Leslie Lafoy (6 page)

Carrie laid her hand on hers and gave it a gentle squeeze as she said softly, “We’ll weather a scandal, Fiona. If you honestly don’t want to accept the duke’s proposal, we won’t force you to.”

Fiona nodded and stared at the carpet as she considered the situation. Yes, her family would endure anything for her. She knew that with absolute certainty. They loved her and her happiness mattered to them. Every bit as much as she loved them, every bit as much as their happiness mattered to her. She couldn’t put them through the vicious gossip mill. It simply wouldn’t be fair to them. She’d made the mistake all by herself, she alone should have to pay the price for it.

Surrender was the only reasonable course to take; she could see that, could understand it quite clearly. Still, the idea of going into a new life in passive acceptance of whatever terms the duke chose to lay down on a whim … No, there were limits to her willingness to make sacrifices. There were some things she wasn’t willing to give up, some things she expected in return for graciously playing the part of the Duchess of Dunsford. There was nothing the least romantic about negotiating terms, but then, Lord Dunsford hadn’t uttered a single word so far that could have been considered anything but purely pragmatic. And if he was approaching the matter rationally, then surely no one would fault her for doing the same.

Fiona dragged her teeth across her lower lip and drew a deep breath. Lifting her gaze from the carpet, she looked between Caroline’s and Drayton’s worried faces. “Might His Grace and I speak privately for a few moments?”

Caroline looked inclined to say no, but Drayton rose from his chair to cup her elbow and assist his reluctant wife to her feet. Saying, “We’ll be waiting in my study,” he led her out of the drawing room, leaving the doors open behind them as they went.

Ian Cabott stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and began to pace. Fiona watched him, realizing that while she’d asked for the time to talk privately, she had no idea just what it was that she wanted to say to him. Simply declaring that he didn’t own her and never would had a rather nice dramatic—if decidedly petulant—quality to it, but such a pronouncement didn’t exactly leave the conversation with anywhere to go other than downhill. Which probably wasn’t the best way to begin a marriage, forced or otherwise.

He made two trips across the room before he stopped and faced Fiona squarely. “As I assured your sister and brother-in-law,” he began, “I had absolutely nothing to do with Lady St. Regis and Lady Phillips hieing themselves here to report seeing you leave my house this morning.”

Of course he didn’t; he hadn’t had the time. But their busybody natures had undeniably helped his cause.

“I can’t honestly say that I’m terribly distressed over them having inserted themselves in the situation,” he offered. “I am sorry, though, that it’s caused your family anguish in what should be an especially joyful time.”

Joyful? What was there to be joyful about? This wasn’t a proposed union of hearts. She’d seen Cook purchase onions in the market with more passion than Ian Cabott was displaying in the choice of a wife. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

“But it is, Lady Fiona,” he said gently. “We can only accept that and make the best of the circumstances.”

She sighed and lifted her chin. “And hope that it somehow works out to be a happily ever after?” she posed, meeting his gaze. As she watched, his eyes went from soft blue to cool gray.

“It would certainly be wonderful if it did.”

“And if it doesn’t?” she pressed.

He drew a hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck. “No one ever enters a marriage with a guarantee of eternal bliss, Lady Fiona. Even those with stardust in their eyes as they head to the altar. We can only hope for the best and, if the reality should fall short of our greatest expectations, be prepared to make reasonable and caring accommodations for each other.”

“Meaning that we would live largely separate lives.”

He nodded. “Privately, yes.” With a smallish smile, he added, “With a great deal of discretion so that it wouldn’t become public knowledge, of course.”

“What a lovely prospect,” she observed, knowing she sounded shrewish and not caring that she did. Would it kill him to even pretend that he actually hoped they’d be happy together? Why his lack of blind optimism bothered her so much … Really, it wasn’t as though
she
had any feelings for
him
beyond an honest respect for his abilities as a surgeon.

“Living separate lives is only one possibility among many,” he added.

God. “And some of them are even more dismal.”

