Tessa’s throat was dry.Her palms were damp.She surreptitiously wiped them on her skirt, swallowed again, then cleared her throat and said in a voice that was slightly hoarse, “Then if you’re sure, I will marry you whenever you want.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, doubts assailed her.What had she done?She’d had no intention of marrying again, but now, with no home to go to, and no means of support—and with the other options open to her being so difficult and fraught with problems—andwith that dreadful scandal, which he really didn’t deserve—she’d given in and taken the easy way out.
Only now it didn’t seem so easy.
It was ‘a practical solution’ she reminded herself.Necessary to stop the scandal from spreading.But it would mean everything for her, and what for him?Companionship?It was a very unequal bargain.
But it was what he said he wanted.So why was she shaking?
“Thank you.”He rose to his feet.
Tessa stood and braced herself.What did he expect?Was he going to kiss her now?He stood before her—she was so glad he hadn’t gone down on one knee, but had proposed in a cool, unemotional way—announced it, actually.We need to marry.
He held out his hands, and a little bemused, she placed her hands in his.Her hands were cold, his were big and warm.
He bent his head and kissed each hand lightly, first the left, then the right.She shivered at the touch.
Looking down at the dark head bent over her hands, she felt strangely moved, even a little bit tearful.As a gesture it seemed almost romantic, but then he released her hands and straightened, and his eyes were as gray and steady as ever.
She breathed again.He wasn’t being romantic; it was just good manners.Theirs would be apracticalmarriage.He’d assured her he wasn’t the slightest bit romantic.Friendship and companionship, that’s what he wanted.She could give him that.
She would give him that with every fiber of her being.
Voices sounded in the hallway.Lady Gosforth had returned from her unusually early shopping expedition.The drawing room door opened and she stood there, casting a shrewd eye over them.
“Well?”she demanded as she entered the room, discarding shawl and hat and shopping as she went.The butler followed, picking them up as they fell.“Well?”she repeated, seating herself on the chaise.“Tea, Peverill, and some of those cat’s tongue biscuits.”She turned back to Tessa and her nephew.“And I say again, well?Cat got your tongue, Marcus?”
“Not at all, Aunt Maude,” he said smoothly.“But ‘well’ is hardly a question.And good morning to you, too.”
“Pshaw!Of course it’s a question.You know perfectly well what I’m askin’.”
Marcus inclined his head.“Lady Hewitt has agreed to marry me.You may wish us happy.”
“Excellent!”The old lady stripped off her gloves, tossed them aside and turned to Tessa.“Thought for a while you didn’t have the sense God gave a cat.Now, off you go, Marcus.This gel and I have a grand wedding to plan.”
“Oh, please, no.”The words burst from Tessa.The thought of a big society wedding made her feel ill.Everyone—the women especially—would despise her.Bad enough that she’d twice married an old man for his money.But no young society lady dreamed of marrying an octogenarian, so although they might have despised her for it, their noses had not been put out of joint.
But virtually every match-making mama—and grandmother and aunt— had been angling to wed their darling to the handsome, wealthy and titled Earl of Alverleigh, one of the biggest prizes on the marriage mart.
They wouldn’t just despise her; they would never forgive her.
“No?”Lady Gosforth echoed ominously.She fished out her lorgnette and trained it on Tessa.“Changed your mind already, gel?”
“No.I made a promise and will keep it, but I don’t want a big society wedding.”
“Of course you do,” the old lady declared.“Marcus is an earl and earls, my dear, don’t have shabby little hole-in-the-corner weddings.”
Marcus cut in.“No, we have small, dignified, family ones.”
His aunt gave him an incredulous look.“Small?”
“Small,” he confirmed.Marcus glanced at Tessa, one eyebrow raised, and relieved, she nodded.
“No big wedding breakfast?”his aunt persisted.
“No.”
She pouted.“What about a wedding ball?”
