care for you, Alfred, more than I thought I’d be able to care for any man. I certainly could marry no other.”
“You don’t want me as your husband, Annabelle.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“It shouldn’t. I am a selfish creature, Alfred. I will have everything my own way. I want you—and I will have you. And you needn’t suffer any more consequences than necessary. When we tire of one another, you may take other lovers. I will not object.”
“I will not tire of you, Annabelle,” I say, outrage suffusing my body at the callous thought. “That is not the kind of marriage I want.”
“You are too innocent,” she fumes. “You don’t understand the ways of things between men and women. You will tire of me as I will tire you. We willwantto live separately one day. But we needn’t hasten to that point. But enough of this now. We must marry immediately. We must marry tonight. We will have Mr. Peabody do it. And I will have Mr. Perry prepare the marriage articles. All you will have to do is sign.”
“And you will force me away from you if I don’t agree?”
She raises her chin once more.
