Love With the Proper Husband (6 page)

“This is Madame de Chabot, my late husband’s sister.” A wry smile quirked the corner of Madame Freneau’s mouth. “But I see you have already met.”

“Indeed we have,” Madame de Chabot said softly as if she and he shared some intimate secret.

“Indeed,” Marcus echoed, unable to pull his gaze away. “I can see now you are no teacher.”

She laughed. “In that you are wrong, my lord. I have taught a great many a great deal.”

Was there an offer in her words, or did he just wish there was? He stared with a mix of mild surprise and sheer delight.

“I am the teacher,” Madame Freneau said firmly, and at once Marcus realized how impolite he must have sounded.

“My apologies, Madame,” he said, flustered by his odd behavior.

This was not at all his usual demeanor. Why, he’d never been flustered in his life. Obviously the revelation about his father’s estate, coupled with his own reluctance to do what was necessary, plus the unexpected appearance of a tempting confection in pink and white had addled his mind. Nor could he remember being addled before. Ever. Not by circumstances and certainly not by a woman—no matter how unexpected or enticing she might be. “I did not mean to imply—”

Madame waved away his comment. “An explanation is not necessary, my lord. I quite understand. No doubt you expected me to be ancient and forbidding. The specter of former teachers does tend to be both.” She smiled with amusement. “And you could not possibly have expected the presence of my sister-in-law.”

“Even so”—he pushed aside all thoughts of temptresses with foreign accents and adopted his most collected manner—“I have been most impolite, and I do beg your pardon.”

“I think he is quite charming,” Madame de Chabot said in an aside to the other woman, but her gaze lingered on Marcus as if she were determining his assets and his deficits.

“We shall see, Colette.” Madame Freneau’s voice was thoughtful.

“Is Miss Townsend at home, then?” Marcus had sent a note requesting a meeting but had been too impatient to wait for an answer. Now that he had decided he had no choice but to wed the lady, he wanted to proceed with the arrangements as soon as possible.

“While she was not expecting you”—Madame’s voice carried a chastising note, and immediately he could well believe this lovely lady had once indeed been a teacher—“I am certain she shall be down momentarily. If you will excuse us?”

“Certainly.”

“Come along, Colette,” Madame said. “We shall see what is keeping Miss Townsend.”

Colette cast another assessing glance at him, and without thinking, Marcus stood a bit taller and raised his chin a notch higher. She nodded in apparent satisfaction. “He might well be suitable for our Gwendolyn after all.”

“Hush, Colette,” Madame said firmly. “That is entirely up to her.”

Colette raised a shapely shoulder in a casual shrug. A moment later he was again alone in the too feminine parlor.

Up to her?

Marcus had never considered the possibility Miss Townsend might be as reluctant to marry him as he was to marry her. How absurd. The woman had been a governess, after all. He expected she would jump at the chance to wed.

And, all modesty aside, he was considered something of a catch. His title was impeccable. His fortune, at least for the moment, was more than respectable. His reputation was no worse than that of many of his friends and considerably better than most. He was a witty conversationalist and a droll observer of life, and there was scarcely a social event where he was not merely welcome but desired. In addition, he was considered above average in appearance. Indeed, while he was not an Adonis, some might well call him handsome.

Only the most bizarre of circumstances brought him to this moment when he waited to propose marriage to a woman he had never met. A governess, for God’s sakes. Regardless of his mother’s own beginnings in life or her assertions about character building, the last thing he wished for in a wife was experience as little more than a servant. He was not nearly as democratic as his mother. Still, it could not be helped.

Well, he’d marry the chit and thereby maintain his fortune. She would provide him with an heir, and a second for good measure. Once that was accomplished, he saw no reason why she should not live her own life and pursue her own interests. He certainly intended to. Their marriage would be little more than a legal contract. An arrangement for the benefit of them both. Marcus’s wealth would remain firmly in his hands. He would support Miss Townsend in the manner and style expected for the Countess of Pennington, and according to Whiting, she would receive a sizable income from her father’s estate for her personal use to boot. She would want for nothing either financially or socially.

