Page 60 of The Gentlewoman Author

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mary strolled through the garden arm in arm with Daniel, determined to enjoy their final days together. Their farce was almost over, for Louisa would arrive in a few days. Grass grew between the flagstones of the narrow path that ambled between an overgrown lavender hedge and rosebushes that spread their blooms in reckless expanse. This prolific, wild growth made it her favorite area of the castle grounds. She moved closer to Daniel, keeping her skirts out of reach of thorns, her hip brushing then pressing against him. He held her arm tight beneath his. The gentle swish of her skirts harmonized with humming bees and birdsong. With chivalrous Daniel beside her, and among gnarled branches heavy with blossoms, Mary began listening to the garden whisper romantic tales, and she believed the fairy tales.

Daniel stopped walking, and he faced her. “There is something I must ask you.” He rubbed his chin and would not meet her eye. “I am fond of you, Mary.” His words came in a rush. “For some time, I have thought of you as…a dear friend. Your company is pleasant. You are capable and clever. I hoped you…” He took a deep breath. “I have made our situation awkward, asking you to pretend an engagement, but I want to make it real. Would you consent to be my wife?”

Mary’s breath came as fast. She pulled her hand from his and stepped away. Over the past few days, even during their journey together, Daniel showed signs that he cared for her, but his actions were calculated to charm her into accepting a make-believe proposal so he could regain his inheritance. Weren’t they? While painfully aware of her own infatuation, she thought there was a chance, even a small one, that his regard for her changed. Even a sliver of affection would have been enough for her. Though nothing about this proposal indicated he loved her. Pleasant company, clever and capable. Those were not the words of a man to his lover. Perhaps she loved enough for them both.

The pleasure of his companionship was a surprising gift that she had not known she wanted. It was like being wrapped in a blanket without knowing she’d been cold. It was eating a spoonful of jam after years of swearing off sweets.

Mary recalled herself, turning her back to him and stepping away. She was not a pathetic young lady, desperate for marriage. She’d been married before, had her romance, had loved, and was loved in return. Two marriages were too much for one lady, and she did not need a husband. Lord Allen had provided well for her. Daniel should marry a girl like Louisa, someone young, who did not have an illicit pastime, or the habits borne of living alone too long. Refusal was the only solution.

She walked several feet away from him, gathering her thoughts. When she turned to face him, his eyes were trained on his feet, lips moving, arms gesticulating, as if he was practicing a speech. He looked up, their eyes locked, and he froze. His face was heavy with a yearning that stole her breath. He wanted her, and the knowledge struck like lightning, terrifying and magnificent. His gaze flicking from hers to the ground and back again. He strode purposefully toward her.

Mary had never seen Daniel agitated. Even when expressing concern about his father, he was rational and articulate. The bones in her legs softened as she absorbed his vulnerability. He placed himself in front of her, his eyes dark and serious, inscrutable. It was possible he loved her. His look reflected as much, but he did not say it.

She leaned against the garden wall. His jaw worked, and she waited for him to speak. When he did not, she said, “I do not know. Give me time.” She didn’t want to give him false hope. “I think not, but I will consider.”

He took her hands in his and pulled her close. Perhaps he had not understood what she said. Her eyes met his again, and the protest on her tongue vanished.

He moistened his lips. “I have given you little reason to agree to this marriage, but I am sincere in my proposal, Mary. This is no longer a farce.” His eyes fell to her lips, his head bent a fraction closer to hers.

Golden beams of sunlight shone in Mary’s periphery, lighting him like an angel. He held both of her hands to his chest, and beneath her palms, his heart raced.

The temptation was great. Too great. Mary wanted his kiss, needed to feel desirable. She quieted her excuses and inched toward him, tilted her chin upward, granting permission. With gentle care, his lips brushed Mary’s, and the lightness of his touch sent a thrill through her whole being. His breath caught and he pulled away, looking at her with unblinking eyes. He placed a hand on her hip, and with the other, he ran his thumb down her jaw, from her ear to her chin. The sweetness was more than she could bear. She melted into him, clinging to the collar of his jacket to steady herself. He slid his hand to the small of her back and drew her closer, his mouth finding hers again. Mary thought she might collapse. But no. This was a moment she wanted to live and remember. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them, to see and feel and experience this kiss with each of her senses. His lashes lay thick over high cheekbones, his brow creased in delightful fervor. She touched his cheek, his neck, and pulled him nearer still.

When they broke away, she pushed her hand against her chest and found her locket. She must refuse him but not yet.

Daniel rested his forehead against hers. “Please accept my proposal.” His voice was low and gruff, and Mary wanted to bathe in the sound of it.

Even if he did not love her, he seemed to like her. Was it enough that she loved him so completely? Her arms wrapped around his, and she heard his heart beating beneath his cravat. If they married, she would be central to his life, important to a person as she had not been since Lord Allen’s death. Still, doubts prevented her acquiescence. But his body felt so good against her own. Surely this comfort was worth anything.

With her chin resting on his chest, she looked up at him, needing to measure his feelings, wondering if she alone soared above the garden. He looked down at her, and the strength of his focus brought a trembling wave of heat to her stomach. Embraced in the security of his arms and in the depths of his eyes, the words slipped from her tongue as wax drips from a candle’s flame. “I will marry you.”

His arms wound around her waist, and he lifted her off the ground and spun.

“Stop that, little brother,” she said, laughing.

He set her down, sobered. “You must not call me that.”

“Are you uncomfortable with my age?” She had to know. Her insides closed, flinching even before hearing his response.

He looked skyward and groaned. “I beg you to stop this talk of your age. I am delighted with everything about you. But my feelings for you are not brotherly.”

That was something. He did not love her like a sister.

“Are you ready to return to the house?” he asked.

She was not. Her heart kicked, and every sparkling delight that burned inside her two minutes ago evaporated. She wiped her hands on her skirt. What had she agreed to? “To tell your parents?”

“We are already engaged, as far as my parents know. I hoped you would allow me to make the announcement to my sister.”

“When?” She felt dizzy.

“Right away? Tomorrow if possible.”

He smiled, warm and sincere. It lit his eyes, softened his face, and made her want to kiss him again. And again. But her breath came in short gasps, and doubt took hold of her heart and squeezed. The intoxicating pleasure of being desired hit against a hollow in her gut. Muddled with his nearness, her mind failed to recall what was missing. She acknowledged he may never love her as she loved him, but there was something else.

“Perhaps we should wait until Louisa arrives?” she asked. With Louisa, Agnes would come, and with her friend’s perspective, she would see it clearly.