April Kihlstrom (5 page)

“So you were, but you are not a child now.” There was nothing to say to that, and so she waited. After a moment he went on, “You will think me foolish. Perhaps I am. Perhaps you will tell me to go to the devil and you might be right to do so!”

This time when he paused, she smiled and even managed to jest a bit. “Somehow I cannot imagine telling such an august person as yourself to go to the devil.”

He looked as though nothing she could have said would have pleased him more. He took a step toward her and took her hand in his. If he noticed how it trembled, he did not say so. “Perhaps you will think me mad,” he repeated, “but I must marry soon and I came to visit to see if perhaps you and I would suit.”

Instinctively she tried to pull her hand free, but he would not let it go.

“I am not asking you today. That would be mad indeed. Today I am only asking that you give us a chance to know each other as we are now and then decide. Perhaps I shall be the one to say we won’t suit.”

Beatrix looked up at him, searching his face for something she could not even name. “Why?” she asked. “Why me?”

He took a deep breath, determined, it seemed, upon honesty. “Because you were kind to me. Because I remember you as such a taking thing. Because you did not laugh at my dreams. Because you come from a fertile family, so producing an heir should be easy. Because you love the countryside. Because something I don’t even understand myself has brought me here.”

Shaken, Beatrix seized on the only thing she could. “Y—you said you must marry soon. How soon?” she asked.

He had the grace to flush as he said, “By the end of the month.”

“
By the end of the month?
” Now Beatrix did yank her hand free and take several steps back from him. “Why did you leave it so late?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I would, I must, meet a suitable wife in London. There are so many debutantes each year, you see. But I didn’t and as the time grew short, I thought of you.”

“How flattering,” she said in the most withering of voices.

“I do not mean it the way it sounds. Even if we had all the time in the world, I should have wanted to come and see you and see if we would suit.”

“It’s impossible,” she said, shaking her head. “How can we know by the end of the month if we should suit?”

He stiffened, but not from courage this time. His voice was curt as he said, “I am not proposing a love match. I despise such sentimentality. I am proposing that we see if you and I could enter into a sensible marriage, one that would be of advantage to both of us.” He waved a hand at her home. “Surely you do not wish to stay here forever? I can offer you comfort. You would never have to scrape pennies again. I can give you all the things you’ve never had.”

“And I am to offer you companionship and an heir,” Beatrix said, her voice breaking on the words.

“Yes, exactly. We needn’t live in each other’s pockets. It will be much better if we do not. As I said, I am not asking you to decide today. I am only asking that you give us a chance to know each other again. If either of us decides we would not suit, that will be the end of it.”

Beatrix felt her heart ache all over again for the boy Rothwood had once been. He had grown up, all right, and she was not certain she liked the man nearly as much as she had adored the boy he had been. But he was right, she thought, taking a deep breath. There was much to recommend what he proposed.

“You have taken me by surprise,” she said, finally. “I must think about the matter. But whatever we decide, I am glad to see you again and wish to hear all about your life since you were last here.”

He grinned, and it was as if he was that boy again. He began to talk at the rapid-fire pace she remembered from years ago and she was content to listen as he talked. He even made her laugh more than once. They walked through the rest of the garden and sat on a bench under her favorite tree. At least they meant to sit on the bench and talk. But they had barely done so when they were interrupted by someone clearing his throat.

Beatrix looked up to see her parents standing there, a stern expression upon their faces even as Mrs. Trowley hastily shooed the other children back inside the house.

“You have been out here a very long time,” Mr. Trowley said sharply.

Rothwood stood and faced her father. In a voice that sounded stiff he said, “My apologies. I ought to have spoken to you first, Mr. Trowley. As I have told your daughter, I came here to see if we might suit each other. As husband and wife.”

Rothwood looked down, smiling reassuringly at Beatrix. Her father, however, was not so pleased.

“And has she accepted?” he demanded.

Now Beatrix stood. She met her father’s gaze and said, “Lord Rothwood has just arrived. We have barely had time to get to know each other again. He has not yet decided whether to ask me to marry him, and I have not yet decided what I will say if he does.”

