A frown tightened his handsome, autocratic face. “In a month, you will reach your majority and be free to marry whomever you choose. If you can—”
“She will not allow me to wait. You must help me, Henry.”
Her words seemed to settle into the very fabric of the house, sinking into silence until the darkened shadows of the hallwayseemed to quiver with distress. The first stab of true panic went through her, cold and cruel.
All this time, she believed he would help.Couldhelp. He was a gentleman in his own right, an adult. A man. If he could not help, what else could she do?
“Have you spoken with him?” he asked. “Perhaps you could—”
“He would not listen to reason.”
“But if—”
“No. I have thought it all through. We shall have to go to Gretna Green.”
He swallowed, hard, and she felt it as though he had slapped her. “Louisa,” he said, and his voice cracked. “Gretna Green?”
“What other choice do we have?”
He shook his head. “That isn’t a choice,” he said jerkily. “Surely you understand—how would we get there?”
“You would hire a carriage, of course. A chaise and four.” Anything, so long as she could escape this marriage. “You have to help me, Henry. You promised we would be married when I was of age.”
He stiffened as though she had been the one to strike him now, a flush coming to his cheeks, dark in the gloom. “And I meant it. But I do not have the funds to flee across the country, Louisa. Surely you know—when I said marry, I meant properly, a small wedding in a small church. The Banns read.”
“We could travel post,” she said, desperate now.
“We could,” he said slowly. “But I have no funds for accommodation along the way. And Bolton—if we travelled post, he would be able to find us without trouble. He’d catch us, and then things would be so much worse for you.” He caught her hand, squeezing it with the same desperation she felt. “I don’t have his influence or his wealth or his reach. He is an earl, and a rich one, and I havenothing. I have no way to take you to Gretna Green, and if I were to keep you away somewhere—to hide you—until you came of age, we would both be ruined. Gentlemen do not compromise ladies of quality.”
Tears, terrible and uncontrolled, rose to the back of her nose. “So you would rather I married another?”
“No, of course not!” He reared back and paced the hallway, hands combing through his hair as though he needed something to do with them. “But what would you have me do? You come here expecting the impossible—if I could I would, but where would I get the money in time? You are to be married tomorrow: I could go to a moneylender, but it would be too late. And my father—” He gave a bitter, angry laugh. “Perhaps he has the money, but heaven knows he would not give it to me, even to marry the woman I love.”
“You could apply to him,” she whispered.
“Ever since your father’s death,” he said gently, “I have known how incapable I am of providing for your mother. Or even for you. My family’s disapproval I could weather, but what of yours?”
“I need nothing more than you.” Her hands shook as she clasped them in front of her. “Please, Henry. I would bear it all, all manner of poverty and want, if you would bear it with me.”
“I would if I could, but how?” There was real agony in his voice; he had not stopped pacing until now, when at the other end of the dimly lit hallway he turned to face her. “What would you have me do, Louisa?”
“Anything,” she whispered, “so long as I do not have to marry him.”
“Perhaps . . .” The words were an effort. “Perhaps Bolton is a better choice given your current straitened circumstances. He can provide for you, he wants to marry you—perhaps it won’t be a love match, but you will have everything you need, and your mother will be well provided for.”
She stepped back. “You can’t mean that.”
Shafted moonlight through a tiny window above the front door illuminated the devastation on his face. This was her Henry Beaumont, the man whom she had loved for two years, and he was letting her go.
She could not accept that there was no other solution. Where there was love, and will, there wasalwaysanother way.
“I would marry you if I had more than a pair of shillings to my name,” he said, voice edged with frustration. “As it is, I could hardly afford to pay for a wedding. And if there were not your mother to think of, I would risk it anyway. But there is, and we both know that she expects your husband to support her.” He dragged an exhausted hand down his face. “Something I cannot do in my present circumstances.”
“So you would rather I marry Bolton?”
"I would rather neither of us were in this situation, and I'd rather have more than an instant to make a decision for the rest of our life. But ever since your father's death, I've known how incapable I am of providing for your mother in my current position. Perhaps it would be wise to marry someone whose financial situation is not plagued by debt and uncertainty.” His hand fell to his side. “That person is not me, Louisa. Not right now. I wish it were. If I could wrangle control of the estate from my father, I would, but the eyes of the law do not support it, and neither does he. So short of ruining us both, what am I to do?”
He had not seen the way Bolton looked at her and addressed her; he did not know that although it seemed a good match, it would be insupportable. She did not know how to tell him. Not when she had already pleaded for his help, and he had denied her.
