Married to the Earl (The Wallflower Brides Book 3)

by Samantha Holt

  Augusta nodded. “You always kept yourself busy, so it does not surprise me.”

  “How can I walk into something like this and offer...well, offer my heart, to a man like Ambrose, so soon?”

  “I do not think there are any rules when it comes to love.” Augusta loosened her hold on Joanna’s arm and sank onto the stone bench in front of the house. Twined with ivy, there was a bare patch of stone barely wide enough for the two of them, but Joanna sank onto it regardless and peered down the garden.

  Around them, the houses were built close together, overlooking each other’s gardens. In the window of the house behind her aunt’s, she could make out a young girl sitting on the sill.

  Oh, how she longed to be that young again with few responsibilities and little idea of the pain and confusion of adult life. How easy it would be to fall willingly back into Ambrose’s arms and let the future take her wherever, like one of those twigs on the river that she used to throw from a bridge and watch float away. However, would it be easy in future? Was this just some feeling conjured from grief?

  “What if it is a mistake? What if I do not know my own mind?” she asked Augusta.

  Her friend pushed a strand of dark hair from her face and rested her hands on her lap. “I had moments like that with Miles. I cannot say what is right for you, Joanna, but you have always known your own mind.” She slipped a hand over to take Joanna’s. “Ambrose is quite the personality. I can see why it would be overwhelming.”

  Joanna chuckled. “You have no idea.”

  She watched the little girl in the window jump down from the sill and vanish into the shadows of the building. The idea of a break from him hurt, and yet, it brought relief too. She felt as though she were suffocating in her feelings for him, that they were crawling up her throat and threatening to drown her. It was too intense after last night.

  “You know, you were the one who really taught me courage,” Augusta mused.

  “Nonsense. You taught yourself.”

  “Well, that too, but your influence helped. I always envied how willingly you walked into a situation and without being friends with you, I am doubtful I would have taken the leap with Miles.”

  Joanna caught her smiling out of the corner of her eyes. “Being courageous about balls and...”

  “And strange, sordid parties,” Augusta added.

  “Yes, we will forget about that one.” She waved a hand. “Anyway, that is easy. Something like this...I am not certain I have the strength for it.” She flattened her hands against the ivy-covered stone, the leathery texture of the leaves and the coldness of the stone drawing her attention for a moment. “It has been a trying year,” she admitted.

  “I am glad to hear you say it. Sometimes it seems as though you are impervious to such things. First the loss of Noah and then your illness.”

  Joanna whipped her head around to eye her friend. “You think I am heartless.”

  “Not one jot!” Augusta shook her head vigorously. “I think you have your way of coping with such things and I would have my own.” She leaned in and gave her a nudge with her shoulder. “You are the best friend a girl can ask for. I would certainly never think you heartless.”

  Joanna pursed her lips. “I do not feel heartless at the moment. In fact, I feel the opposite. As though I am feeling too much.”

  “Sometimes love is too much.”

  “I do not know if this is even love. How can it be? We have known each other a mere month and I...I am a widow. A new widow.”

  Augusta sighed. “I wish I had the answer for you.”

  “Me too.” Joanna pressed her hands harder into the stone bench as though the bite of the cold, gritty surface might stop her mind from reeling. It offered only momentary distraction.

  “I will support you no matter what,” said Augusta. “And Chloe will too.”

  Joanna gave a grateful smile and looped her arm through Augusta’s. “Come, let us get some of these errands done, then we can return to Hampshire as soon as possible and you can be reunited with your wonderful husband.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  He hadn’t known he was going to say the words until he did. Or maybe part of Ambrose—deep, deep down—had understood that if he got Joanna alone today, he would utter those four little words. Four words that would change his life forever. Four words he never really considered saying to a woman.

  Of course, as a titled gentleman marriage was to be expected but it was seldom men like him said such things. Matters of marriage were normally addressed in the most formal of manners.

  They were not spilled out in haste, in the dark confines of a carriage whilst one travelled the bumpiest of country roads to meet a potential investor.

  He didn’t regret them, though.

  Will you marry me?

  The words still hung in the air—air that had grown heated the moment Joanna had settled beside him in the carriage. Air that felt thick with promise. He couldn’t get enough of her. It had taken all his willpower not to pull her into his lap and have his wicked way with her then and there. Apparently, his tongue lacked the same willpower as his body.

  Will you marry me?

  Ambrose hadn’t even led up to the moment with anything other than a sensuous kiss. There had been no honeyed words. No talk of how they should spend more time together. Or of the change she had wrought in him.

  Who would have thought Ambrose Creasey could be swayed into matrimony after one bedding? But, of course, it was more than that. Christ, he suspected he’d been falling for Joanna from the moment he set eyes on her. He’d known clever, sweet, attractive women before, but none could hold a candle to Joanna.

  Will you marry me?

  It seemed it had shocked her as much as it had him. Her lips were parted, her gaze searching his. He did not much blame her. They had made no promises to one another. Hell, she was not even out of mourning yet. He had at least another three months until he could marry her.

