It had been a true statement; Stoker did not strike women. Also true, she could not remain here. But he’d lost track of whether he was trying to convince her of something, or she was trying to convince him.
You will save her by marrying her,he thought.
She will die if you do not.
“This is madness,” she said, letting out a little laugh, and she turned away. Stoker felt something like panic rise in his throat.
“I will take your dowry and go,” he rushed to say. “You have my word.”
She turned back. “You require the dowry money so badly?”
This, he elected not to answer.
She continued, “Or has your misspent life treated you with such callousness, you have no aspirations to real happiness? You can simply marry anyone, no bearing on your future. It simply won’t matter.”
Stoker was not accustomed to women weighing his aspirations or his happiness. He also was not accustomed to lying. He was many regrettable things, but never dishonest. He opened his mouth to say,I don’t require the money, not in the way my partners do,but the look on her face caused him to close it. He paused.
Stoker and his partners were embarking on an import voyage to bring guano fertilizer to the farms of England. It was new and untried and potentially a windfall beyond their wildest imaginings, but they could benefit from some financing to raise a crew and provision. They’d considered the girls’ advertisement because their dowries would finance the first expedition and then some.
That is, his partners had considered the girls’ advertisements. His partner Joseph had fallen into something like love-at-first-sight with his potential bride. And Cassin really did need the money.
Stoker was not in love nor destitute. But what if he married as a way to end the exhausting business of saving people?
No more Stoker as hero, Stoker as savior, Stoker as someone else’s deliverance from... whatever.
The sacrifice of marrying Sabine Noble—of marrying anyone at all—would be so great, he could retire.
After her, he could walk away.
It was helpful that the marriage described by Sabine was meant to be completely detached, with oceans between their lives, and wholesale unaccountability. It was really no marriage at all, except by name.
Stoker took a deep breath. He looked her over once again, and she raised up to her full height. She hiked her chin. He felt something twitch and sink inside his chest, like sand dropping into a hole on the beach.
This was a woman who had choices, he thought. She could have her pick of men. The dowry she advertised was significant and her beauty was dark and rare and, if he was being honest, took his breath away. Coal-black hair, long lashes that shielded emerald eyes, perfect nose, perfect mouth—perfect everywhere. Even beaten by her uncle, even desperate, he could not look away.
“Mr. Stoker?” Sabine prompted. “Why would you marry a stranger, if you’ve sworn never to marry?”
“For the dowry money,” he heard himself say. He would blame it on the money but know it was one final act of altruism for a pretty girl in a bad situation.
“Right,” she said, her voice tentative but also official. “You will do it for the money, and I will do it to leave Sir Dryden. I suppose it’s all settled.” She took two steps back.
“Do you have to gain your uncle’s permission to leave home and marry? Does he control the dowry?”
She shook her head. “No. My father prepared the dowry years ago, thank God. Sir Dryden may remain locked in the cupboard until he rots, for all it would affect me.”
“Are you safe from him tonight? Eventually, a servant will release him.”
She shrugged. “I think we should do it as quickly as we can. I can go to my friend Willow’s aunt’s house in Belgravia. This has been Willow’s plan. Let me speak to my mother. She has a devoted lady’s maid who will see to her care when I go. She will miss me but be relieved that I am free of him.”
“Right,” Stoker said, working to keep his voice normal. “We shall do it as quickly as we can.”
