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“I would be a faithful servant to you,” he barreled on. “A most loyal, devoted, tender and kind husband. You would rule me with one soft glance from your beautiful eyes.”

She bit her lip. She didn’t want a husband who was her servant, nor did she want a husband cowed by a glance. “Mr. Crane...”

“And I shall inherit my uncle’s title, so it would not be too far a fall in the world for you. Of course, you would still have your connections through your family, and eventually I might rise enough to join the circles you now inhabit.”

Mariah bowed her head and waited for him to finish.

“In short, I would do anything to win your hand, my dearest. You have but to name it, and I will grant it. It shall ever be so, between us, if only you will consent to be my wife.” Thus concluding his speech, Mr. Crane fell to his knee and tried once more to capture her hand.

Mariah resisted. “Sir, please! Stop!”

“Yes, my heart’s most precious darling?” His expression was almost tragic in its hopefulness, his eyes shining, a fine sheen of perspiration on his upper lip. Mariah felt as though she were about to break a man’s heart, even though he was ridiculous to fancy himself in love with her when he hardly knew her. He knew nothing of her temper, her humor, her wit, nothing at all of her moods and passions. It was calf love, but it was sincere calf love, and she felt a moment’s remorse.

But just a moment’s. It was kinder to refuse him now than to give false hope. “I am greatly honored by your declaration,” she said gently. “But I must refuse.”

His eager expression didn’t change. “Why? You needn’t refuse. What is my fault? Tell me and I shall remedy it.”

“Er—no.” She squirmed backward in her chair, wishing he would stand up and move away. “It is just that—while I hold you in very high esteem—my affections are not engaged as they should be for marriage.”

“Oh.” The surprise was obvious in his voice. He sat back on his heels. “I see.”

“I am very honored by your offer and thank you most humbly,” she said by rote. “But I am certain we would each find greater happiness with other people.”

He nodded once, as if dazed, then got to his feet and barely managed a bow before turning and walking from the room, his steps quick and jerky. Mariah held her breath until the door closed, then exhaled in relief. It was becoming uncomfortable to refuse so many offers of marriage. It was much easier when the gentlemen went first to Papa and he could refuse on her behalf.

A tap on the door roused her from her thoughts. “Beg pardon, my lady,” said the footman who entered. “Just delivered.” He handed her a florist’s box, plain and rather small.

It contained a single lily, stark and lovely in its simplicity, with a few ferns to surround it. The card, though, was the true gift. There was no signature, just a delicately drawn strand of ivy with a suggestion of stonework behind it. Mariah stared at it a moment, then a delighted smile spread across her face, and she laughed aloud in joy as she clasped the card to her breast.

Harry had not forgotten her any more than she had forgotten him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The next night they were to attend a musical evening in Chelsea. Lady Fromby had engaged a Scottish soprano, Mrs. Campbell, and was holding a benefit for the Royal Hospital, which lay nearby and where Lord Fromby served as a director. Mama was keen to hear the singer, and Papa would no doubt end up in a heated discussion in Lord Fromby’s study. Mariah had no interest in going. She was quite sure Harry wouldn’t be at a benefit in Chelsea, where only wealthy guests of the highly connected Frombys would be invited.

But she was wrong.

It was indeed a very elegant affair, and Mama was soon deep in conversation with several other ladies. Mariah stood quietly, until a stooped figure across the room caught her eye.

An involuntary smile bloomed on her face. Quickly, she looked away, raising her fan to hide her expression. She followed her mother into the drawing room without a word, but temptation was already whispering in her ear. Could she manage it? Did she dare? It was a risk, after both her parents had expressed their disapproval...

Mariah wet her lips and debated. Hang the risk, she finally decided in a burst of recklessness. Just as the singer came out to the applause of the guests, she leaned toward her mother. “I have to visit the retiring room,” she whispered, and jumped out of her chair to rush quietly out of the room before her startled mother could say a word. As she walked past the last row, where Lord Wroth sat in solitary dignity, she thought she saw a hint of smile on his face.

She hurried to the retiring room, patted her hair and fluffed her skirt, then hurried back to the drawing room. She almost shrieked aloud as Lord Wroth shuffled out the door at the same moment she almost rushed in, then fell back with her fist at her lips.

“Eh, there, are you going to be ill?” He stepped closer and touched her elbow.

She stared into Harry’s warm, laughing eyes and shook her head mutely.

“Good thing. A mighty blow to this old man’s pride, it would be, if young ladies fainted at the sight of me.” He winked at her over his spectacles, and Mariah smiled, her heart settling back into place after its leap into her throat.

“You aren’t leaving, are you?” she murmured. A servant stood at the end of the hall, but otherwise they were alone.

He shook his head, his gaze steady on hers.

“Oh, good.” Mariah hesitated, but it was too risky. If she didn’t return to the concert, her mother would come look for her. And she had promised Harry not to do anything to give him away. “Then shall we return?”

He put out his arm. Her fingers trembling, Mariah took it, and they slipped wordlessly back into the drawing room. It was dark at the back, all the candles having been lit at the front to show off the singer. Instead of returning to her seat, she followed Harry—moving soundlessly in spite of his cane—into the darkest shadows. As they turned to face the musicians and Mrs. Campbell, Mariah let her hand hang at her side, behind the folds of her skirt. Harry’s fingers closed around hers, strong and sure, where no one else could see. She felt a peaceful warmth steal over her, and when she darted a sideways glance at Harry, he was watching her the same way. There they stood, shoulder-to-shoulder and hand in hand until the song ended.