“My dearest child,” she gushed, her tone dismissive. “This is wonderful news. And what a surprise! Gilchrist, right? You are now an earl.” She pulled off her glove and offered her hand. “We knew each other in India.” There was a warmth in her tone that Leonie did not trust. Was her mother implying there had been something between them?
“From a distance, we knew each other,” Roman stressed as if he could divine Leonie’s thoughts. He took a quick step away.
Her mother followed him. “We shall know each other better now.”
“I look forward to calling you ‘Mother,’ ” he agreed, a statement that wiped the feminine leer off her mother’s face. Leonie could almost laugh.
Her father stepped forward, putting his arm around her mother’s shoulders as he handed her a glass of sherry. “Look at the two of them, Elizabeth. We could not ask for a better match. Their babies will be beautiful.”
“I pray I’m not so aged I can enjoy them,” her mother muttered into the glass of sherry poured for her, obviously irritated by Roman’s comment.
Leonie’s father laughed. “Ignore her. She turns sour whenever the attention is not centered on her. Come with me, Rochdale. We have business to discuss. Don’t worry about your drink. I have plenty in the library. This way, my lord.” He directed Rochdale out of the room.
Silence stretched between her and her mother.
Her mother spoke first. “This betrothal is rather abrupt. The ton likes to witness events taking place. How else can they gossip?”
“Isn’t it obvious he is smitten with me?” That jibe was for her mother, who frowned an answer.
“Is this what you wish, Leonie? A man who has a somewhat unsavory reputation.”
“Unsavory? What do you mean, Mother? Last night you did not protest.”
“I’ve had a chance to consider. He murdered your lover. There will be people who remember.”
Her accusation jolted Leonie. “In all the time since that horrible night, you have never expressed such a thought. And then to hear it spoken in this manner . . . ? Are you using my confidences against me?”
“Such cool outrage. Well done, my daughter. You have learned something from me.”
“And what is that, Mother? How to be cynical?”
Her mother laughed. “Yes,” she agreed. “Cynical and practical. My every intuition tells me there is more to this proposal than meets the eye.”
“There isn’t.”
“Leonie, you were never good at lying.”
Better than you think, but Leonie kept that thought from her face. Instead, she rose. “I believe I will retire to my room.”
“And not see your newly beloved when he leaves the house?” her mother mocked.
“Apparently, I have learned something else from you as well,” Leonie answered, and went upstairs, but she did not go to her room. Instead, she went to the first-floor study. It was located over the downstairs library and shared a flue with the fireplace below it.
Leonie crouched near the cold hearth and heard her father’s voice as clearly as if he was standing in the room with her.
“When you said you were going to marry my daughter, I did not expect you to act this quickly.” Charnock watched his butler pour drinks. “I have respect for a man who goes after what he wants.”
The library contained very few books and the ones on the shelves appeared to have been in the family for ages. It was a room for men to gather.
Roman waited until the manservant had left and closed the door before answering. “It is not love, if that is what you are asking.” He spoke briskly, placing the truth out in front of them.
“Of course not. It rarely is, no matter what the blithering poets say. Look at my wife. I despise her.” Before Roman could think of a response to such a startling statement, Charnock raised his glass. “To your good intentions, my lord.” He downed his drink.
Roman watched Charnock swallow good whisky as if it was water with a sense of wonder. He’d been around drinking in his time. Soldiers were not ones to let their thirst go unquenched, but the indulgences he witnessed amongst the fashionable set would have made even sailors admit they’d been mastered.
He thought of Leonie entering the receiving room looking like Venus brought to life . . . with brandy breath.
What was he setting himself up for?
His stepfather would warn him to apply logic. If he did not like Charnock’s drinking, and he already knew the daughter had a taste for spirits, well, could he make peace with that?
“I suppose you are interested in her dowry,” Charnock said.
Roman decided in that moment, yes, he could sleep with a riverfront slattern if it gave him the money he needed for Bonhomie, and Leonie was a far cry from that description. “It is of significance,” he agreed.
Charnock grinned. One of his front teeth was crooked. “We could engage a lawyer for this, but why? We are both reasonable men.” He walked over to a desk by the window and set down his glass. He pulled a piece of paper from a drawer and dipped a pen in ink. He began writing.
Roman could almost hear Thaddeus say he was a fool to be making any legal arrangements without him.
Blowing on the ink to dry it, Charnock said, “Actually, I am pleased that you will marry my daughter. You almost have a responsibility to do so, you know.”
“And why is that?”
“Because of that bad business in India.” Charnock reviewed what he’d written while saying offhandedly, “Yes, you involved her in a scandal that might have been avoided with a deft hand.”
“Do you think?” Roman challenged, his voice reflecting a calmness he did not feel. What the devil was with Charnock? If he knew the truth, he’d be polishing Roman’s boots in gratitude.
That is, if he knew what such an emotion was.
Charnock didn’t hand the paper over to Roman. “It is almost justice that you marry her. She made a very unwise decision. Young girls will do that. However, now she will have you to keep her in line.” He punctuated his words by handing the offer he’d written to Roman.
