by Sahara Kelly
“A valid point,” agreed Isabel. “But you will also admit that when it comes to children, a younger man is more energetic and probably will get them sooner. Sir Franklyn…well, I’m not so certain about his ability to sire a child…”
“Stop.” Rose held up her hand. “Stop this at once. Both of you.”
The two women looked at her in amazement. “But Rose—”
She held up a hand and stopped her mother’s protest in its tracks. “This conversation ends now. I will not listen to you dissect every man I danced with, or who spoke to me, or who had the misfortune to sneeze in my direction. I’ve already told you I am not even thinking of marriage at the moment. And you both know that I’m about as ineligible as can be when it comes to marrying into the aristocracy, no matter what your deluded dreams might suggest.”
She stood, angry and tired of the discussion already. “I am peculiar, don’t you remember? I do not see things, especially music, the way everyone else does.” She pushed her chair back. “So what are you going to tell the holder of an ancient title when he discovers you’ve arranged his marriage to a woman who sees colours when she hears music? Are you going to mention it to him before the wedding? Or after? Or will you wait until I’ve borne a child to tell him and then stand back when he has me committed to Bedlam?”
She looked at both of them. “It’s most convenient that you’ve both forgotten this. Because no matter our standing, or any potential husband’s financial situation, not one of the eligible men out there wants a wife who is possessed of a bizarre talent. Because that’s a taint of insanity they’ll not choose to pass on to their progeny.”
Walking to the door, she turned briefly. “I’m going riding.”
Leaving both her mother and her aunt with their mouths open in surprise, she stalked out of the room, and called for her maid to bring her the jacket to her riding habit.
Within five minutes she was out of the house, and in ten she was mounted, with a groom following discreetly behind her, heading for Hyde Park.
The day was brisk, a sharp breeze snapping at her cheeks, and she was glad of her gloves and her warmly lined clothing. But her temper eased as the sun played hide-and-seek with the clouds and she caught sight of primroses in the hedgerows and buds on the branches, all speaking of the coming spring. The scent of the air, fresh for once, invigorated her and chased away her megrims.
Yes, she was in a devil of a spot, but at this moment, right now…all was well.
And when she spied the tall figure atop a dashing black mount, all was better than well.
All was simply wonderful.
*~~*~~*
“Hallo,” she called. “I’m a little early.”
He smiled at the picture she presented. “So am I.” He doffed his hat as she rode up to his side. “I can’t say I’m sorry because I’m not.”
To his delight she blushed slightly and shook her head. “Neither am I. But if you knew the conversation I escaped, you wouldn’t be in the least bit surprised.”
He turned his mount and looked down the path leading into the park. “You can tell me about it as we ride…”
“One moment.” She shifted in her saddle and glanced at her groom. “Thank you, Stevenson. About an hour?”
“Yes’m.” The groom touched his forelock, grinned at her and wheeled back to the right, leaving her alone with Miles.
“Um…” He raised an eyebrow.
She sighed. “Ride please. I’ll explain.”
He nodded, his curiosity rising but his patience holding it in check.
“And if possible, I would very much like to ride somewhere far away from prying eyes, gossips, whispers and rumours. Any and all of which might get back to the ears of my mother.”
“Ahhh.” He nodded again, with sympathetic understanding. “In that case, follow me.”
He spurred his horse into a trot and then a slow canter, noting she kept pace comfortably, seeming at ease in the saddle. At a fork in the bridle path he veered left, onto a turf lane that led nowhere in particular. After about five minutes, when the branches grew low enough to threaten hats and heads, Miles eased up and brought his horse to a standstill.
“This should be far enough from humanity, I think?” He glanced around. “Especially on days like this.”
She held a finger to her mouth, and for a few moments there was no sound at all but birdsong and the creak of the horses’ tack.
“Good. This is very good.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping a little.
He dismounted, tied off the reins, and came to her side, holding up his arms as she slid down into them.
For a fleeting second he held her closely, her scent wreathing its way into his nostrils, familiar and warm. Shaken, he let her go and tied her horse near his.
“Shall we walk a little? I think there’s a small stream ahead…”
“Yes, that would be lovely.” She nodded and smiled. “I have to thank you for this. A rare moment of peace, sorely needed.”
