by Robyn DeHart
He listened to her carry on for what must have been three full minutes. She was so energetic and expressive and he could feel himself being pulled into her presence. The very aspects of her that he’d expected to drive him mad on that first night were now the things about her that just made her Meg. Unique from any other woman he’d ever encountered. She was mesmerizing, and the attraction he felt to her was undeniable. One thing could be said about marrying Meg; they would light up the nights with their passion.
She stopped walking and turned to face him. He nearly expected her to stamp her foot.
“Are you finished now?” he asked.
She swallowed. “Yes,” she said quietly.
“I did not seek you out to chastise you. I do have better things to do with my time than that.”
“Oh,” she said.
“But I did come to discuss something with you. Your admission has put us in a damn precarious position. It’s not the decision I would have made, nor choose for you to make. There is no good reason to sacrifice oneself for another. Most people don’t deserve gestures of such kindness. But it is done and now we must live with the repercussions.”
Her features were etched in confusion.
Ah hell, he’d never proposed before and he was already bumbling it up. Another reason that he should have at least thought about what to say before he got there. Honor, responsibility, and passion. There were worse attributes to find in a bridegroom. The list had grown since this morning. Surely those elements were good seconds to promises of eternal love.
“I’ve come here to ask for your hand,” he said quickly.
“My hand in what?” she asked.
“Don’t be coy, Meg. Marriage. Your hand in marriage.”
“Are you quite serious?” she asked. Then she frowned. “I thought you despised me.”
“I won’t lie to you, Meg. I’m angry about this.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “I also know why you did it. Now it is my time to do the honorable thing.”
“Honor,” she repeated.
“Yes. Women do not dream of wedding for honor. They want love and other promises, but I cannot make those promises. You are as level-headed as any female I’ve ever encountered, so certainly you were not lounging about imagining marriage proposals in the form of soliloquies of love.”
She bristled. “Of course not.”
“So you agree?” he asked.
She shrugged and walked to the window. “I don’t see the point. I appreciate your effort in trying to salvage my reputation, but there is no need. I’m quite content to stay in my father’s home and continue working at the factory. It’s what I wanted.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. You told me there had been a time when you wanted a family. Wanted children. I don’t think you’ve given that up, at least the desire for it. I may not be able to give you everything, but I can give you that.” It was the truth. He could go days and not speak to anyone and scarcely notice. But Meg began to fidget if the world around her had been quiet for very long.
Meg said nothing for a long while, simply stared at him.
He stepped over to her. “I’m not going to beg you, Meg. But I won’t allow you to ruin your reputation on my behalf.” He put his hand on her back. “I can’t. I’ve already spoken with your father—”
She stiffened. “When did you see my father?”
“This morning. He’s already agreed to the match.”
She blanched, as if he’d struck her. Pulling back the curtain, she looked out the window. “I see.”
“It is settled then,” he said.
She nodded.
Gareth had never seen her so defeated. As if she’d lost every friend she had. Was the prospect of marriage to him that horrifying?
Two proposals, and neither was the material of dreams. She’d gone to Charlotte’s this morning because she couldn’t bear to see her father at the moment. Not only had she intentionally ruined herself, but she foolishly rejected a proposal meant to save her. She’d been going over her decision again and again in her mind, and while Charlotte had convinced her that she’d been right to decline Henry’s offer, Meg was uncertain. She hadn’t wanted to say yes, but she had done a poor job being responsible thus far. Had she thought more of her responsibilities from the start, she would not have been in this situation and would have received neither proposal.
And so when Gareth had arrived with the same question for her and approval from her father, she couldn’t deny him. She couldn’t say no to a second attempt to save her name.
Two proposals in one day, and in the end, she had accepted one of them, and while he made no promises of love, Meg knew she’d made the only decision she could under the circumstances. She was trying to pinpoint the specific emotion coursing through her body when Charlotte burst through the door.
“Well, what did he want?” she asked.
“Did you even wait until he had stepped outside?” Meg asked.
“Oh, honestly, Meg, does it really matter? Come on, I’m dying here, please put me out of my misery and tell me what it was that he wanted.”
Meg thought on it a moment. How did you tell your best friend that you’d accepted a marriage proposal? Especially under such conditions. Charlotte had received more proposals than any other girl Meg knew, yet she had declined each of them, waiting for the one man who would light her on fire. Meg had accepted the second proposal she’d ever received, and it was nothing more than a duty of honor.
Granted, many marriages were built on such agreements, and they endured and even blossomed. At least she and Gareth had a friendship of sorts; that was more than some women achieved. She’d done the right and responsible thing, yet she felt unsettled.
“I must say,” Charlotte said, “he is a most handsome man. I can certainly understand why you fancy him so much. What was so important that he traveled all the way to my home to see you?”
