Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord
Page 70
Mostly.
And now … all of a sudden, her whole world—everything that she had believed to be true and right and certain—was turned upside down.
Had she dreamed of the rest? Of marriage and children and waltzing and love?
Yes.
If she was honest with herself, yes. In the darkness, late at night, as she lay in her bed and worried about the future, about the girls and about James and, yes, about herself, she had dreamed of what could have been. She had dreamed, quietly, of how it might have been to have gone to London and filled her dance card and ridden in Hyde Park and been well and truly courted, and found herself a man who would be her partner, and her protector.
But that dream had never come to fruition.
Because it was unattainable.
Until now.
When she could imagine reaching out and taking it.
When she could almost imagine what it might be like to love him.
Love.
It was a strange and foreign word; a fantasy that had tempted her as a child and then terrified her as she grew—as she watched her mother torn apart.
No. She would not love him.
She knew better.
But…
“I like him,” she said, the words barely sound.
Lara heard. “I know.”
“I’ve never thought that would happen.”
Lara nodded. “I know.”
And now that I do, I’m frightened of what will happen next.
“It’s rather terrifying.”
Lara smiled. “I know that, as well.”
Isabel raised her eyebrows. “You do?”
“I rather like his friend.”
“Yes!” Isabel sat up quickly, water sloshing over the edge of the bathtub. “And it seems that he feels similarly to you! How did that …?”
“I do not know! One moment I was showing him your marbles, and then I was accompanying him to feed their horses, and then … he was …” She stopped, dipping her head in embarrassment.
“He was doing something he should not have been doing, it seems!”
“Isabel!” The flaming red on Lara’s cheeks gave everything away.
“You have kissed him!” Isabel accused.
“Oh! And you are one to judge!”
Isabel laughed. “No. I suppose that I am not.”
“It’s quite pleasant, isn’t it?”
“Kissing? I’m not sure I would use the word pleasant. Thoroughly unsettling, entirely vexing, and altogether—”
“Wonderful.”
Isabel smiled. “Precisely.”
Lara grinned. “We are a pair.”
“After years with no men in sight, we find ourselves made utterly silly by the first two that happen along.”
“Not the first two. You avoided Mr. Asperton.”
Isabel recalled the reedy, snakelike man and shuddered. “It was a challenge, to be sure, but yes, I did avoid Mr. Asperton.”
Lara stacked her hands on the bed, setting her chin to them as Isabel made to exit her bath. “So … you will accept Lord Nicholas’s suit? ”
Isabel stepped out of the bath, wrapping herself in a long length of linen to ward off the chill that threatened. She approached the bed, perching on the edge of it as Lara turned to face her.
She considered the question. He was the answer to their problems. The handsome, intelligent, entertaining, good-natured answer to their problems. “Yes. If he asks, I will accept. For all of our good.”
As the words left her mouth, she knew that they were a lie. That as much as she would like to believe she would accept for Minerva House, she would also accept for herself, despite the risk that came of tying herself to this man for whom she could so easily see herself coming to care.
For whom she could so easily see herself coming to…
No. She would not make the same mistakes her mother had made.
But Nick seemed nothing like her father. He was honest and forthright and kind, and he seemed precisely the type of man who would make good on his promises.
Which made everything much easier.
She simply had to ensure that, if she married him, it would be on her terms. Yes, she would care for him. Certainly she would enjoy his company, and his wit, and his superior touch—for his touch was most definitely superior, and enough to send all rational thought flying from her head.
But she would not love him.
She turned to Lara with a smile. “Perhaps it would not be so bad, after all.”
As it began, rain ended quickly in Yorkshire. There was no gradual waning of water, no silent mist to ease the way from heavy drops to dry skies. Instead, there was a simple change, like the snuffing of a candle. One moment, there was pounding rain, and the next … silence.
And, after three days of the constant sound of rain on the windows, the silence was deafening.
Nick looked up from his cards and met Rock’s gaze.
“Finally.”
Nick grinned. “Longing for The Stuck Pig, are we?”
“Not at all,” Rock said. “I’m simply growing tired of seeing you in that coat.” He dealt a card, and Nick, recognizing his losing hand, tossed the handful of cards he had onto the table. Rock collected his winnings. “One would think that you would grow tired of losing to me after all these years.”
Nick leaned back in his chair, taking a drink of brandy. He leveled his friend with a look and said, “I’m going to marry her.”
Rock began to shuffle the cards again, casually. “Are you? ”
“She needs me.”
“That does not seem to be the appropriate reason to marry a girl, Nick. Particularly not when the girl in question is harboring a houseful of fugitives.”