These were his terms, and he had no doubt that any woman in her right mind would accept them. It was not what he had hoped for in marriage and certainly not what he’d ever wanted, yet he’d had the opportunity to find a woman who would fit into his dreams and desires and had failed. Now there was no choice.

Up to her.

He snorted in disbelief. It was most definitely not up to her. This marriage, and all that went with it, was up to him. Why on earth wouldn’t she say yes?

Damnation, he was the blasted Earl of Pennington and she was a barely solvent governess. What woman on earth in her position would not want him and all he offered?

He heard voices in the hall and turned toward the door, plastering a pleasant smile on his face and bracing himself for whatever might appear. If indeed she was stout and sturdy with an unyielding disposition, he could bear it. He had responsibilities to his tenants and those whose livelihoods depended on him as well as to his family. Even to his ancestors, who had left their land and heritage and good name in his hands.

He blew a resigned breath. No, losing his fortune was not an option. He had to do what was best for everyone, personal preferences aside. Not that he felt especially noble about it at the moment. This was simply his duty, and he would live up to the obligations imposed upon him by tradition and birth. No matter how dreadful it—she—might be.

The door opened and the soon-to-be Lady Pennington stepped into the room. Marcus’s heart thudded.

Her gown was out of fashion, ill-fitting, of a faded gray color, but could not hide the promise of a shapely figure. Her hair was a dark red, the color of fine mahogany, bound up in an untidy knot as if it were desperate to break free. The top of her head would reach just to his chin. Her gaze met his. Her cheeks flushed and her blue eyes widened in shocked recognition that mirrored his own. He stared for a long moment, and a feeling that was entirely too giddy for a man of his studied sophistication swept through him. It was an odd mix of amusement and irony and relief and…gratitude. And far too powerful to fight.

And he couldn’t stop the spread across his face of a grin of truly foolish proportions.

“Good Lord, it’s you!” Gwen stared in disbelief. This was Lord Pennington? The arrogant, sarcastic, and admittedly somewhat handsome man on the stairs was Lord Pennington? Her Lord Pennington?

Not that she had given him a second thought, of course.

Besides, at the moment, he appeared more insane than attractive.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she said cautiously, wondering if it was too late to retreat to the corridor. “And why are you grinning like a lunatic?”

“It is only that I feel quite mad with relief.” He strode to her, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. His gaze never left hers. It was most disconcerting. “It is a true pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Townsend.”

“Is it?” She pulled her hand away. “Why?”

“Why?” He raised a brow. “I should think that would be obvious.”

She shook her head. “Apparently not.”

“Forgive me.” The earl’s forehead furrowed. “I assumed Mr. Whiting had informed you as to our connection.”

“He told me of an arrangement between our fathers,” she said slowly.

“Excellent.” He nodded, and the grin returned to his face. It was somewhat crooked, and if his dark hair were a bit ruffled instead of perfectly in place, he would look more like a mischievous schoolboy than a gentleman of nearly thirty. She suspected it could be quite engaging under other circumstances. This, however, was not one of them.

“Then we can proceed with the arrangements at once. I will secure a special license, and we can be wed by the end of the week.”

Shock stole her voice, and for a moment she could do nothing but stare. The man was indeed every bit as arrogant as she’d thought at their first meeting and far more high-handed than she’d ever expected. She had no intention of marrying any man let alone this one. And even if she were interested in marriage, she would much prefer to be asked rather than issued a command.

“Miss Townsend?”

“I fear you have me at a disadvantage, my lord.” She fixed him with a steady stare, the kind she’d perfected to intimidate children even if it had never especially worked. “I cannot be certain from your words but is this a proposal of marriage?”

“A proposal?” Confusion colored his face, then his expression cleared. “Of course. How could I have been so thoughtless? You would expect that. Any woman would, regardless of the circumstances. I simply assumed…Well, it scarcely matters now, I suppose, but I do apologize. Allow me to start over.”

He took her hands in his and looked slightly ill at ease. “I suppose I didn’t think of it because, well, I am not especially polished at this sort of thing. I have never been in this position before. This is my first offer of marriage.”