“Not decided?” her mother echoed in dismay. “What is there to decide? The two of you looked quite taken with each other just now.”

“We were becoming reacquainted,” Beatrix repeated sharply. “That is scarcely the same as knowing Lord Rothwood well enough to marry him!”

“Your mother and I scarcely knew each other before we were wed,” her father countered.

Beatrix blinked. “But you and Mama, that is, you are both so affectionate with each other. I always thought it was a love match.”

“It became one,” her mother said briskly. “Just as it shall for the two of you. Come inside now. It isn’t proper for the two of you to be alone. Particularly if you are not yet betrothed.”

Beatrix tried to protest, but her parents took no notice. Rothwood leaned toward her. “They mean well,” he said, “and they wish to see you happy. They know I can give you what you deserve. Come, let us not fight with them when it will clearly do no good. We have already agreed to get to know each other again before you, er, we decide. I shall not let them bully you.”

She glanced at him doubtfully but then nodded. “I suppose you are right. If we decide we will not suit, Mama and Papa will have to understand. So long as we do not send out any announcements, no one will be the wiser if we choose not to wed.”

* * *

She could yet reject him, Rothwood thought, fear shaking him to his core. Until this moment he had not realized how much it meant to him that she not do so, and not just because of the provisions of his father’s will. It made no sense, he knew that. His father would have said he ought to either not care, or if he did care, use every persuasive way he knew to get her to agree to marry him. Indeed, he would have thought Miss Trowley daft for not instantly seizing on her sudden good fortune.

But Edmund didn’t want a wife he had to trick or manipulate into marrying him or who did so simply because of his position. He wanted, he realized, Miss Trowley to want to marry him because she felt about him as he felt about her. Already he knew Miss Trowley was the same girl he remembered, even if at times she forgot herself in the present. Already he was drawn to her more than to any girl or woman he had encountered in all the years in between his last visit and this one. His friends would say it was folly. His father would be appalled that emotions played any part in his choice. Edmund only knew that when he was with Miss Trowley, he again felt the freedom of his boyhood and the warmth of her approval and he wanted it to go on forever.

He had botched things, of course, but he would do better this coming week. He must. His happiness depended upon it and so, he was arrogant enough to believe, might hers. Meanwhile, he could talk settlements with her father. That would save time if Miss Trowley did agree to marry him. He had had the foresight to review his finances thoroughly a few weeks back when he first began to realize the deadline was fast approaching and he had wished to know for certain what would be feasible and wise in the matter of such things as settlements. All that would be needed would be for some local man to draw them up. Once Miss Trowley agreed to marry him,
if
she agreed to marry him, they could be signed. He was sure Mr. Trowley must know someone who could do so and certain Mr. Trowley must be as eager as he was to have the matter settled.

It was therefore with quiet calm that Rothwood went into the library with Mr. Trowley fully prepared to negotiate.

* * *

Beatrix looked at the closed study door and then at her mother. Her siblings had been sent on various errands so there would be some privacy for the talk her mother clearly wished to have with her. Well, why not? It would give her a chance to speak plainly and perhaps nip this nonsense in the bud. For it was nonsense, wasn’t it? Now that Lord Rothwood was in another room she could see that her silly
tendre
was a childish thing and not sufficient to base a marriage upon.

Never mind that she didn’t want it to be nonsense, that she wanted to believe that Rothwood really did wish to marry her and that it would be all right to say yes. That was not, however, what she chose to say out loud to her mother.

“Why didn’t you warn me, Mama? When Lord Rothwood mentioned the possibility of marriage, I was so taken aback that I am certain I made a fool of myself!”

“I thought there would be more time,” Mrs. Trowley said, fluttering her hands helplessly. “I, we had no notion he would say anything so soon after arriving. He must be most taken with you! Indeed, Lady Kenrick—”

Abruptly Mrs. Trowley closed her mouth and looked dismayed at having said too much.

“Mama? What are you not telling me?”

