Monique laughed. “No. I assumed you had nothing to sleep in, and you need to get out of that damp dress. I brought you a night rail.”
“Thank you.”
“Send the bill to my solicitor,” Melcombe announced.
“That is not necessary,” Althea insisted.
“I am the reason you are here in the first place.” His eyes met hers. “Allow me to take care of you.”
Her stomach flipped with nervousness and anticipation, which she attempted to quell. How exactly did he wish to take care of her?
Monique placed the package on the table and retreated without a word, then stepped through the doors of what appeared to be a small pub, which was also part of the inn, and spoke with Mrs. Hemsley. If Monique needed to dine, then they should invite her to join them. Without Monique, Althea wasn’t certain what would have become of her today. Likely she’d be frozen at the side of the road.
It was too much to sort out and luckily the tankards were placed on the table. Perhaps some ale wasn’t such a bad idea.
However, before she could invite Monique to join them, Mrs. Hemsley handed the dressmaker a covered basket and she crossed through the crowded public room intent for the door.
Melcombe excused himself and approached Monique. “Please, allow me to escort you back across the street.”
“That is very kind of you, Lord Melcombe, but unnecessary.”
“I insist.” He did not give her an option but held the door then offered his arm.
Althea sipped her ale while she waited for Lord Melcombe to return.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Exactlywhatareyourintentions?” Monique demanded as soon as they stepped back into her dress shop.
“My intentions are marriage,” he answered honestly.
The reason Preston had escorted Monique was because he knew that Althea had spent the day with her and likely had spilled the whole of their encounters since she’d arrived in Willanton. As he had considered Monique somewhat as a friend, and because she assisted in Turner Textiles, Preston could not afford to lose either her friendship or respect.
“Miss Claywell did not mention anything about marriage, simply seduction.”
He pushed his fingers through his damp hair. “It’s because I haven’t mentioned it to her, yet.”
“When did you plan on doing so?” Monique fisted her hands on her hips and Preston blew out a sigh, then found himself confessing everything from when he first spied Althea in London to this morning, though he left out pertinent details that should not be discussed in polite company.
“You had better explain as soon as you return to her because Miss Claywell anticipates being sacked by your housekeeper and any offer from you would be that of ladylove. Certainly nothing as respectable as a wife.”
He stared at Monique. He knew she was correct.
“It isn’t so simple.” His reluctance stemmed from having to tell her the truth about the marriage proposal she’d already received. If he hadn’t withheld the truth from her in the beginning… He had and there was no point in worrying about what could have happened now.
If it was simply confessing his heart and asking her to be his wife, Preston had no difficulty doing so. It was the rest. And the fact that he stopped thinking when he gazed into her eyes…
He’d simply need to tell her the truth, the whole of it, somehow without looking at her, and hope she didn’t run from him again.
“It’s simple enough from where I’m standing because if you don’t confess, you will likely lose her, and she will be on the next mail coach going off to who knows where.”
“Eyemouth,” he muttered. She would leave him and go to her mother’s family.
“Go. She is sitting alone, in a public room at an inn.”
“Yes, of course.” He shouldn’t have left Althea so long, another mistake to add to the ones earlier.
Had he not given her time this morning, they’d not be here now. He should have dressed and gone after her immediately, but even then, as he prepared for the day, he knew that the words would fail him.