“And some of them are considerably more happy and satisfying,” he countered, apparently choosing to ignore her sour outlook. “I’d strive for the best possible outcome and see that you never have cause to accuse me of thoughtlessness or stinginess or callous disregard for your feelings.”

Fiona nodded. What else was there for her to do? She couldn’t very well demand that he promise her undying love and devoted companionship. Well, she could demand it, but she wasn’t going to get it. Ian Cabott had a kind heart, yes. She’d seen it last night in his care for Beeps. But a kind heart didn’t require that he also have an open and demonstrative nature. He’d promised to be respectful of her. He’d promised to be kind. He’d promised to hope that they could eventually become something more than businesslike strangers who shared a name and a lofty title. For him, the offers had been as effusive as he ever got.

There is no making the leopard’s spots into stripes.
Fiona tilted her head to consider the unexpected bit of philosophy. Undoubtedly true and quite appropriate, she concluded. Ian Cabott was as he was and there would be no changing him. Just as there would be no changing who she was. How a happy marriage could possibly work out between them, she couldn’t even begin to imagine. And yet …

Everything in the world worked out as it should. Nothing happened without a reason. She knew that, had seen it happen time and time again. She and Carrie and Simone had been thrown away by their father only to be rescued by Drayton and given the names they should have borne from birth. Carrie had been forced to give up her dress shop and her cherished independence to care for her and Simone, and that sacrifice had been rewarded with Drayton’s abiding love and three beautiful, healthy children of her own. Tristan had involved Simone in a twisted murder plot they were both lucky to have survived and their determination had resulted in one of the best and happiest marriages in all of England.

“Lady Fiona? Are you all right?”

How nice of him to inquire. How sincerely concerned he sounded. Faith. It all boiled down to faith and trust. If her sisters could live believing that things would work out for the best, so could she. The Turnbridge women were nothing if not survivors. There was a great deal of comfort in that reality. And, in fairness, there was an equal amount of consolation in the fact that Ian Cabott was no ugly ogre.

Fiona found a smile to give him. “Were you serious when you said that you didn’t believe in long engagements?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “I hope to announce our engagement this evening at Lady Miller-Sands’ ball. The banns will be published tomorrow with the wedding to take place on the first day following their usual and appropriate run.”

Oh, dear. Being resolved was one thing, being rushed was entirely another. “Is there a particular reason for the haste?”

He cocked a dark brow in obvious surprise. “Is there a reason to delay?”

She could lie and avoid the awkwardness for a while. Or she could be honest and address her concerns squarely. For the sake of all their tomorrows, she opted for the latter. “Well, yes,” she admitted. “Frankly, Your Grace, I’m not all that excited by the idea of bedding you.”

He blinked several times, swallowed, and blinked some more before he finally said in a strained voice, “Really?”

“Really.”

“Do…” He closed his mouth and swallowed before taking a deep breath and trying again. “Do you find me unattractive?”

Fiona caught the inside of her lower lip between her teeth to keep from smiling. How interesting to think that she might well be the first woman he’d ever come across who wasn’t blithely willing to perform between his sheets. Even more interesting was the fact that he didn’t seem to know quite what to do about it.

“It has nothing to do with your physical appearance, Your Lordship,” she assured him. “You’re a very handsome man.”

He raked his hand through his hair, mussing the style in a boyish, unexpectedly endearing sort of way. “Would you please call me Ian?” he asked on a hard sigh as he considered her.

“I don’t know you well enough to feel comfortable with calling you by your given name. Which, of course, should tell you that I most assuredly don’t know you well enough to be at all comfortable with the notion of sharing your bed.”

“Oh,” he replied softly. He frowned for a second and then added, “Well, I suppose I can see your point.”

“Thank you.”

He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, banishing the boyish confusion to firmly, manfully reply, “I promise that the consummation of our marriage will occur only when you decide that it’s appropriate, when it’s something you would be completely comfortable doing.”

Why he thought she’d be more charmed and assured by the display of cool reserve … “Thank you again, Your Grace.”

“Ian.”

She smiled apologetically. “We’ll have to work our way to familiarity by slow degrees.”

“Of course.” He cleared his throat. “Where would you like to go for a honeymoon?”