“Fifty thousand pounds dowry,” Roman read aloud, almost not believing the amount. He stared slack jawed at the number.
With fifty thousand pounds, Roman could pay off his late uncle’s gambling debts and do whatever he wished to Bonhomie. And he could take care of his family—his parents and his sisters. Thaddeus’s suggestion to marry was genius.
“Have I made it worth your name, my lord?” Charnock asked.
Roman found his voice. “It is good.”
Charnock grinned as if he knew Roman struggled to contain his enthusiasm. “I want my blood to inherit your title.”
“If your blood is in your daughter, then that will happen.”
Unfortunately, his statement struck the wrong chord with her father. “Of course she is mine.” Color rose to his face and Roman realized he had insulted him.
Too late, Roman remembered the gossip that Leonie didn’t look anything like her father. Even Thaddeus had mentioned how different her features were. His voice calm, he answered, “I did not mean to imply she wasn’t.” But he did wonder why Charnock was touchy?
Her father glared as if he trying to divine Roman’s thoughts, and then he visibly relaxed. He lifted his glass to show it was empty. In a lighter voice, he claimed, “You may have misunderstood me, my lord. I was not offering a challenge.” He moved back to the table with its row of decanters. “Would you like another?”
“I am fine, thank you.” Roman looked down at the paper almost unable to believe his good luck.
“Don’t stare at that number too hard,” Charnock advised. “Your eyes will cross. Once you marry, the funds will be made available to you.”
Roman could never have imagined fifty thousand pounds in his accounts. He was going to need to dream again, big dreams.
He was also agreeing to marry the woman who had almost destroyed his old dreams. I will accept your offer and you may have my dowry and eventually my inheritan
ce, provided I am your wife in name only.
That would never happen.
Because, in this moment, Roman realized he longed to see Leonie Charnock pregnant with his child. And it wasn’t that he wanted to possess her. No, he had the unsettling feeling that it was his fate to protect her.
He’d chased after her and Paccard that night because he had known she was making a mistake, that she would need him.
And she had.
Roman could recall all too clearly the smell of blood and gunpowder in the air and the look of horror in her eyes.
Glancing down at the agreement and hearing the clink of the whisky decanter against glass as Charnock poured another healthy drink, Roman sensed she needed him now as well. Indeed, at one time, she’d been one of his dreams, the one he had believed he’d lost.
Roman had bullied his way into the proposal, but he had no regrets. Watching her father drink, knowing the way her mother was, this marriage was best for Leonie. Come what may, he’d make her see the advantages. He had fifty thousand reasons to do so.
“I believe I will take my leave,” Roman said. “Thank you, sir.” He offered his hand. Charnock reached for it.
“We shall let the women work out the details of the wedding breakfast and all of that.”
Roman hadn’t even started to think about the actual details of a wedding. “When should we marry?”
“One week? Two weeks? Whenever.”
Exactly what every caring father should answer. “I shall arrange for the special license,” Roman answered.
“Let me have Yarrow show you out.” Charnock downed his whisky.
“I can find my own way.”
“Good. You are also resourceful. May you be a fertile bastard as well.”
He left the room.
The butler waited in the hallway. He escorted Roman toward the door. They were almost to the foyer when the servant’s step slowed. His gaze on the lacquered front door ahead, he said to Roman, “The servants and I wish to congratulate you, my lord.”
“Thank you—Yarrow, correct?”
The servant confirmed the name with a small bow but then he came to a halt. Without looking at Roman, he said, “Please look after her, my lord. I—we worry.”
“About?”
Yarrow’s gaze met his, and then drifted away as a footman approached from a side room with Roman’s hat and greatcoat in hand. The moment for confidences passed as quickly as it happened. “Here is your hat and coat, my lord. Thank you, Colin.” Yarrow held the hat while Roman put on his coat.
Pulling on his gloves, curiosity made Roman want to press Yarrow for more information; however, the butler had retreated behind the facade of servantly duty. He would not say more.
Roman set his hat upon his head, tipping the brim to a rakish angle. He looked toward the receiving room, half expecting Leonie to be there and yet not surprised that she wasn’t.
“Well, good day,” he said to the servants, and started for the door Colin now held open for him. However, before he could leave, he heard a step on the staircase.
“My lord.” The soft-spoken words turned him around. Leonie stood halfway down the stairs, her hand on the rail, one foot on the step behind her as if caught in indecision—and he thought he wanted to always remember her as she was in this moment.
The deep green of her dress set off the gold in the tawny waves of her hair. Her eyes, always disconcerting in their intensity, now reflected uncertainty.
She came down the stairs toward him, her step so light it was as if she floated. She walked to him and offered her hand. “You would leave without saying good-bye?”
Conscious that the servants watched, he took the hand and brushed his lips against the smooth, warm skin of the tips of her fingers.
She squeezed his gloved fingers and leaned close as if to peck him on the cheek. His heart seized in anticipation.
But her lips did not touch his skin. Instead, in a voice so low the servants could not hear, she asked, “Will you honor my terms for our marriage?”
Roman jerked upright.
Her huge, almond-shaped eyes beseeched him for the answer she wanted.
Well, she was not going to receive it.
