“What? What do you mean? Ask me anything you like.”
“Fine. What if...” another pause “...I asked you to marry me?”
“I beg your pardon,” she chuckled. The acoustics of the stairwell had distorted his words. It sounded like he’d said,What if I masked you and carried me?
“Whatif,” he repeated, “we saw the betrothal through? What if you returned to Guernsey a married woman? My cousin could hardly marry you if you werealreadymarried.”
Ryan stopped climbing. She could no longer blame the acoustics; she didn’t understand because what he said made no sense. She turned back.
“You needn’t answer right away,” he said. “Think on it.”
“Forgive me,” she began. She swallowed. Her chestfelt like the weight of the manor house was lodged on top of it.
“It was Killian who suggested it,” he explained. “Yesterday. I dismissed the idea at first. But then, as I was riding to and from my camp, the notion began to take root.”
She heard his words, but certain phrases hit her squarely on the head, like cold, fat raindrops that rolled down one’s forehead and into the eyes; the prelude to a downpour.
... see the betrothal through... a married woman... dismissed the notion... take root... asked you to marry me...
“...because clearly,” he was saying, “you have a happy life in Guernsey with your family and—as you’ve said repeatedly, including just now—you don’t mean tofulfillthe betrothal. And I’ve my horses, and work, and my own home. We lead separate lives. But that doesn’t mean a hasty marriage wouldn’t protect you. While we carry on with these lives. Separately.” He put a hand to the wall and cocked his head, looking at her.
“Gabriel, stop,” she said. “I’ll need a moment. The notion of marriage is... is...”
“Not to overstate the obvious,” he said, “but don’t think of it as marriage in a traditional sense. I believe it’s called a union in name only? These sorts of arrangements are not widely seen, as far as I know, but certainly they are more common than for example the betrothal of infants as part of a loan.”
“How well informed you are on marriage rituals.”
“I take both London and Paris broadsheets and read voraciously. As anyone who has rifled through my possessions would know.”
Ryan looked at the wall, flat and smooth and chipped from years of servants running up and down these stairs. She herself was beginning to feel a bit chipped and cracked.
“We needn’t determine it now,” he said. “I only raise it because we might explore this option when we speak with Elise and Killian. Unless you are entirely opposed to the notion.”
“Alright,” Ryan said simply. Her mind was a jumble of emotions and contingencies and hope and defeat.
“Alright, we’ll not determine it now...” confirmed Gabriel “...or alright, you accept?”
Ryan wrinkled her brow and gaped at him, trying to understand him—toreallyunderstand him. It occurred to her that he was, in fact, very nervous to ask her this. The question had sort of popped out, and then he’d rambled. He was rambling still.
Certainly the suggestion of marriage—even a marriage where they lived separate lives—was a complete reversal. Earlier, he’d meant to lead her to the edge of the forest and deposit her on the side of the road. Now this?
His motivation was worth scrutiny. She would need more time; for now, she willed herself not to panic.
“I suppose I mean,” she said finally, “‘alright’ I’ll consider it?”
“Very good then,” he said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“No harm done?”
“No,” she agreed, although there was a very great chance that she would never be the same after this conversation.
“Carry on?” he suggested, indicating the stairs.
“Indeed.” She clipped out the word with confidence she did not feel, raised the candle, took up her skirts...
... and promptly missed a step.
