She had judged him quite insincere at that time.
“Don’t say things like that,” she said.
“What has this been about, then?” he asked, somehow turning them so that he lay on the inside of the bed, pressed against the wall, and she lay facing him, held firmly by his arms lest she fall off the bed. “Sex?”
She thought for a moment.
“Goodsex,” she said.
“Granted,” he agreed. “I did not bring you here for good sex, though, Claudia. Or notjustor even primarily for that.”
She would not ask him why, then. But he answered the unspoken question anyway.
“I brought you out here,” he said, “because I love you and because I believe you love me. Because I am free and you are. Because—”
She set her fingertips over his lips. He kissed them and smiled.
“I amnotfree,” she said. “I have a school to run. I have children and teachers dependent on me.”
“And are you dependent upon them?” he asked.
She frowned.
“It is a valid question,” he said. “Are you dependent upon them? Does your happiness, your sense of self, depend upon continuing your school? If it does, you have a genuine point. You have as much right to pursue your happiness as I have to pursue mine. Fortunately, Willowgreen can be run from a distance as it has been for the past number of years. Lizzie and I will take up residence in Bath. We will live there with you.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said.
“I will be as silly as I need to be,” he said, “to make things work between us, Claudia. I was in a basically arid relationship for twelve years even though I was fond of poor Sonia—she did, after all, give me Lizzie. I came within a whisker this year of entering into a marriage that would surely have brought me active unhappiness for the rest of my life. Now suddenly, just this evening, I am free. And at last I want to choose happiness. And love.”
“Joseph,” she said, “you are an aristocrat. You will be adukeone day. My father was a country gentleman. I have been a governess or teacher for eighteen years. You cannot just give up all you are to live at the school with me.”
“I would not have to give up anything,” he said. “NorcouldI if I wanted to. But one of us does not have to sacrifice our life for the sake of the other. We can both live, Claudia—and love.”
“Your father would have an apoplexy,” she said.
“Probably not,” he said. “But the matter would admittedly have to be broached carefully with him—yet firmly. I am his son, but I am also a person in my own right.”
“Your mother—”
“…would adore anyone who could make me happy,” he said.
“The Countess of Sutton—”
“Wilma can think or say or do what she likes,” he said. “My sister is certainly not going to rule my life, Claudia. Or yours. You are stronger than she is.”
“Theton—”
“…can go hang for all I care,” he said. “But there are precedents galore. Bewcastle married a country schoolteacher and got away with it. Why cannot I marry the owner and headmistress of a respected school for girls?”
“Willyou let me complete a sentence?” she asked him.
“I am listening,” he said.
“I could notpossiblylive the life of a marchioness or a duchess,” she said. “I could notpossiblymingle with thetonon a regular basis. And I could not possibly be your wife. You need heirs. I am thirty-five years old.”
“So am I,” he said. “And one heir will do. Or none. I would rather marry you and be childless apart from Lizzie than marry someone else and have twelve sons with her.”
“That sounds all very fine,” she said. “But it is not practical.”
