“Never mind,” he said quickly. “I hope this first one suits. It sounded perfect, but I suppose it’s the agent’s job to make any property sound ideal.”
“Even one with a plethora of mice,” Beatrice added.
“If it doesn’t suit, there are other homes for sale.”
“I say,” Delia put forth, “I’m looking forward to poking about in someone else’s house.”
Greer caught Beatrice’s eyes. “Truth be told,” he said, “I am too. It’s fun.”
With her expression lightening, perhaps enjoying herself against her will, Beatrice confessed, “Me, too.”
When the carriage drew up in front of the first townhouse, he doubted they needed to look further. It was on a square with a park out front, not a corner unit, but there was a back garden and a mews for his new carriage. He hoped Beatrice liked it.
“It’s grand,” said the forthright Delia as they assembled on the doorstep and rang the bell. The estate agent let them in and talked unceasingly for twenty minutes about every detail in every room for three floors. Greer was ready to muzzle the man for his prattle, mostly because it had kept Beatrice from expressing her opinions, and he wanted to know her thoughts.
Finally, when the man was spouting forth on the quality of the handrailing belonging to the main staircase, Greer snapped. “Mr. Spellman, would you be so kind as to let us have a few moments alone to wander the home. Perhaps you can tell Mrs. Delia about the quality of the plumbing in the laundry room.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Mr. Spellman protested.
“Mrs. Delia has final say as to whether Mr. Carson purchases the house,” Beatrice said. “If the servants’ quarters aren’t up to her standards, then he cannot possibly take the place. You know what they say, Mr. Spellman, about a happy servant.”
He frowned. “No, what?”
Beatrice shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know.” With that confounding statement, she walked down the hallway to the back of the house.
“She’s right of course,” Greer told the estate agent, who nodded in agreement. “The laundryandthe servants’ quarters, if you please.” He wandered out of the room and along the corridor, keeping an ear cocked until he heard Mr. Spellman and Beatrice’s maid go downstairs. Then he dashed from one doorway to the next, finally finding Beatrice staring out the window to the back of the house.
“Thank you for your assistance,” he said, standing beside her.
“You’re more than welcome. The man spoke as if he’d never had a chance to say a word in his life and had stored them all up for us.”
Greer laughed. “What do you think of it?”
Even seeing her only in profile, he could tell her expression tightened, and he feared she would say she didn’t like it. Personally, he thought it splendid.
“Anyone would be lucky to live in such a nice house,” she said finally. “I’m sure you and Lady Emily will be happy here.”
Before he could speak, she turned to face him. “I mean, I’m not confident of that at all. You might not be suited to one another, and the lady might be a stick who doesn’t enjoy a bit of fun. No offense to your future wife.”
“The woman I want for my wife knows how to enjoy more than a bit of fun,” he assured her, taking a step forward.
She backed up, her cheeks paling. “I just realized, you shouldn’t be here alone with me, especially not while speaking of her. And she doesn’t look the sort to have fun, if I may say so.”
“You may. However, I am not with you while speaking of her. I’m with you while speaking ofyou. For quite plainly, it’s you I love, and you whom I wish to marry. Will you marry me, Miss Rare-Foure, and live in this house? Or would you prefer to see the one with the mice?”
He watched the play of emotions cross her face, a beloved face he’d come to depend upon seeing often, a face he wanted to wake up to every morning and go to sleep beside every night. A small frown creased her forehead, then her eyes widened, her lips opening in surprise, and then she gasped and clamped a hand to her mouth.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, for he was never entirely sure where he stood with his toffee-maker.
“How can it be?” she asked.
“How can it be what?” he returned.
“How can I answer yes, knowing you will lose your inheritance?”
He shook his head at her words. “You are worth more than any manor house or piece of land. Beatrice, you are worth a lifetime of love.”
She backed up another step, looking alarmed. “You mustn’t say that, nor change your perfect plan. It was the entire purpose of your coming to London and finding a titled lady. You said yourself that your estate turns a profit but needs you in charge to restore it. More importantly, you said you loved it. I cannot let you throw that away when you are about to achieve your goal.”
