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She shook her head. “It’s impossible.”
And it was. It was unfathomable that they could go in an instant from being friends to fiancés when there’d never been an ounce of interest on either side.
They’d known each other for too long. She’d been sixteen when they’d met, and he twenty-one. He took her work seriously, asking her in great detail about her sketches and the small works she carved in marble. From his spot in the corner of her studio, he’d managed to outlast every single one of her teachers. By the time she’d debuted in society at eighteen she hadn’t been able to imagine a life without him, and he’d become her escort to balls and dinners, always ready with a dance, a joke, or a hand of whist.
Wasn’t that what he was offering her now? A life lived together full of that same friendship and respect? Teasing and support? Comfort and caring?
But still, this was Gavin. Her friend. Not her lover.
“It would never work,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Why not? Marriages have been built on less. I could be marrying you to acquire an ox and three bushels of corn.”
“I don’t have an ox,” she grumbled.
“What a shame. I’m in need of one.”
She shot him a look. When a grin split his face, she couldn’t help smiling too.
She knew she should stop them both before this could go further, but Mrs. Sullivan was right. Without a husband, she’d lose everything in one fell swoop. Gavin needed to make her Mrs. Barrett.
Mrs. Barrett. After all these years of friendship, it was incredible to think it could be her new name. But it wouldn’t just be her name that changed. She’d be living with Gavin. As his wife. With that came expectations, ones that were certain to change the very nature of their relationship.
That was what scared her more than anything.
“There’d have to be rules,” she blurted out.
He cocked his head and she stuck her hands beneath her legs, fighting the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.
“What sort of rules?” he asked. A slow, amused grin slid across his face.
“You know,” she said, her voice high and rushed. “Rules.”
“You’ve never been very good at rules.”
“Gavin, be serious. We’re talking about getting married,” she said.
“I am taking this seriously,” he said as he hitched his knee up and rested his arm on it. He was the perfect picture of a gentleman at ease. Ina could have strangled him for it.
“You’re not. If we botch this marriage, it won’t just be a bad marriage. It’ll ruin our friendship too,” she said.
His fingers stopped tapping out a rhythm against his leg. “I know.” He sighed. “You’re right—it’s best to know the rules of the game before we play it. Lay out your guidelines.”
She chewed on her lip. Where to even start? There were so many things a couple should discuss before an engagement, yet they wouldn’t have the luxury of time. The only advantage they had was that they knew each other better than anyone else knew them.
“I don’t want to leave Edinburgh,” she said. There. That was an easy place to start.
“Ever?” he asked.
“To travel, yes,” she conceded, “but I don’t wish to live anywhere else. I’ve no desire to lease a house in London or build in the country. I don’t care about house parties and the season.”
He let out a breath. “Given that I don’t have the funds to take a house suitable for married life in any city, let alone a London season, that’s a condition I can readily agree upon. We’ll be at the mercy of your father’s marriage settlement.”
She knew speaking of money irked him. Gavin was brilliant, but while modest recognition had come with the publication of his book, the money hadn’t followed. If she’d had any sway, she’d have battered down the door of every journal and publishing house in London to get them to print his work.
“Wherever we live, we’ll decide on it together,” she said. “It’ll be our house here in Edinburgh.”
“I promise you, I’ve no desire to return to England,” he said.
