Charles brightened. “Do you think so?”
“I do.”
“But you’re still refusing my proposal?”
“I am.”
“But…” A troubled frown replaced his smile. “I was certain you’d say yes.”
Joanna wondered if he knew that was what every suitor had said before him. Except for Mr. Browning, who had turned bright red from the tips of his ears to the tip of his nose and run away without saying a single word.
Of all her proposals, his was her favorite.
“I’m sorry, Charles. I truly am. It’s a beautiful ring, and I am certain it will make a special womanveryhappy someday. But that woman is not going to be me.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
Joanna pursed her lips. Why did men think so little of a woman’s mind that they believed a few words could change it? Or that women always owed an explanation for their decision? When a man said no, he wasneverquestioned. And he never had to explain himself.
It was horribly unfair.
More than that, it was annoying.
And Joanna Thorncroft did not have patience for things that annoyed her. Especially when they were wearing pink/peach trousers.
“Charles—”
“I would be a good husband to you.” Drawing back his shoulders, Charles made himself as tall as he possibly could, but even by stretching into every inch of his five foot, seven inch frame, the top of his head still barely reached Joanna’s nose. “I have a good job.”
“Yourfatherhas a good job,” she corrected mildly.
“I will be receiving an excellent inheritance.”
“From your father.”
“I have a large house with ample cropland.”
“Charles, you still live with your parents!”
“And?” he asked, his brows knitting together.
“And…and I do not love you. I’m sorry,” she said. “I realize that must be difficult to hear.”
But Charles didn’t look hurt. He looked confused. “What does love have to do with anything?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Charles, why do you want to marry me?”
“Because—because I do.” Snapping the ring box closed, he shoved it back into his pocket and glanced away from her as the corners of his mouth pinched in a boyish pout. “Mother told me you would do this.”
“What exactly have I done?”
“You broke my heart.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
“Charles,” Joanna said firmly, placing her hands on his shoulders so he was forced to meet her gaze, “I didnotbreak your heart, you arenotin love with me, and you donotwant to marry me. You fancy me because I’m something you cannot have, but what you’ve failed to realize is that you don’t really want me. You don’t even know me.”
“I do,” he protested. “I know all about you.”