“He came here to ask me to be his wife and I accepted,” she said and looked away so she would miss the disappointment in her friend’s eyes.
“Are you happy about that decision?” Charlotte asked guardedly.
“I thought after declining Henry’s proposal, another would be pushing my poor father’s patience. He won’t admit it, but I know he was heartbroken about the compromise. I think he believes me that my virtue is still intact, but to think that my reputation could be ruined—it was a lot for him to absorb. In the end, I could have made a worse match.”
Saying yes to Gareth’s proposal had been the easier choice. She recognized that. It was no great sacrifice to marry a man with whom she had shared passionate embraces. But it was also a more frightening choice. Henry would have been respectable and…safe—she would never have worried about pain or loss. He was a kind soul, but Meg knew she never would have loved him. With Gareth she wasn’t so certain.
She’d already been treading on dangerous territory by giving in to the passion between them. She’d be a fool not to recognize that her heart was in serious trouble. Now she wasn’t so certain she knew how to protect herself.
“That’s absolutely true. I only want to make certain you’ll be happy.”
Meg smiled. “You know me, I’m always happy. I can make do with any situation. That’s who I am.” That had always been true about her. Even when she’d mourned as a child, she wouldn’t allow herself to be too sad for too long. She was always afraid of those darker feelings, always afraid they would pull her under and she wouldn’t be able to survive.
“Gareth better endeavor to make you happy, else he’ll have me to answer to,” Charlotte said.
“I thought you’d be disappointed in me.”
“For what?” Charlotte actually looked shocked. “For doing the responsible thing? Meg, the fact that I remain unmarried might seem courageous to some, but so often it feels like such a folly. I believe, in my heart of hearts, that he’s out there waiting for me, but what if I’m wrong?” She shook her head. “No, you had the courage to recognize a
decent man when you found one and you did the right thing for yourself and for your family. I respect that.”
“Thank you. I certainly hope you’re right and that this was the right decision, because at the moment, I’m not that positive.”
Chapter 18
It had been three days since he’d seen Meg and since she’d agreed to be his wife. Two more days and they’d be husband and wife. She’d been surprisingly absent from the factory. Planning for a wedding took a lot of time, he supposed.
But the time had come. He could wait no longer. He had to tell her today. Gareth pinched the bridge of his nose. Once the announcement hit the papers, the whole of London would know. It was only fair that Meg hear it from him rather than from reading it, or hearing it from a friend.
She was going to be angry, and he couldn’t say that he blamed her. She would see this as a lie, a truth he’d withheld from her. But for him, it was part of the fabric of his being. He’d never intended to take that title, never intended anyone would know his true identity.
He’d been in this parlor once before, a few days ago when he’d spoken to her father. He’d never seen anything beyond this room. It didn’t take long for the butler to retrieve her, and she entered the room in a flurry. She wasn’t dressed as he’d normally seen her, in her well-tailored dresses. Today she wore a simple gown of soft yellow and her glorious hair hung down around her shoulders. He thought he detected bare toes peeking out from beneath her hem.
“Gareth?” she asked breathlessly. “I wasn’t told it was you, only that I had an urgent visitor.”
He took in the sight of her. She was refreshing, a breath of air, and despite his reluctance to admit it, being near her seemed to lift the heavy weight from his shoulders. She always had a smile for him. He’d never known anyone like that before. That would all end as soon as she heard his news.
“You look lovely,” he said.
Her hand moved to her hair. “Oh, I must look a fright. I’ve been helping to clean out the north wing.”
“No, I meant it. You look lovely.” She looked simple and carefree, ironic considering that their situation was anything but.
“Oh, thank you.” She reached behind her and twirled two locks from the side of her head and secured them away from her face.
He rubbed his palms on his pants. Did she have to look so damn pretty today? Because all he wanted to do was pull her to him and lose himself in her kisses. He wouldn’t have to deny himself of her temptations for much longer. Soon they would be married and he would have her anytime he wanted. Assuming she didn’t do something drastic after his confession, like kill him.
“There is something I need to tell you,” he said.
“All right.” She crossed the room and sat down in one of the wing-back chairs. Somehow she’d folded her legs up underneath her.
“The announcement of our pending nuptials will hit the paper today.” He glanced around the room. “You will discover when you read it that I’m not who you think I am.”
She frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Precisely what I said.”
“I think you’re Gareth Mandeville and you work at my father’s factory.” She held fabric from her dress in her hands and fidgeted with it. “Is that not correct?”
“No, it is. I am those things. That is my name. But there is more. More I haven’t told you. Haven’t told anyone. Well, one person knows.” He turned from her and walked over to a table. “May I?” he asked, pointing at the decanter of brandy.
“Please.”
“Do you want one?” he asked, after he swallowed a glass, and then poured himself another.