“Do we have to have one?”

“It’s customary,” he answered while blinking.

“I don’t mind if we don’t.”

He knitted his brows and pursed his lips to study her. “Would you mind,” he carefully ventured, “retiring to the country house after the wedding?”

“Not at all.” In fact, it was perfect. Far enough away from London to escape the watchful eyes and yet close enough that she could run home if she had to.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he declared with a bow. “Would you prefer to tell your family that we’ve reached an accord, or would you like for me to relay the happy news?”

Of the two of them, he probably had the better chance of actually sounding happy. “I’ll allow you to make the announcement, Your Grace. You can use the moment as practice for the grand announcement this evening at the Miller-Sands ball.”

He bowed again, turned on his heel and marched out of the drawing room. Fiona arched a brow and watched him go, allowing that he certainly didn’t lack in terms of being decisive and, at the same time, wondering if he had any idea at all where Drayton’s study was.

Well, if nothing else, life with him was bound to be interesting from time to time.

Chapter Four

Ian glanced toward the rear door of the Ryland townhouse, then blew a stream of smoke toward the sky and thought back through the morning’s events. His plan had been a good one. Nothing short of stellar, actually. He hadn’t needed the assistance of the Ladies St. Regis and Phillips, but their outraged intrusion had weighted the situation nicely in his favor. If there really was such as thing as being smiled on by the gods, he most definitely had been.

He’d walked into the Ryland home, been greeted cordially, seated in the drawing room and encouraged to speak freely. He’d been served coffee and pastries and heard out graciously. Lord and Lady Ryland had both agreed on the wisdom of his proposal and, judging by their smiles, pleased with him for having made such an honorable gesture.

Admittedly it had been a bit of a surprise when Their Graces had handed the decision to accept his proposal or not to Lady Fiona instead of making it themselves, but he’d been confident in his persuasive abilities and the outcome. Looking back with the perfection of hindsight, he could see that that was the point where the plan had gone off the rails. Not at all like a speeding train, of course. If it had, he would have taken appropriate steps to head off the approaching disaster.

But he hadn’t had the slightest inkling that he was heading for a derailment. In the moment that he and Lady Fiona were left alone … Ian blew another long stream of smoke and shook his head. Things would have gone quite differently if he’d remembered that she wasn’t any persuasive slacker herself. Or if he’d had the presence of mind to recall her standing on his doorstep the night before, pointing a gun at him. But no, he’d blithely assumed that the demure little thing sitting on the settee wasn’t any more complicated than she appeared. Ha! Beneath that calm exterior lay a rebellious and stunningly obstinate nature.

For heaven’s sake, the woman had refused to call him by his given name. Then quite matter-of-factly declared her aversion to the idea of sharing his bed. She’d even refused to go on a honeymoon.

At the time, taken separately as her refusals had been presented, each point had seemed like such a minor issue on which to capitulate. At the end of it all, though … Well, the plain truth was that she’d taken him apart by small pieces. Yes, sweetly and gently, but nonetheless thoroughly.

He’d had two consolations as he’d gone off to find the Duke and Duchess of Ryland to share with them the happy news of the betrothal—that the march to the altar was on the schedule of his choosing, and that his bride wasn’t going to be the least bit shocked if she ever found a stray feminine hair on his jacket lapel.

As consolations went, they considerably outweighed the concessions he’d made. His original plan obviously hadn’t been flawless, but it had been intact enough at that point that he’d been pleased with the overall outcome.

Ian sat down on the garden seat and considered the ground between his feet. It had taken the Rylands all of two seconds to pummel his sense of satisfaction and control and then another second to incinerate half of what was left of his grand and stellar plan. No doubt there would be a day when he would look back and appreciate the ease with which they’d done it, but that day wasn’t this one.

The way things were going … Jesus, the Queen’s army moved with less planning than it apparently took to put together a marriage. It had taken serious negotiation just to slip away long enough to smoke a cheroot. How he was going to manage to escape for the time it required to get to the apothecary shop was beyond him at the moment. He couldn’t very well be honest about it.