“I should have told you long ago,” Anna said.
“Yes, you should have.” Madeline smiled again. “But I am so pleased you are rich. How delightful. You should hear the way Lady Carlton has been speaking about you now.” Madeline lowered her voice. “Horrid woman.”
“You’ve missed so much these past few days,” Madeline added. “And the most surprising news of all...” Madeline drew a letter from the pocket of her gown and handed it to Anna.
“What’s this?” It was on fine paper, written in an elegant hand.
“An invitation.” Madeline shifted on the bed. “Or rather, a promise of an invitation. Read it.”
Anna opened the letter, creased as if it had been unfolded and refolded dozens of times already. She sat up higher, and Madeline rearranged the pillows behind her.
“Who is this from?” Anna asked. “I do not recognize the hand.”
“Read.” Madeline bounced up and down, making the bed tremble.
“Very well.”
My dear Lord Wareton,
I am writing to request the honor of hosting a grand fete at Carbridge House in Mayfair during the upcoming season to launch the new Countess of Wareton...
“Carbridge House?” That was Duke of Dulverton’s London home. Anna dropped her gaze to the bottom of the page, to the signature.
Jane Dulverton
“What?” Anna sat up straighter. “Lady Stratford married the duke?”
“Eloped with him to Gretna Green. Infuriated his mother and half the family too. Is it not tremendous?”
“But what of Cecelia?”
“She put up a bit of a fuss at first, but in truth I think she’s relieved.” Madeline smiled. “Lady Carlton ranted about it for a day or two but forgave Lady Stratford—I mean, the duchess—when she sent the letter.”
Anna stared at the page a moment longer, shaking her head. Then she began to laugh. She stopped when a sharp pain suddenly shot out from her side and across her stomach.
“The poor duke,” Anna said, lying back against the pillows. “I almost feel sorry for him.” She handed the letter back to Madeline, who was frowning at her.
“Is that all you have to say?” Madeline said. “Did you not see who the ball is to be for?”
“For Cecelia?”
Madeline scowled. “The Countess of Wareton!”
Anna frowned. “The Countess of Wareton?”
“One would think you were shot in the head, not the side,” Madeline said. “She means you, silly.”
“Me? Oh… No.” Anna dragged the counterpane higher and began pulling at the flounced border.
“Oh yes, you will.” Madeline leaned closer. “I know what happened,” she whispered, “and you had best marry him. You’d be a fool not to. He’s spent the last three nights pacing a rut in the floor for you.” Madeline straightened. “And once I am married I will return your inheritance to you, so that need not stop you—”
“You cannot promise that. Besides, it is not that simple.”
“What else could possibly keep you from marrying him? I know you love him. Do not pretend you don’t.”
That was all the more reason why she couldn’t marry him. How could she explain to Madeline how scared she was? Madeline barely recalled when their parents had married each other, and she didn’t remember how miserable they were. Madeline was so idealistic and so optimistic about marriage. But no matter what Adrian had said, Anna feared he’d still only be marrying her out of duty, duty made easier by the fortune he now knew she had. Money was no cure for eventual resentment, however; she knew that all too well.
Madeline stood, shaking the letter at her. “You think about how foolish you are being. I am sending him back in.”
“No, please, I am tired.”
Madeline spun around and marched out the door. A moment later Adrian’s heavy footfalls sounded in the hall. The door creaked open, and he filled the doorway with his broad form, his face in shadow.
“Madeline said you asked for me?”
“No.” She saw his back go rigid. Guilt washed over her. “Come in,” she added softly. She owed him an explanation at least. “Close the door, please.”
The door clicked shut and he turned toward her, his hands clasped behind his back.
“I must explain why I cannot marry you,” she said.
He stared at her, waiting.
“You said yourself,” she continued, “to marry me is to lose a chance at far better connections for you and the family—”
“I was an idiot. Spouting nonsense.”
“A match with me will be looked at as unfortunate for you. Even with my inheritance, society will not welcome me—”
“I do not give a damn. And even so, few will dare snub you with the Duchess of Dulverton as an ally.”
It was true. He was not making this easy for her. Damn him.
“You might eventually regret such a choice,” she said. “You might grow to resent me—”
“Resent you?” He looked at her as if she were mad. “For what?”