And now … all of a sudden, her whole world—everything that she had believed to be true and right and certain—was turned upside down.
Had she dreamed of the rest? Of marriage and children and waltzing and love?
Yes.
If she was honest with herself, yes. In the darkness, late at night, as she lay in her bed and worried about the future, about the girls and about James and, yes, about herself, she had dreamed of what could have been. She had dreamed, quietly, of how it might have been to have gone to London and filled her dance card and ridden in Hyde Park and been well and truly courted, and found herself a man who would be her partner, and her protector.
But that dream had never come to fruition.
Because it was unattainable.
Until now.
When she could imagine reaching out and taking it.
When she could almost imagine what it might be like to love him.
Love.
It was a strange and foreign word; a fantasy that had tempted her as a child and then terrified her as she grew—as she watched her mother torn apart.
No. She would not love him.
She knew better.
But…
“I like him,” she said, the words barely sound.
Lara heard. “I know.”
“I’ve never thought that would happen.”
Lara nodded. “I know.”
And now that I do, I’m frightened of what will happen next.
“It’s rather terrifying.”
Lara smiled. “I know that, as well.”
Isabel raised her eyebrows. “You do?”
“I rather like his friend.”
“Yes!” Isabel sat up quickly, water sloshing over the edge of the bathtub. “And it seems that he feels similarly to you! How did that …?”
“I do not know! One moment I was showing him your marbles, and then I was accompanying him to feed their horses, and then … he was …” She stopped, dipping her head in embarrassment.
“He was doing something he should not have been doing, it seems!”
“Isabel!” The flaming red on Lara’s cheeks gave everything away.
“You have kissed him!” Isabel accused.
“Oh! And you are one to judge!”
Isabel laughed. “No. I suppose that I am not.”
“It’s quite pleasant, isn’t it?”
“Kissing? I’m not sure I would use the word pleasant. Thoroughly unsettling, entirely vexing, and altogether—”
“Wonderful.”
Isabel smiled. “Precisely.”
Lara grinned. “We are a pair.”
“After years with no men in sight, we find ourselves made utterly silly by the first two that happen along.”
“Not the first two. You avoided Mr. Asperton.”
Isabel recalled the reedy, snakelike man and shuddered. “It was a challenge, to be sure, but yes, I did avoid Mr. Asperton.”
Lara stacked her hands on the bed, setting her chin to them as Isabel made to exit her bath. “So … you will accept Lord Nicholas’s suit? ”
Isabel stepped out of the bath, wrapping herself in a long length of linen to ward off the chill that threatened. She approached the bed, perching on the edge of it as Lara turned to face her.
She considered the question. He was the answer to their problems. The handsome, intelligent, entertaining, good-natured answer to their problems. “Yes. If he asks, I will accept. For all of our good.”
As the words left her mouth, she knew that they were a lie. That as much as she would like to believe she would accept for Minerva House, she would also accept for herself, despite the risk that came of tying herself to this man for whom she could so easily see herself coming to care.
For whom she could so easily see herself coming to…
No. She would not make the same mistakes her mother had made.
But Nick seemed nothing like her father. He was honest and forthright and kind, and he seemed precisely the type of man who would make good on his promises.
Which made everything much easier.
She simply had to ensure that, if she married him, it would be on her terms. Yes, she would care for him. Certainly she would enjoy his company, and his wit, and his superior touch—for his touch was most definitely superior, and enough to send all rational thought flying from her head.
But she would not love him.
She turned to Lara with a smile. “Perhaps it would not be so bad, after all.”
As it began, rain ended quickly in Yorkshire. There was no gradual waning of water, no silent mist to ease the way from heavy drops to dry skies. Instead, there was a simple change, like the snuffing of a candle. One moment, there was pounding rain, and the next … silence.
And, after three days of the constant sound of rain on the windows, the silence was deafening.
Nick looked up from his cards and met Rock’s gaze.
“Finally.”
Nick grinned. “Longing for The Stuck Pig, are we?”
“Not at all,” Rock said. “I’m simply growing tired of seeing you in that coat.” He dealt a card, and Nick, recognizing his losing hand, tossed the handful of cards he had onto the table. Rock collected his winnings. “One would think that you would grow tired of losing to me after all these years.”
Nick leaned back in his chair, taking a drink of brandy. He leveled his friend with a look and said, “I’m going to marry her.”
Rock began to shuffle the cards again, casually. “Are you? ”
“She needs me.”
“That does not seem to be the appropriate reason to marry a girl, Nick. Particularly not when the girl in question is harboring a houseful of fugitives.”
