“Your mother . . . ” he said, seizing on a topic that neither committed him nor encouraged her.
“Oh yes, I understand that you have met. Thank you for not . . . er, thank you for playing along.”
But perhaps her mother was not a safe topic. Before he could stop himself, Cassin asked, “She will consent to your marriage to a perfect stranger?”
“My mother is only marginally interested in my carryings on, as I’ve said.” She smiled a sad smile. “Her great love is horses, followed by these dogs, followed by my late father. If I tell her I’ve grown fond of an ea—that is, if I tell her I’ve grown fond of a remotely suitable man, she will agree to the marriage without much further thought. After that, her obligation to me will be complete. She is acutely adherent to propriety, and she holds me accountable in the same way, but she will be perfectly happy to have me taken off her hands. If I go to my aunt as a married woman, well—she did her best, didn’t she?”
“How can you be so sure?” Cassin’s sisters endured unrelenting interest from their mother.
“Beg your pardon, my lord? Wilhelmina?” sang a voice from the doorway.
Cassin and Lady Willow spun to see Lady Lytton. She had secured a scarf tightly around her head, and a servant hovered behind her with an open coat. Cassin shoved himself to his feet.
“I cannot be kept from the morning exercises any longer, I’m afraid,” the countess said. “May I trust that your visit will draw to its natural conclusion very soon? I shan’t wait, but Abbott can show the earl out when you’ve said your good-byes. It was a pleasure to meet you, my lord. If you are available, I host a dinner every Thursday—the local racing community mostly, but I should be delighted to have you as my guest—”
“I am unsure of the length of my stay in Surrey, my lady,” he said. “If . . . er, business keeps me in the country, I should be delighted to attend.” He cleared his throat.
“Lovely,” said the countess. “It’s all settled, then.” And then she was gone, trailed by a line of dogs.
When the front door could be heard opening and shutting, Lady Willow rose. “My mother will believe what she wishes to believe,” she said.
He looked down at her. She stood so close their arms brushed. He saw the blues and greens of her eyes. He counted three freckles beside her mouth. Her coiffure had begun to drop curls onto her shoulders. She rubbed her open palm on her skirt, smiling a brilliant smile.
“Dinner on Thursday is not a requirement,” she said. “Truly, fewer betrothals could be less of a bother than the one I offer. You may ask her for my hand, the lawyers will draw up the settlement contract, the ceremony will be small and brief. And it will be done.”
It was those words that did it.
Willow Hunnicut was pretty and clever and . . . something more—something he could not quite put his finger on—but this hardly meant he shouldmarryher. He did not want a wife. Moreover, he did not want a wife he hardly knew and would never know, apparently. He had misled her and indulged himself long enough.
“I cannot,” he blurted.
“Cannot do . . . which?” She reversed one small step.
“I cannot—will not marry you,” he said. “As I said yesterday. Not for any amount of money. It is out of the question.”
She took another step back. Then another. “But . . . ”
“It’s why I came.”
“It’s why you came?”she repeated. “But . . . but was it . . . Have I . . . ”
“It’s nothing that you’ve said or done,” he said. Irritation punctuated his words. He was angry with himself for saying too little too late. She took another step back.
“The arrangement you offer is not viable,” he said.
“But if you knew this, why did you . . . ” Her voice had gone high and airy. “I’ve gone on and on. You allowed me to—”
“It was a mistake not to reveal my intentions when I arrived. I apologize.”
Another step back, another. She collided with the sofa and tipped backward until she sat. “A mistake?A mistake?”
She popped up on a quick intake of breath. The lone, remaining dog jumped and barked at her feet. “You sat quietly and listened to me prattle on and on about my talents and ambitions and my . . .health—even while you knew all along. I told you—” She spoke in profile. “I told you things that I never reveal to anyone.”
He held out his hands as if to explain, but he couldn’t think of a useful thing to say.
“Good-bye,” she said, and she moved to the farthest end of the sofa. “My mother was correct about Abbott. He will show you to the door.”
“No, you—”