“I’ll wait. Gareth, you’re making me nervous.”
“I’m a viscount,” he blurted out.
She came to her feet. “You’re a what?”
He nodded, then took another sip. “You heard me correctly. I am a viscount.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is this some kind of a jest?”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.” She fell back into the chair. “How can you be a viscount?”
He should probably go to her and comfort her, but that was something he couldn’t make himself do. He wasn’t the comforting type. It was best she learned that now before she started to expect certain behaviors.
“I don’t understand. Why would you lie about this? Why would you lie to me?” she asked.
“I didn’t lie, Meg.”
“You didn’t lie? What would you call this, then?”
“I simply didn’t tell you everything about myself. No doubt there are things about yourself that you have not told me.” She had every right to be angry with him. He knew that. But it was his secret to keep, and he would not make excuses for his decision.
“Oh yes, let’s see. I bite my fingernails, on occasion I don’t brush my hair, and…” She paused and held her dress up to her ankles. “You caught me; I have a fondness for walking around without shoes. Yes, that’s all the same.”
“I understand your anger.”
“You don’t understand anything,” she said bitingly.
He didn’t. She was right about that. She had compromised them to save his reputation and now she’d have to marry a man she didn’t want. A man who had lied to her. A man who would probably lie to her again if it served his purpose. Would she forgive him if he told her he couldn’t help it? That he was doomed to be a selfish bastard who only looked out for himself and ways to serve his needs?
“How is it possible that you have a title?”
“My father was a viscount; when he died, I became a viscount.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need a lesson in birthright, Gareth. I meant, what are you doing working at a factory?” She put her hand to her chest, suspicion flickering across her face. “Are you spying on us?”
“No.” It was on his tongue to ask her if she really believed him capable of that—she should know him better. But that would be a slap in the face. She knew him, probably better than a lot of people, because she’d actually taken the time and effort to learn things about him. And they’d spent so much time together. But he’d still kept this from her, and one secret would erase all the other things he’d shared. “Nothing like that. I work because I have to. Because without a paying position, I wouldn’t have any funds.”
“But aren’t gentlemen supposed to invest their funds, not toil and labor themselves?”
He stiffened. “I am not above working with my hands. And you have to actually have funds to invest, or that plan doesn’t work.” He walked over to her, but didn’t reach out to touch her. “I didn’t do this to trick you. It wasn’t meant to hurt you or anything like that. I kept this a secret for my own reasons, that did not and will not have anything to do with you or this marriage. No one knows about this. I never intended to take this title. It has brought nothing but misery, and I didn’t want it to have that sort of power over me. I’m sorry you feel as if I’ve betrayed you, but this isn’t about you. I only wanted you to know the truth before you become my wife.”
She said nothing for a moment; she only watched him guardedly. “I have one question.”
“Anything.”
“Did you set all this up so you could marry me for my money?”
He knew how this looked. He’d be a fool not to. The penniless viscount who happened to land himself a wealthy heiress. He went to her then, unable to ignore her need to be comforted. And his desire to comfort her. He knelt beside her chair and took her hands in his. “No. I did not. I never even knew that your father had a daughter when I took the position at Piddington’s. And the missing boxes, and getting locked in with you, not planned. I am not marrying you for your money, nor do I want your money. I will continue earning my own. Once we are married you’ll be a viscountess. The title means little to me, but a great deal to the rest of Society. I wanted to be honest with you before we were married.”
She nodded but did not respond further. His comfort was not e
nough. He was not enough.
He stood. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts about this. And I will see you in two days at the church. I do hope that you won’t be angry with me forever,” he said, then he turned and left.
She wouldn’t be angry forever. He knew that. Meg was a naturally happy person. She wasn’t a fraud, she simply had a naturally cheerful disposition. Even so, she deserved to be angry right now. Once she digested everything, the anger would clear. It had to. Because he couldn’t live with himself if he was the reason Meg Piddington stopped smiling.
Meg was angry, shocked, and confused. A viscount? She wouldn’t have been any less surprised had he told her that he was the crown prince.
And her, a viscountess. Her Ladyship.
That was almost laughable. On the surface, this was exactly the kind of match the pushy mothers of heiresses all over England dreamed of making for their daughters. She had been raised in a good home with plenty of privileges, but once her mother had passed on, all her education about catching a husband had ended. She knew nothing about being a wife. And even less about being a viscountess.
Ah, Mama, now would have been a nice time to have a talk. She very much needed some guidance. What did you do with a marriage based on a man’s sense of responsibility? And how could she protect herself when she knew that losing her heart to him was only a kiss away? Was the heartbreak of loving someone without his returning that love as great as losing the love of your life?
It wasn’t merely his lie that had her upset. He didn’t want to marry her, and that hurt. It was clear that she would never be more to him than an obligation.
