The Marriage Bargain (31 page)

She paused for a moment before answering. “Sir Harry was responsible for my parent’s deaths, for the death of my guardian, and he almost took Beckett away from me. Sir Harry has earned his fate, and he has occupied more than enough time in my life. I have no more room for him. Only for happiness.”

Beckett kissed her hand and he looked at her proudly.

“A remarkable woman you married, Beckett.” Alfred smiled. “No doubt about it. Oh, and I have news about someone else who won’t be bothering you anymore. Cordelia.”

Beckett’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“She’s gone and married Sir Montague Tate.”

“Tate—why, he must be close to sixty!”

“He is. But Sir Montague must be in good health for he and Cordelia were—” he looked at Isobel “—forgive me, my dear, but they were caught in a disastrously close embrace at Lady Ashbrook’s ball not two weeks past. I must take some responsibility, as I was the one who misinformed her about Tate’s fortune. You see, Cordelia had set her cap for the Marquess of Rutledge, who, as you know, is enormously rich, and also a very good friend of mine. What could I do? I simply had to intervene.

“Word was that Cordelia was beside herself after the fiasco with Tate. But what could be done? Her father wisely forced the match. They were married in a little church in Huxley Lane, and removed to Sir Montague’s modest—meaning terribly small—estate in Shropshire. Can you imagine Cordelia in Shropshire with all those sheep?”

Beckett shook his head, but smiled. “No, but I wish Cordelia and Sir Montague well in their marriage. As Isobel said, we must let go of the past. Let only happiness into our hearts.”

Isobel looked at her husband. His beautiful face, his sea-blue eyes that bewitched and calmed her, and let her glimpse the beauty of his soul. He made her heart sing with joy.

Yes, she could let go of the past. She could let go of the need to be loved by Beckett. She would let only the happiness of loving him every day into her heart, and that would be enough.

It would have to be.

Isobel stood in the doorway as Alfred prepared to leave. He and Beckett had enjoyed their morning together, and she had enjoyed watching them reunited. They were like brothers, and it warmed her heart to see her husband so happy.

“Well, I’m off.” Alfred adjusted his hat so that it sat at precisely the perfect angle upon his head. “Now, you must promise to come for a visit. Great Aunt Withypoll is up from Chilton and she is driving me ‘round the bend. Say you’ll come. I am not averse to begging, you know.”

Beckett chuckled and patted his friend on the back. “Don’t worry, Alfred. We would be overjoyed to see the dear lady. I think she and Isobel will get along famously. Tomorrow evening, then.”

“Splendid!” Alfred said, beaming. He bent to kiss Isobel’s hand. “Until tomorrow, madam.”

“Goodbye, Alfred.”

“Take care of her, Beckett.” Alfred winked at his friend. “Your mysterious bride is quite a treasure, you know.”

“I know, Alfred.”

“I say, Beckett—since you had such luck finding a bride in a rubbish heap, I thought to try to find one for myself in the same fashion. What do you say? Perhaps I shall start looking directly. Yes, that is exactly what I shall do!”

The door closed behind Alfred, leaving Beckett and Isobel alone. For a moment silence hung heavily between them, and they looked at each other as if not knowing what to say. An uneasiness gnawed at Isobel’s heart and she knew she couldn’t ignore it.

As they walked back into the salon, she took a deep breath and said, “You asked me to remind you…you had something you wanted to tell me.” It is probably nothing, she told herself.

“Oh, yes… that. I’m glad you reminded me.” Beckett steered her toward the sofa. “It is quite an important matter, you see. I am convinced it will have a profound effect on our future as husband and wife.”

They sat down. Isobel stared at her hands folded in her lap and braced herself.

Dear Lord, was he going to tell her he wanted to live apart? After all they’d been through?

She would be strong. She had to prepare herself for such a thing. If that was what Beckett wanted, she would go back to Hampton Park and live out her days alone.

“Isobel—” Beckett gently lifted her chin up so that she looked into his eyes.

Oh, how could she bear it?

“What I want to say is… well, I have been trying to make something plain to you for quite some time, now. I tried to tell you when you came to my cell on the ship, but I was a bloody coward and I couldn’t say it properly. Then I tried to say it on the deck just before they were to hang me, but as you know, I was very rudely interrupted. But it is important, and though it is difficult to say—”

“Oh, don’t say it, please,” she whispered, closing her eyes. As if that would do any good at all. It would be better to close her ears.

“Don’t say it?” Beckett said, sounding perplexed. “But I really feel that I must, my dear.”

“Oh, please, please, I beg you not to. For my sake.”

“For your sake? But it is for your sake that I want to say it. And for my sake that I must. I assure you, this is much more difficult for me than it is for you, Isobel.”

“I doubt it,” she whispered.

Beckett grabbed her shoulders. Reluctantly she faced him, looking into the depths of his eyes as he shook her slightly.

“Isobel… you are making it increasingly impossible to tell you that I love you.”

She stared at him in shock.

“You what me?”

“No, I don’t what you, my dear. I love you. That is what I’ve been trying to say. I love you! Irrefutably, indisputably, and most conclusively. There. What do you have to say to that?”

Isobel didn’t bother trying to hold back the tears that filled her eyes. They were tears of love.

Irrefutably, and indisputably.

“Oh, Beckett!” She threw her arms around his neck and laughed and cried and hugged him tightly as he hugged her. “I love you, too.”

“I must say that I had my suspicions.”

She pulled away and whacked his arm, but they were both laughing. Then, he touched his lips to hers in a kiss that echoed his words, and she felt both of them flowing into it—sharing their love with open hearts.

Beckett broke the kiss and stroked her face. His eyes glowed warm and clear like the Bajan sea. “I have loved you far longer than I knew, Isobel. I was simply too afraid of feeling anything so deep… so frighteningly pure. I’d been burnt by the flame of love with Cordelia. It seemed foolish to play with fire after that.

“But when I was in that cell, I had an epiphany. I realized that I had been fighting a losing battle with my heart. That was why it ached so unbearably when I thought of losing you. I realized true love is a prize reserved for those willing to give themselves up to it with an open heart. And I speak from experience.”

Isobel sniffed and wiped her nose with Beckett’s handkerchief. “I believe I was fighting the same battle myself—knowing that I loved you more than life, and trying to convince my heart to change its mind about the matter. As you discovered, it was a fruitless attempt.”

Beckett smiled and pulled her close in his arms. “Well, I, for one, am glad.”

“Oh, Beckett… I’m the happiest woman on Earth!”

“Well, that’s good, because I am the happiest man on earth. And it is only fitting that the happiest man and the happiest woman should be married to each other.” He kissed her nose. “Now, let me take you to bed, and show you exactly how much I love you.”

Isobel smiled at his devilish grin and sparkling eyes. “Beckett—it’s the middle of the afternoon!”

He stood up and swept her up into his arms, and she squealed and kicked half-heartedly.

“I know what time it is, my dear. And by my calculations, we can make love for close to three hours before Martha rings the bell for tea.” Beckett bent his head and kissed her divinely. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer that carriage ride around Hyde Park….”