“Yes, Papa. But because we have corresponded regularly, I came to know Cathleen well. And, after all, sheisMama’s niece.”
He glared at her, her gentle rebuke having failed to soften his anger. “Have Sir Ambrose and I labored under the misconception that you and Mr. Feather have eloped?”
“We are not married, Papa.” Erina glanced at Harry, wishing she’d had the matter out with him before this. Their fathers had formed an even closer alliance, intent on seeing her and Harry tie the knot.Nowthere will be no dissuading them, she thought forlornly. Marrying a man who didn’t love her went against everything she wished for herself. Harry was a decent man and would be kind to her, but knowing he didn’t love her, her pride would suffer. She would lose a sense of herself.
“This mishap has caused a sticky situation, I grant you, but it can soon be put right,” Harry said ambiguously.
“Oh?” her father asked. “And how might that be achieved?”
Erina tried to think of a way to stop the conversation but felt like she was sinking into deep water, far from the light.
Harry glanced at her. “I should like to speak to Erina alone, if I may.”
“I should think you’ve had more than enough time to… to… talk,” her father said, his face flushing the color of a pomegranate. “My daughter has been in your bedchamber without a chaperone, often, it seems, and for some considerable time.”
“But nothing you would censure has happened between us, Papa,” Erina rushed to explain. “Mr. Feather is a gentleman.”
“Now, Rountree, calm down or you’ll give yourself the apoplexy,” Sir Ambrose said. “The boy has been injured and is in no shape to… Well, enough said. Let’s sit down to a meal and talk this through sensibly.” He guided her father to the door. “We’ll just leave this to the young people to sort out.” He raised his eyebrows at Harry. “Then we’ll know how to proceed.”
“Well… I’m not sure that’s wise, when these two get their heads together…” Her father’s look over his shoulder at her was an odd mixture of anger, despair, and hope. “Very well. You have half an hour.”
The door closed. Erina looked at Harry wordlessly. “Come and sit down, Erina,” he said. “We don’t have long.”
She sank onto the chair beside the bed. “Harry, I know about the… I found the… the…”
He nodded. “The marriage license.”
“Yes. I didn’t mean to pry… It fell out of your pocket. But I don’t want you to feel you have to…”
Harry sighed. “Erina, surely you must have realized our remarkable journey would have to end like this.”
“‘Remarkable’?” she asked, seizing on the word.
“Yes. For me, it has been.”
“But you said you always wanted a quiet life.”
He reached out and took her hand. “Yes, after the war, I wanted to shut myself away. You’ve cured me of that wish. I’ll always be eternally grateful to you.”
“You’re grateful?” It wasn’t the emotion she sought from him, but it still gave her hope. Might he love her?
“I’ll need you to keep me up to snuff, though.” He raised her hand to his lips. “Will you marry me, Erina? I’m aware you don’t wish to wed, but I’ll try to be a good husband. I promise never to try to turn you into a biddable wife. Knowing how hopeless a task that would be,” he added with a smile and a squeeze of her hand before releasing it. “And it will make two old men happy.”
He did not mention love. She sucked in a breath as her dreams of love floated away like a soap bubble.
“You are my best friend, Harry,” she said, finally accepting defeat. And it was true. He was, even though they’d known each other for such a short time. “I would be honored to marry you.”
His smile was as warm and steady as the summer sun. His brown eyes were soft yet compelling. “Then come here and kiss me.”
Her pulse racing, she bent over him. He held the back of her head with his free hand. His lips pressed lightly against hers and then he deepened the kiss. She teetered forward and placed a hand on his good shoulder to steady herself, wanting to move closer.
The door flew open. “That’s enough of that!” cried her outraged father.
“So much for giving us privacy while they dined,” she whispered, breaking away reluctantly.
Chapter Seventeen
Some weeks hadpassed since he’d last heard from Harry. Jack, hoping all was well with them, gazed around his modest yet comfortable rooms at Albany. His stay was at an end, his luggage delivered to the townhouse. The staff had arrived weeks earlier, and Jack had been introduced to the butler, Livermore, and his new housekeeper, Mrs. March. A French chef had been engaged. Now, the house quietly hummed as servants went about their business while the smells of beeswax and lavender perfumed the air.
