Maybe he was right. Maybe love wasn’t as important as she thought it was. Maybe passion and friendshipweredependable bricks with which to build a marriage. As she tested letting go of some of her old expectations, she found there was one she couldn’t relinquish.
“What about Imogen?” she forced herself to ask.
“She will have no bearing on our marriage.” His expression was grave. “I give you my promise to be a good and faithful husband. I won’t lie to you, and I ask that you return the courtesy. The fact that we can comfortably discuss Imogen is a good sign, I daresay, of the honesty that is possible between us. Of our ability to communicate and work together as a team.”
He was so convincing, even when she knew their path wouldn’t be easy. In truth, she didn’t know what lay ahead. Yet if she had any talent, it was this: she was good at adapting and making the best of what she had. Rarely in her life had she been given anything whole or perfect. Right now, she had a handsome duke who desired and liked her, who wanted to give her a home and a family.
How much more could she ask for?
“Say you will be mine, Fancy,” he coaxed. “Say you’ll build a future with me.”
“I will.” She released a breath. “On one condition.”
She was an optimist, but she wasn’t stupid. She learned from her past mistakes. If she was to venture into uncertain territory, she would take measures to protect herself.
The softness left his eyes, his mouth taking on an oddly cynical bent. “Name your terms.”
Since there was no delicate way to put it, she said in a rush, “I don’t want you to kiss me.”
She didn’t think Knight could be taken aback, but his slackened jaw suggested it was possible.
“May I ask why not?” he asked with obvious care.
“Because you don’t want to,” she said frankly. “And I don’t want to be kissed unless you mean it.”Unless you love me.“I ’ave my pride too, Knight.”
“I never doubted that.” He cleared his throat. “What about…other marital activities?”
Her cheeks flamed, but she said steadily, “As you said, we desire one another, and there is nothing dishonest in acting on those feelings. I want to be a true wife to you, Knight.”
“I am glad to hear it,” he said softly. “Because I mean to be a true husband to you.”
He cradled her jaw, leaning in. When his lips brushed tenderly against her forehead, she trembled. And prayed that she had made the right choice.
13
Two mornings later,Severin awaited Fancy in the blacksmith’s shop in Gretna Green.
Although the place hadn’t been used as a smithy in probably decades, the low-ceilinged room still bore the faint scent of smoke and heated minerals. The whitewashed walls and bouquets of local flora signaled the room’s current use as a wedding venue. Severin maintained an aura of calmness as the blacksmith “priest,” a Mr. Clewis, puttered impatiently by the anvil over which the marriages were conducted. Twice, Clewis had asked when the bride-to-be would arrive as he had several weddings scheduled for the day.
Severin had shut the man up with coin. Yet he couldn’t stem his own unease that Fancy might not show. What were the odds that he would be stood up not once, but twice for an elopement?
Granted, things hadn’t gotten this far with Imogen: they’d never left London, for she’d failed to show up at their appointed meeting place. He’d planned to take her here, to Gretna Green, a village just past the border of Scotland that was famous for its trade in expedient marriages. As Scotland’s marriage laws were less restrictive than English ones, Gretna had become a favorite destination for English elopements. Blacksmiths could legally carry out the ceremonies, officiating what were popularly known as “anvil weddings.”
Severin and the Sheridans had arrived yesterday in the late afternoon. Although Severin wasn’t eloping with Fancy, he did want to bind her legally to him as soon as possible. He’d booked an appointment at the blacksmith shop for ten o’clock sharp this morning, and Fancy was a quarter hour late. He wondered darkly if her father was behind her absence.
Sheridan had insisted that Fancy spend the night in the family wagon rather than at the inn where Severin had booked out an entire floor of rooms. For reasons that Severin frankly could not fathom, the tinker remained staunchly opposed to the union. Severin was prepared to take whatever steps necessary to gain the man’s acquiescence, if not approval, but Fancy had precluded his interference.
“Leave Da to me,” she’d said firmly. “I’ll see you at the blacksmith’s tomorrow.”
Despite her delicate looks and sweet manner, his bride-to-be had a determined streak to her personality. Severin was glad for it: she would need that obstinacy when they had to face his family and thetonback in London.
If he succeeded in claiming her as his duchess, that was.
Faced with the potential of Fancy leaving him at the altar—or anvil, as it were—Severin felt his remaining ambivalence about marrying her vanish. Whether she was suitable or not, he wanted her to be his wife, damnit.
He thought back to the condition Fancy had placed on their marriage, the only thing she had asked of him, and an odd spasm hit his chest. At the time, he’d thought that she was going to negotiate for something of material value. It would have been within her rights to ask for jewels, a quarterly allowance, and the like. His past lovers had bargained with him for such things, and he had been generous.
Yet Fancy had stunned him by asking for the opposite. By telling him that she didn’t want anything that he didn’t freely give. It struck him now that Fancy was the only woman who’d ever made him feel that he was…enough, just as he was.
