Lady Demsworth clasped her hands in her lap. “Please do not be shy, Miss Moore. I am wholly at your disposal and will be the soul of discretion.”
Having known her for so short a time, could I trust Lady Demsworth with my secret? Would I be ruining Clara by admitting my need? Whether we were ruined now or later, we could not change our circumstance, and truth always found a path one way or another.
“Please,” I said, before I lost the nerve. “Do not feel in the least obligated toward me. My endeavor with Winter is unequal to a favor of this magnitude. All I ask is for your connections, and if none exist that prove of benefit, I am satisfied solely by you entertaining the thought.”
She smiled. “Go on, dear. You have my complete attention.”
I stole a glance at the closed door behind me and forced my hands to remain still. Whatever happened next was completely out of my control, but I had to ask.
“I think you know why Clara and I are here. We were so grateful for the invitation, especially Clara, and we’ve quite enjoyed our time with your company. But there are things that Clara does not know about our future, things that I have only just been told, and I fear we will find ourselves in greater need financially sooner than expected. And so I must ask—do you have any connections that could offer a living or—”
“My dear girl,” Lady Demsworth stopped me, grasping my arm with a motherly touch I hadn’t felt in years, “will Lord Gray leave you nothing?”
It was the question I feared the most. The answer could cost us everything should Sir Ronald truly prize a wealthy dowry. But I’d already given the truth away. Lady Demsworth merely sought confirmation.
“He will not.” I wanted to look at my hands, but forced myself to meet her gaze. “My father’s estate was entailed to a distant cousin five years ago who refuses a connection with us. My mother added nothing to the marriage, as she was estranged from her family after the scandal. We are quite literally left with nothing. I would appreciate your discretion. I think you can relate to having undesirable circumstances thrust upon you.”
She lowered her chin with evident compassion. “More than you know. I am terribly sorry to hear this, Miss Moore.”
“Please, call me Amelia. I cannot tell you the whole of my secrets and have such formality between us.”
“Amelia, then,” she agreed. “As it happens, I have just the situation for you, and I have longed for the opportunity to speak with you about it.” A new excitement entered her voice. “Allow me to elaborate. The person I spoke of two nights ago—the one needing marriage advice. I was referring to my nephew.”
I took in a deep breath, blinking, my tongue suddenly numb. I had not expected her to answer so swiftly.
She continued. “He has recently lost his wife, and though he has no desire to remarry for love, he wishes for a wife to help guide his household and see to his young daughters. He is thirty-four, quite wealthy, and very handsome, if I may say so.”
My breath caught, my heart racing in my chest. I had not expected marriage. Not like this. Yet, here it was, my opportunity. Practical and sensible. A life of security for myself and, if necessary, Clara as well. Better yet, if she accepted Sir Ronald, we would be able to see each other as often as we wished, with nothing to keep us apart.
“If I may be completely honest,” Lady Demsworth said, “I’ve had you in mind for him since our conversation, but I felt it more prudent to speak to you at the end of the fortnight. His mother was my eldest sister, and I promised her I would help him in any way I could. He and Ronald were not the easiest of friends, but I am sure that could change if reason necessitated it.
“As I said before, he has asked me to undertake the task of finding him a suitable wife. One who sees marriage in a practical light. Who does not expect love as a result. And I am happy to look no further if you accept.”
Was this really happening? Must I choose right now? So many questions flooded my senses, I could not keep them all in. “Where does he live? And what does he do? How old are his daughters, exactly, and when does he expect to marry?” I crossed my arms and then uncrossed them again. Did I even have a right to ask such questions? Didn’t one simply accept a marriage of convenience based on ... convenience?
“Might I send word for him today? I could invite him for a day to answer your questions in person. He is a good man, Amelia, and will be a good friend. And perhaps in time you could find a happy companionship together.”
I could not argue. She was right. Besides, what choice did I have? Here was an open invitation for companionship, nothing more. A man whose heart had already been taken, who required only friendship in exchange for security. Surely that was what I wanted, wasn’t it?
For a reason I could not explain, my memory flashed to Peter crawling out from beneath a rickety table in the dress shop, the carefree manner in which he asked if he could assist me.
Did he feel for me as I did for him? Would it even matter? I knew my sister; if Clara did not hold Sir Ronald’s heart, she would rather me tie her to a cousin Sir Ronald seldom saw than to Georgiana’s only sibling. Our life was like a riddle, one that needed solving, and time was running out.
“Of course. Thank you, Lady Demsworth,” I said meekly. “Can we not expose the situation just yet? I’d like to meet him and, perhaps, accept him in person.”
“Of course, my dear, of course.” She clasped her hands together. “How you will admire him; he is such a delight. We were brokenhearted by the loss of his wife, but how wonderful it would be to give him a companion who will treat him as well as Elizabeth did.”
I could only nod, lost in thought.
“I shall write to him now. He will wish to meet you and propose to you in person, and I am certain he will come right away.”
She left me alone, listening to the sound of my own breathing. This was really happening. I would marry a man for convenience, for security and comfort. Clara and I would be safe. She could have all the time in the world to find a match if Sir Ronald refused her advances. We would be secure once and for all. Was that not all that mattered? I’d assumed the responsibility of practicality over love after Mother died, but now, face to face with the reality of a loveless marriage, the lights in the room seemed to dim.
What was love to me anyway? Pain, disappointment, loss. To have love was to be vulnerable and open to injury. This match would secure my resolve against it. This one choice would take away any hope of love I’d buried all those years ago with Father, and then Mother.
But how could I be sure that love was not worth the risk? I’d never been in love, never kissed a man, never felt that tingling in my chest that Father claimed to feel for Mother when they’d first met.
Or had I? Peter’s touch, his smile, laughing with him as we chased Winter in the middle of nowhere. I’d never felt such happiness, such belonging. It had almost felt like ... home.