  There it was again. Marry. Yet it did not send a chill down his spine as it had done previously. Lord knows, there had been many a woman who had hoped for such words and even been bold enough to utter similar sentiments in his ear. The very word made his blood run ice cold. Not today, however. It made him hot with anticipation. Three months be damned, she was worth every minute of waiting for.

  “Pardon?” she finally said, the words slightly strangled.

  He adopted a half-smile. “You heard me.”

  “But did I?” Joanna pressed a hand to her neck, drawing his attention to the flesh there, barely hidden by a fichu.

  Good Lord, the woman was driving him out of his wits. He’d never struggled so much to control his desires. Or his tongue.

  “The words are not easy to mishear.”

  She blinked at him several times. He hadn’t been certain how she’d react given he had barely even thought through the question, but he had hoped there would be a little more excitement.

  “Jo, I asked you to marry me.”

  “Yes,” she murmured and twisted away to peer out of the window.

  “Yes, you’ll marry me?”

  She swiveled back around. “I mean, yes...I-I heard.”

  “That is not exactly an answer.”

  Biting down on her lip, she twined her fingers together, lowering her gaze to them.

  Ambrose put a finger to her chin, raising her face. “You shall have to forgive my lack of flowery words. God knows, I did not plan this moment very well.”

  “So you do not wish to marry me?”

  He shook his head. Was it his imagination or did a hint of relief flitter vaguely across her expression? “I wish to marry you. I just did not plan on asking you quite this way. Or at all.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Jo, how is it you make me the most tongue-tied man in England all of a sudden?”

  “I’m confused.”

  He let a smile curve his lips. “You are not alone.” He took a breath. “I had not intended to ask you but now that I have, I do
not regret it.”

  “I see.”

  “You wish for those honeyed words perhaps?”

  A brow rose. “I have little desire for false accolades.”

  “I can assure you none of them would be false.”

  She blew out an audible breath. “If you did not know you were going to ask me, how can you be certain you do not regret it? If I said yes, perhaps you would return home and be mournful of asking.”

  He shook his head. “When have you ever known me to make a decision that I regret?”

  Joanna lifted her shoulders.

  “I know you are still in mourning...”

  “That is just it.” She lifted her palms. “I am in mourning. I buried my husband ten months ago. How can I marry you so soon?”

  “Plenty of women marry as soon as they are out of mourning.”

  “Because they must. Because they need protection, Not out of...”

  “Love?”

  Her gaze snapped briefly up to this then back to her hands. “It is so soon,” she murmured.

  “Love does not understand time.”

  “You love me?”

  “Damn it, I knew you did want those honeyed words,” he said, too aware that the air around them had hardened.

  His heart picked up its pace and the hairs on the back of his neck were pricking, as though he were about to run into a fight. He didn’t like this one jot, this uncertainty, this doubt.

  “Not at all.” She peered at him through big eyes that dug deep into his heart.

  Will you marry me? Why the hell did he have to go and spoil everything with those foolish words? His heart pressed hard against his rib cage, thudding with the sickening certainty, that he, the infamous rake, had gone entirely against his type and ruined it all.

  “You care for me, do you not?” The words came out colder than he’d intended.

  “Of course I do, Ambrose, it’s just my aunt said—”

  “Oh I see.” He smirked. “You have been listening to gossip.” He made a disgusted sound. “I have made no attempts to hide my past—you know full well who and what I am—but I had hoped you did not think me capable of proposing to a woman whilst remaining the rake about Town.”

  “That is not it at all!”

  He sighed. “I thought you were smarter than that, Jo.” And he had thought himself cleverer too. Why did he think he could barrel headlong into something so ridiculous as marriage after a lifetime of being a rake?

  Her cheeks reddened. “I am smart, and I am certainly no fool.”

  He twisted away from her and folded his arms, pressing himself back against the seat of the carriage. “Not smart enough to know when a man is being earnest.”

  “I know...I know you are being earnest but, Ambrose, this is sudden. I am still in mourning...”

  “As I am reminded frequently. It’s damned hard to compete with the ghost of a man,” he muttered.

  “Now you are just being petulant.”

  “Perhaps I am.”

  And God did he hate himself for it. He sounded like a little, sullen child who could not persuade his mama to buy him some sweetmeats. But, damn it, it felt as though the world was collapsing beneath his feet, as though the carriage was about to drive into an abyss of crumbling ground, and he had little idea how to stop it. Nothing he said worked. All he heard from her were reasons why she did not wish to be with him. He drew in a breath through his nostrils and turned to face her.

  “We have something unlike I have ever felt before.” He gave a dry laugh. “God knows, I have never, ever proposed to a woman before.”

  “Yes, you are a rake, I know,” she shot back. “I do not need to hear of it every moment.” She waved a hand at him. “Which is precisely why both of us would be foolish to dash headlong into such a thing. How can this really be...love—” she murmured the word as though it was some great sinful thing to say aloud. “—when you have never loved before and I have only recently lost a love?”

  “You do not trust me to know my own mind?”

  “I think you believe you are in love but how can you be sure? How can anyone be sure?”