“How delightful to know you do not suggest marriage to every stranger you bump into.”

“Indeed I do not.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “My dear Miss Townsend.” He cleared his throat and met her gaze. “Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

His eyes were the darkest shade of green, cool and inviting like the depths of an endless garden pool, and for the briefest fraction of a moment, Gwen wanted nothing more than to fall into the promise they offered. Nothing more than to stare into those eyes forever. An odd fluttering settled in her stomach, as unsettling as the feel of his warm fingers wrapped around hers.

“Thank you.” She drew a deep breath and pulled her hands from his. “But I must regretfully decline.”

“Decline?” He stared as if she were speaking in a foreign tongue. “What do mean, decline?”

“I mean”—she clasped her hands together primly—“unless I am mistaken about the definition of the word, what I mean is, well, no.”

“No?”

“No.” She cast him her most pleasant smile. “But I do appreciate the offer.”

“You may well appreciate it, Miss Townsend, but perhaps you do not fully understand it.” His eyes narrowed, and a shiver of apprehension skated down her spine. Between his intense expression and the way he towered over her, he appeared just a bit dangerous and surprisingly more attractive. “I am not proposing an illicit arrangement, nor am I suggesting some temporary liaison. I am offering you my name, my title, my fortune, and my property. In truth, I am offering you a future.”

“Why?” she said without thinking.

“Because of the arrangement between our fathers, that’s why. Promises were made and should be kept. My father gave his word, and I have no recourse but to honor and abide by it.”

“How very flattering.” Her tone was dry.

“Obviously I did not phrase that well. It seems I am not phrasing much of anything well today.” He drew a deep breath. “I wish to abide by it. Very much so.”

“Really? You wish to wed a woman you don’t know? How unusual.”

He ignored her. “Nonetheless—”

“Your sense of honor is impressive, my lord. But regardless of your feelings, I feel under no obligation to abide by an agreement that was made without my consent. However, I do applaud your willingness to do so.” She smiled dismissively. “Now then, you may consider your responsibility to your father and mine discharged, and you may resume your life without guilt. Good day.”

Gwen nodded and started toward the door, at once relieved and a bit deflated. Not that she wanted to marry him, of course. She’d never even met the man. Still, aside from that guilt-spurred request from Albert, she’d never had an offer of marriage before either and suspected she would never have another. Besides, in spite of his arrogance, the earl was rather more pleasant, in manner and appearance, than she’d anticipated. And not at all what she’d expected in a man who could not find his own bride.

She reached the door and turned. He stood exactly where she had left him.

“My lord?” She waved toward the opening. “I believe our discussion is at an end.”

“On the contrary, Miss Townsend, our discussion is just beginning,” he said mildly.

“I don’t see that there is anything more to talk about. You asked me a question. I answered said question. Therefore”—she gestured once again, a bit more vehemently—“good day.”

“A few minutes ago I thought it had become a very good day indeed. Now I see I was mistaken.”

He strode past her to the door and closed it firmly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She straightened her shoulders and stared up at him, determined to stand her ground even if it left her entirely too close to him. “Open that door at once. It is not at all proper for us—”

“For a woman who flits around London unaccompanied, I am surprised to hear that particular protest from you.”

“I most certainly do not…” She paused. “If you are referring to our last meeting, I had a carriage waiting. Therefore I was not unaccompanied.”

“There was no one with you when we met.” His pointed words belied his casual manner. He strolled past her as if he had nothing of significance on his mind beyond the perusal of Madame’s overly feminine parlor. “Regardless of how many carriages you had waiting, your behavior was most improper. Even scandalous.”

“I would hardly call it scandalous. I am quite used to being unaccompanied.”

“Perhaps in America such lack of decorum is acceptable,” he said coolly. “Here, however, it is not.”

She resisted the urge to snap at him. “I scarcely think it matters. No one knows me here. My father was not active in society, and he died before I could have a season. I have been out of England for a considerable length of time, and only a handful of people in London are even aware of my existence. I have no family to shelter, no position to protect.”