“For lost opportunities. For my birth—”
“The devil I would. What do I care who your father was?” He strode to the side of the bed and gazed down at her. “Who is better for Wareton than the woman who has been her true mistress these past years?”
She shook her head. “You care for the estate as well as I have.” Perhaps even better, but she refused to admit that to him. Ever.
“Perhaps,” he said, smiling faintly, “but who will save me from myself the next time I am too stubborn to see what is right in front of me?”
“You have saved yourself before—”
“Only partly. I was reformed, but my heart was not healed. I couldn’t see what I had done to my own brother, and I couldn’t forgive...” He leaned closer and reached out to her.
“Look at me, Anna,” he whispered, cradling her cheek with one strong hand. “I want you to be my wife. Not because you are rich, not because I have compromised you, but because the past few days have been, quite frankly, the worst of my entire life. The thought of losing you...”
He took her face in both hands, leaned down, and kissed her tenderly.
Everything he said, the tone of his voice, the softness in his eyes, and the press of his lips told her that her dearest wish had come true and yet... Her distrustful heart still doubted, weighed down by the fear of how more than one hundred thousand pounds could make a man behave.
Adrian kissed her gently, then not so gently. Then he stopped abruptly. Damn it, he was a fool, he might be hurting her.
“I shall say it again,” he said. “I ask you to marry me. And if you doubt my reasons, I have a solution.”
“A solution?” She gazed up at him, her lips swollen and pink from their kisses. A mix of hope and worry clouded her eyes.
“I said that I’d wait to marry you if that is your wish. And I would, I would wait an eternity if I have to.” He could see doubt flicker in her eyes. “But if I had my way, I’d not wait one hour past when you’re well enough to ride to the church.”
Her eyes widened.
“I understand you don’t wish to give up your fortune,” he continued, “and the plans you had for it. So my solution is I shall sell Eastgate and give you the funds.” Her eyes widened even further. “In the end, it will not be as much as your inheritance, but I shall give you full legal control of it. I can have the papers drawn up before we marry, and then once sold, you can give the money to the Forlorn Females Fund or do whatever you like with it. Whatever it takes for you to know my motives are honest.”
“Sell Eastgate?” she whispered. “You would do that?”
“Yes.” To hell with Eastgate. Wareton was his real home now, ever since he’d come here and fallen in love with its mistress. For that was who she was, and who she would continue to be if he had anything to say in the matter.
“You would forfeit my inheritance and pay me a fortune to marry you now?” she said, her voice cracking.
“Yes,” he said.
She flung herself into his arms.
“You will hurt yourself.” He tried to pry her away but she clung to him, trembling.
At first, he thought she was crying, but no, it was laughter, her mouth muffled against his chest. He cradled her against him, reveling in her sweet warmth and the softness of her hair against his cheek.
God how he loved her. He would marry her no matter whose child she was, no matter how little money she had, and no matter what other people thought, just so long as he could hold her like this whenever he wished. She was forever a part of him, of his soul.
She turned her face towards him. “You do love me.” She was radiant, her eyes bright. He reached out and touched a lock of her hair, smoothing it back from her eyes.
“Of course I love you,” he whispered. “How could I not?” He paused to stare at her a moment. “You will be my wife?”
She nodded, smiling.
“As soon as possible?”
“Yes. I too would gladly forfeit the money rather than wait.” She blushed delightfully. “I am happy for Madeline to have it. And I shall not allow you to sell Eastgate either. Not on my account. But…” She entwined her fingers with his. “I would ask you for a much smaller amount of money.”
“Anything you want,” he said. “What do you need it for?”
“Well…” She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. “There are some updates to Wareton that I’ve wanted to arrange for.”
He laughed. “Of course there are.” He realized again one of the many reasons he loved her—her practical nature.
He drew her closer, until her lips were inches from his. “And were you going to share these plans with me ahead of time?”
“Not at all,” she whispered.
And her difficult nature as well. He smiled and began kissing her.
He’d desire her no other way.
About the Author
Elizabeth Rue lives in Massachusetts with her high school sweetheart husband and two children. She was a finalist in Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Contest in 2016 and 2017. Undone by the Earl is her debut novel.
Visit Elizabeth at her website
www.elizabethrue.com
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