  “I know,” he said through gritted teeth and slapped a hand against his chest. “I know in here. And if you don’t...well, clearly, I should never have asked that question.”

  Joanna twined her hands so tight that the fabric of her gloves bunched up around her knuckles and wrists. “I suppose not.”

  Ambrose leaned back against the seat, propped an elbow on the side, and vaguely watched the gentle hills pass by. He heard her breaths, the slight rustle of fabric as she fidgeted. His heart beat hard in his ears. Now was the time to come up with those honeyed words that he had so desperately needed. Usually, they came in an instant and with ease. Not with Joanna. His tongue and mind remained as empty as the hills.

  “I think I should go home,” she said softly.

  He didn’t look at her. “Perhaps you are right. We are in no mood to sway Sir Lionel today anyway.”

  “I do not mean just to my aunt’s. I mean...home, home. To Hampshire.”

  His heart stopped beating for a moment. He waited.

  “And perhaps you should remain here for a while.”

  Clenching his teeth, he said nothing. What could he say? He had already uttered the four most foolish words known to mankind. Will you marry me? What an idiot.

  Chapter Twenty

  “This fair business is keeping you awfully busy.”

  Joanna glanced up briefly from the letter she was penning. “Mmmm.”

  Her mother gave a loud sigh and Joanna resisted the desire to do the same. There was so much to organize still and so many invites to send out. Really, she needed another set of hands, but Chloe was suffering from tiredness and she could not bring herself to ask Augusta, who would happily aid her, but had so much to do as Viscountess Ashwick. Besides which, she and her husband had done so much already.

  Anyway, she had the time to write these letters, even if she did so loathe the task, so she might as well be the one to do it.

  Another huff emanated from her mother. Joanna peered at the clock and lowered the quill into the ink pot. She had been writing for nearly an hour and her fingers hurt. She rubbed the indentations on the tip of her forefinger and thumb. A brief break would do no harm and then perhaps her mother would cease huffing and puffing while she embroidered some linen.

  “Is there something wrong, Mother?”

  Her mother blinked. “Oh, nothing.”

  Joanna pursed her lips. “Mother?” she pressed.

  Her mother lowered the handkerchief to the arm of the chair and sighed for what had to be the hundredth time that day. Joanna waited expectantly.

  “Perhaps I should ring for some tea,” her mother suggested.

  “Tea can wait. What is it that has you so aggravated?”

  “I am not at all aggravated,” she protested.

  “Tell that to this letter that is taking me twice as long thanks to your huffing, Mother.”

  Her mother frowned. “If I am huffing, it is with good reason. A mother does not huff without reason.”

  Joanna shook her head and smiled. “Then will you tell me that reason?”

  “I really do think I should ring for tea.” She went to rise but Joanna stood first and tugged the bell before coming to sit beside her on the powder blue sofa. “There, the bell has been rung. Now will you tell me what is bothering you so?”

  “It is not in my nature to interfere in private affairs...”

  Joanna clamped her lips shut lest she argue the opposite. Though she had certainly witnessed more interfering mothers, hers could hardly claim she had remained at a distance from her life. Goodness, since before her debut into society, her mother was there, ensuring that she did everything just so in anticipation of finding the perfect husband.

  “Well, I received a letter from your aunt today…”

  She pressed a hand briefly to her stomach. Had aunt mentioned the night with Ambrose? As discrete a
s she had been, it had been clear her aunt had figured out that night away in London had been with Ambrose. She made it clear indeed through her disapproval. But what did it matter now? It was over and there would be no more nights with Ambrose. Ever since her return to Hampshire, he had remained in Town, and she suspected he would stay there.

  It just went to show she was right. He wasn’t ready for marriage and neither was she. No doubt he was back to his rakish, roguish ways, and had forgotten all about proposing marriage.

  Her stomach gave another flip and she drew in a long breath through her nostrils. There was no sense in dwelling over it. She had plenty of other things to worry about and a flippant proposal from a rake was not the sort of thing one needed to muse about.

  “Is Aunt Liza well?” Joanna finally asked.

  “Oh yes but she is...concerned about you.” Her mother fidgeted in her seat and straightened her skirts.

  “I assure you, Mother, there is no need—”

  “I am aware of your attachment to Lord Newhaven,” she blurted, her cheeks pinkening.

  “Mother—” Lord, Joanna really did not want to have this conversation. It had been bad enough to receive a practical scolding from her aunt. The last thing she needed was one from her mother too, especially when it would remind her all about her time with Ambrose. Just thinking about him made her heart give a little pulse of sadness and her nose tingle.

  She shook away the memories and peered out of the window. Sunlight streamed in, puddling upon the fresh flowers on the windowsill. The weather bode well for the fair and—

  “Your aunt inferred that you might have...a strong attachment to him.”

  “Aunt Liza is wrong,” Joanna replied swiftly. “It was merely a business relationship.”

  “I see.”

  Doubt flickered in her mother’s gaze. “Really it was,” she insisted.

  “He is a charming man. Handsome too.”

  “I have met many handsome and charming men, that does not mean I have an attachment to all of them.”

  “He seemed to like you very much,” Mother commented.