“Until tomorrow,” he said, and left the house.
Chapter 8
He hadn’t agreed.
Leonie almost tore down the street after Roman. She pictured herself grabbing his coat sleeve, jerking him around, and demanding they reach an arrangement.
However, she was very conscience that Yarrow watched. She bit back her disappointment. Later, she would corner Roman. She smiled at the butler.
“Congratulations again, miss. I believe you have made a wise choice,” Yarrow said.
“He is a dandy, isn’t he?” was all she would let herself say because to speak what she was truly thinking would shock the butler.
She excused herself with a smile and a nod and went as quickly as properly possible to the side room. She sat at the cherry secretary and penned notes to Willa and Cassandra, both saying, Come now. I need you.
Loyal friends that they were, they did, even though Cassandra had tickets to attend an exhibition with her stepmother and half sisters.
Once they were safely tucked into the sanctuary of Leonie’s bedroom, she announced, “The Earl of Rochdale made an offer and I’ve accepted it.”
Both her friends opened their mouths to exclaim their gladness, and then stopped, puzzled.
“Who is Rochdale?” Willa asked.
“Did you introduce me to him last night?” Cassandra wondered.
“I did,” Leonie answered. To Willa, she said, “He just rose to the title. It is an old and respected one.”
“Oh, yes, him,” Cassandra said. “I sensed there was something between you.”
“You just met him last night?” Willa asked, puzzled. “Isn’t this sudden for a marriage offer?”
“Yes,” Cassandra echoed. “Last night, you weren’t particularly pleased with him.”
“My family knew him in India.” It was a simple explanation, far easier than the complicated ones Leonie had been contemplating while she’d paced the floor waiting for her friends to arrive. It sufficed. Willa and Cassandra were not interested in background. In fact, Cassandra being overly dramatic, immediately began assuming all sorts of romantic notions about Leonie and Rochdale from years ago.
Willa, too, grew equally enthralled with the idea of young lovers reconnected again, and all Leonie had to do was nod and smile. Her friends’ imaginations provided all the details.
When she’d asked them to come over, her thought had been to enlist their help in extricating herself from the marriage offer. She’d been willing to tell them that she’d wanted to arrange an agreement with Roman where he received her dowry and she received the freedom to live her life on her terms.
But now she knew she couldn’t.
Willa and Cassandra yearned to marry. They wouldn’t understand not wanting a husband. They played the game of scoring points in earnest, whereas Leonie had played it to keep from screaming in boredom.
“Tell us how your earl proposed,” Willa said.
“Yes, we want those details,” Cassandra agreed. “Were you surprised? You must have been. Did he say he had always loved you?”
Leonie couldn’t imagine Roman making such a declaration. She cobbled together a story. “Well, he called on me today”—she left out that she asked for the call—“and barreled over me into accepting his offer.” Yes, that was a good description.
“Tell me about last night,” Willa said. “I didn’t meet him. Were you surprised he was at the ball?”
Leonie dipped into her imagination. They wouldn’t want to hear about her flares of temper or his rudeness. Actually, they might, and then they would believe she’d taken leave of her senses to marry him.
“He said he had never forgotten me. He came right up to me at the marquis’s ball. I had my back to him.” She stood to demonstrate. “I heard his voice first. �
�Hello, Miss Charnock,’ he said—and I recognized him immediately. I turned and—”
Her voice broke off as if she was really living the moment.
In truth, she really could see him as he’d been last night. Rugged, an outlier, even in his fine clothes. Rochdale was competent, something she could appreciate after years of living with her father’s carelessness. Perhaps he was a touch jaded. However, he had searched her out last night.
He’d come for her.
“He said he would marry me.”
“Just like that?” Cassandra asked.
Leonie nodded.
“Oh, my,” Willa breathed. “So decisive.”
“Yes,” Cassandra agreed solemnly.
They were right. Roman hadn’t minced words.
“Well?” Willa prompted. “What does he look like?”
Years ago, Leonie had chosen Arthur over Roman because of looks. Arthur had been tall, slender, almost beautifully made with deep blue eyes.
However, Roman had something Arthur had never possessed, that no man of Leonie’s acquaintance had carried in the same quantity, and that was presence.
One knew when Roman was in the room. “He’s handsome,” Cassandra said. “Not as spectacular as the duke but he can hold his own.”
“I want to hear it from Leonie,” Willa chided.
Leonie forced a smile. “Tall, dark hair, lean face.”
Willa waited for more. When Leonie didn’t continue, Willa made a great show of saying, “That was informative. We’ll recognize him because he has dark hair like a hundred other men in London.” She pulled a face, letting Leonie know she wasn’t satisfied.
Leonie shrugged. “You will meet him soon and then you can form your own opinion.”
“I know and I will,” Willa said with impatience. “But tell me what you like best about him?”
“Oh, that is a good question,” Cassandra agreed.
It was. “He is loyal,” Leonie answered.
“Loyal?” Cassandra echoed. She scrunched her nose in distaste and looked to Willa, who shrugged.
Loyalty might not mean anything to them, but it was everything to Leonie. Roman had never betrayed her.
If Ever I Should Love You Page 8
