It occurred to her that no one had had time to apprise Beau of his windfall. She made it a point to smile. “Just that it might please you to know that I do not come to you empty-handed. Besides my bright mind and charming personality—and dowry, of course—you will gain my grandparents’ acres across the road from Delamere. Their estate agent Mr. Clark has been keeping it in good heart for me…well, for you.”
“How do you know?”
“I have made it a point to work with him over the years to keep it healthy. After all, it would have been mine if I hadn’t married by my thirtieth birthday.”
Now he looked positively flummoxed. “You? Why you? Hasn’t your father or brother seen to it?”
She laughed. “Father is brilliant in the fields of diplomacy and governance. Not mangel-wurzels. I seem to be far more suited to the task.”
Poor Beau. He had no idea what to do with this revelation. “I don’t suppose you have found the same kind of affinity for piano. Or embroidery, like a normal wife. Watercolors? Charades?”
She grinned. “Heavens, no. And as you well remember, no one wants to hear me sing. I have a rooster on the estate who makes far more pleasing sounds. I have decided instead to focus on those skills at which I do excel.”
He shook his head, but there was a bit of a gleam in his eyes. “Heaven help us all.”
The carriage trundled along. An uncomfortable silence once again stretched between them.
“And now?” she finally asked, plucking at her gloves. “You decided where we are going?”
“I did.”
She looked up to find that he’d turned to watch out the window and waited. And waited. “Please do not play this game with me, Beau.”
It had been hard enough making it through the wedding breakfast, fending off personal questions and smiling, always smiling as if the wedding were an uncomplicated joy instead of the disaster she was beginning to fear. But if Beau was going to make this even more difficult, she might just stop the coach and get out, no matter what anybody said.
They couldn’t be more disappointed in her anyway. Oh, they might have smiled and acted happy for her—well, except for Perfect Pamela, and truthfully Pamela’s spite made Pip smile—but Pip suspected that since most of the witnesses to her abrupt wedding would never know the real reason for her ruin, they would assume all the wrong things and either scorn her or pity her. What else could it be after Beau’s exhibition with the Perfect Pamela only moments before the fatal discovery? And with everything else suddenly on her plate, Pip was simply not in the mood for that.
Maybe it was better she and Beau were getting away for a bit somewhere no one knew her. The two of them might be able to wrestle this marriage to the ground out of sight of an audience before it overwhelmed them. At least agree on terms and conditions. Immediate terms and conditions. They could work on long-range expectations later when the shock had dimmed a bit.
“Beau?” she nudged. “A destination?”
He finally looked over at her, but in the shadowy coach, she couldn’t quite catch his expression. “The duchess reminded me that the other guests would expect us to leave,” he said.
Pip nodded. “I imagine it would look odd if we simply moved luggage around.”
“They would also expect that we would wish for privacy, I imagine.”
She almost didn’t answer. “I imagine they would.”
Would you?She wanted to ask.Wouldn’t you like to see where that kiss might have led us?
She knew where it had lefther. She was still beset by that shattering jolt of surprise, the flood of heat and wonder, the astonishing hunger that seemed to have overtaken her from nothing more than a man’s hands on her. One particular man’s hands. Blast him again.
It had frightened her. It had astonished her. And like a persistent itch, it still sparked along her nerve endings to the point of destroying her patience.
Tonight was her wedding night. As opposed to most girls of her acquaintance, she knew exactly what would happen. If it happened. If Beau could overcome his resentment long enough to consummate this marriage. She knew Beau would never intentionally hurt her, no matter how he felt. But she suspected that by not touching her at all, he would hurt her worse.
Should she ask him? Did she want to face the definite rejection and begin dealing with it? Or did she still want to pointlessly hope?
Evidently, she wanted to hope. Losing the courage to put the question to the test, she spent a few moments watching autumn approach outside her window as they trundled down the road, the heat in her chest and belly and limbs refusing to ease.
“Will someone be bringing our horses along?” she asked. “I’d rather not leave Macha behind. She pines.”
She finally got his attention. He frowned. “Is that what you named your horse?”
She made sure to grin. “After the Irish warrior goddess? Why yes. I think it fits. Not only is my girl fierce, but the goddess Macha is also known as Macha Mong Ruad, of the red hair. And my Macha shines like a copper penny. I can’t wait to show her to you.”
He sighed, as if accepting an unpleasant truth. Pip refused to cater to him.