“I, whatever do you mean, dear?”

“You have just mentioned Lady Kenrick. Lord Rothwood said his aunt sent you a letter telling you that he was coming and why. Did she perhaps also mention anything about why he had fixed his interest on me instead of some other female?”

As always, her mother caved to the pressure in her daughter’s voice. “Oh, very well. Lady Kenrick writes that his lordship is looking for a dutiful, submissive wife who won’t mind living in the country or interfere with his way of life. And apparently, as he remembers things, that’s you.”

“I see.”

And she did. Beatrix sat in the nearest chair, scarcely aware that was what she was doing, so deep did the hurt go. So Rothwood wanted a submissive wife? That was how he remembered her? Of course he would. Back then, she had been a besotted child, running any errands he asked and listening happily for hours to anything he wished to say. Because she adored him. He’d been kind when her brothers and every other male she knew at least pretended to despise her. The boy Rothwood had not. He had listened to her and explained things. And in return she had gazed adoringly at him.

Worse, when he had asked her hopes and dreams, she had prattled on about some day being married and the mother of children, of becoming a pattern card of propriety. And now he believed, or at least hoped, that in all these years she had not changed. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Bitter and yet part of her wanted to laugh hysterically, for if he really knew the person she had become, he would run the other way! But part of her also desperately wished to believe she could be the woman he wanted her to be. Even knowing how he saw her, what he believed, she still wanted to be near him, spend time in his company. Folly, it was utter folly, but it was how she felt. What was she to do? To wed him under these circumstances was to deceive him. And yet wasn’t he deceiving her by not mentioning what he wished for in a wife, and simply assuming she would bend to his will? Wouldn’t it serve him right if she married him and then let him discover how mistaken he had been? And hadn’t he changed as well? Where was the rebel, the boy who swore to grow up to do whatever he pleased? When had he become this starched up man so devoted to propriety?

No, she could not do so, it simply wouldn’t be right. It would not be fair to him nor to herself. What if he turned mean when he discovered she wasn’t the dutiful sort? What if he were cruel? Surely nothing good could come of a wedding born out of such deceit?

And yet, Beatrix could not envision the boy she had known turning into a cruel man who would mistreat her if she angered him. Already he had shown her kindness on this visit as well. It was, it must still be an essential part of his nature. Mustn’t it?

Beatrix took a deep breath. They had time to get to truly know each other, she reminded herself. He would see who she was, just as she would see who he was now. And maybe, just maybe, he would like the woman she had become.

Her mother, apparently alarmed by something in her expression, leaned forward and grasped Beatrix’s hand. Her voice was fierce as she said, “You must marry him, Beatrix! We are done for if you do not. Think of your brothers and sisters. How are they to be provided for? If you marry Rothwood, then at least you can bring out your sisters each in turn. Perhaps you can turn him up sweet so that he even funds the cost of doing so, and perhaps he can help find positions for your brothers or buy one or more of them commissions. You must not throw away this chance! I beg of you, Beatrix, think of the family!”

As if she did not think of them every day. As if she had not sacrificed, over and over again, already for their sake. That was what Beatrix told herself. Out loud, however, all she said was, “And suppose I wed Rothwood and we do not suit and he refuses to lift a finger to help any of us?”

Mrs. Trowley shook her head. “You must not let that happen. We are all depending upon you!”

Depending on her. As they always had. When was Beatrix going to be able to depend on someone else?

Mrs. Trowley pressed her point. “Even if you cannot turn him up sweet enough to help your brothers and sisters, you at least would be married and have everything you need. Everything you want. Think! Good food, lovely clothes, warm fires in the fireplace, enough servants that you need never scrub a floor again!”

It was tempting, oh, so tempting, even if she had not had such fond memories of him as a boy. Could she let herself do this? How hard could it be, after all, to please the man? Mama seemed to please Papa without much effort. Couldn’t she perhaps accomplish the same with Rothwood? Would it really be so terrible to pretend to be the kind of wife he wished her to be, at least when he was around?