by Diane Farr
Kilverton looked startled. “Must we?” he asked. Then he dropped her hands with an exclamation. “What a clothhead I am!” he remarked. “You must forgive me, Caitlin; pray chalk it up to inexperience! I have proposed marriage before, but, as you must know, I have never before offered it to a woman I actually love.”
Caitlin felt that her head was swimming. “Marriage?” she choked.
Kilverton grinned at her affectionately. “Why, yes! But in my anxiety to get to the heart of things, I forgot just now to mention to you, my darling, that I have recently rejoined the ranks of eligible bachelors.”
“Oh,” said Caitlin faintly. “You have?”
“Yes,” said Kilverton cheerfully. “The Polite World is about to offer its condolences to me. My suit has not prospered.”
“Not prospered?” repeated Caitlin. “I do not perfectly understand—”
Kilverton assumed an air of gravity. “Shocking, isn’t it? That one so well-born could behave so shabbily! But Lady Elizabeth, of all people, has—er—played the jack.”
A crease appeared between Caitlin’s brows. “Done what?”
“Played the jack. Played nip-shot. Turned short about. Cried off. In a word, Caitlin, I have been jilted.”
Caitlin suddenly wished very much that it were possible to sit down somewhere. Her knees felt like they were turning to water. Fortunately, Kilverton took her hands once again in a sustaining clasp. She clung to them gratefully.
“Miss Campbell, I have not spoken to your father yet for two very good reasons: one is that I rather fancy you are of age. The other is that Captain Talgarth stole a march on me and has been closeted with him for the past half hour.”
“Merciful heavens! Captain Talgarth is here as well?”
“I had to bring him, you know; you neglected to inform me of Rosemeade’s whereabouts. Your sister Emily was not so remiss. Captain Talgarth was given your parents’ direction.”
Caitlin choked. “My sister Emily was being courted by Captain Talgarth—an experience I have yet to enjoy!” she reminded him.
“An experience you will, alas, never enjoy,” said Kilverton firmly. “You will not be courted by Captain Talgarth, or any other man! Unless, of course, you reject my offer of marriage. In that case, I will court you myself—assiduously, ardently, and persistently—until I change your mind.”
A mischievous smile played at the corners of Caitlin’s mouth. “You tempt me, Lord Kilverton. I would very much like to be courted by you.”
She was immediately seized in a pair of strong arms, and Kilverton’s breath stirred her hair as he embraced her fiercely. “And I would very much like to court you, Caitlin! The suspense would be hard to bear, but I could dance attendance on you for the remainder of the Season—make you the envy of the ton, if possible—God knows you deserve it!—and wait until autumn to ask for your hand. Shall I do that, my dearest heart? Would you rather we did things properly, for once?”
Caitlin sighed blissfully. Standing in the middle of a twilit lane with Richard Kilverton’s arms around her, it was simply too difficult to make decisions. “It does sound wonderful,” she admitted happily.
His chuckle rumbled against her ear. “What, to have me dancing attendance on you for a few paltry months? If I promise to dance attendance on you for the rest of our days, will you give me your answer now?”
Her arms stole shyly around him. It felt every bit as marvelous as she had dreamed it would. She smiled mistily. “That sounds even more wonderful.”
She felt his lips in her hair. He murmured, “Then do not make me wait, I beg of you. Will you be my wife?”
Caitlin closed her eyes. In that halcyon moment she felt her life reach its most eventful corner, turn it, and flow forward.
“Yes,” she whispered. “With all my heart. Yes.”
***
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Diane Farr was first published at the age of eight when the Bakersfield Californian printed one of her poems. She has spent most of her life with her nose in a book—sometimes reading, sometimes writing. She is a four-time finalist for the prestigious RITA award, the highest award of excellence in romantic fiction.
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