He took her arm and linked it through his. “A rough morning, I would assume?”
“You would assume correctly.” She sighed. “You cannot even begin to comprehend what it’s like being a young unmarried woman in London during the Season.”
“Your Mama, of course.”
“And my aunt Imelda. Lady Radford.”
“Over breakfast?”
“Before the tea was poured, if you can believe that. I was drowning in commentaries and possibilities before my first piece of toast.”
“Well, I will ask you to accept that it wasn’t much different in my house this morning.”
She raised a somewhat sceptical eyebrow at him. “You are no young girl, Miles. I cannot see a parallel…”
“Ah, but I too possess a mother. And one who is perfectly capable of nagging by way of notes delivered to me at breakfast. Just because she’s not sitting directly in front of me, doesn’t mean I avoid that you know.”
“My apologies,” she laughed. “It is much too easy to forget that gentlemen also suffer a bit from the maternal desire to see their offspring settled.”
He laughed back and squeezed her arm with his. “The perfect expression. Yes, my mother is on a mission to see me settled, and it’s every bit as annoying as I’m sure yours is.” He walked them on slowly. “I like to think they have our welfare at heart, you know.”
She took her time responding. “I’d like to think so too.”
“But?” He turned to glance at her, unable to see her eyes because of her riding hat and attached veil.
She shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. When marriage sounds more like an investment opportunity or a discussion of the breeding lines of a racehorse, it’s difficult to extract any emotions at all.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I must add that my mother, although I loathe the nagging, does have my best interests in mind. And I’m sure she does the same thing to Mowbray as well, but likely on a more limited basis.” He chuckled. “Even she has to admit that he is rather a walking disaster. It would have to be a very special young lady who would be willing to take him as her husband. She’d have to make sure all the fine china was locked away.”
Rose laughed, as he’d intended. “And yet he is so good natured.”
“Yes he is. The best brother a man could ask for, if you can ignore his gift for clumsiness.”
“And brilliant too,” she added.
He grinned. “Why Miss Rose. Are you developing a tendre for Mowbray?”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Good lord no.” She blinked. “Er, no disrespect to your brother of course.”
“Of course.” He enjoyed her slightly shocked look. “I’m glad to hear it though. Because I’ve had an idea and I would like to present it to you as an option that might solve both our problems.”
Her eyes filled with curiosity. “I am eager to hear it.”
“Walk on a little.” He led them further down the quiet path, finally drawing to a halt beside a small str
eam, as promised. Some thoughtful landscape gardener had placed a bench on the bank, a rough-hewn assemblage of logs that seemed to offer seating and yet blend with the surroundings.
“How lovely,” she smiled, sitting down and settling her skirts in an absent but feminine way.
It was that sort of move that always fascinated Miles. How ladies knew instinctively to arrange their clothing with a twitch here and a tug there. It was an art, and so many women seemed born with it. Rose certainly was.
He sat beside her, noting the pleasant fact that they were out of the wind and the sun was doing its best to warm them.
“Right then,” he said, looking out over the stream. “You and I share a common dilemma. We’re both at the point where our families are exerting pressure on us to find ourselves a spouse.”
“Yes,” she answered, an affirmative nod echoing the word.
“And neither of us wish for that to happen until we are ready to make our own decisions.”
She sighed. “Another emphatic yes.”
“So here we are, both in the same boat.” He leaned against her briefly, a touch of comfort. “And threatened with drowning because the damn thing is sinking much too fast.”
“You have no idea,” she nodded. “I appreciate your situation, Miles, I really do. But I am at a loss as to which way to turn.” She gazed over the stream, much as he had done moments before. “I am dependent upon my family. Young ladies don’t own houses, or have the freedom to wander around London. I am truly cabin’d, cribb’d, confined, as Macbeth says. My mother would be well within her rights to present me with a gentleman and announce that he will be my husband. I would have few options should that circumstance arise.” She looked at him then, something close to fear in her eyes. “I shudder at the thought, but it’s not out of the question.”
“I understand.” He took a breath. “So here’s my idea. We should get engaged.”
The ensuing silence was deafening.
He peered down around the veil of her riding hat to make sure she was still there and saw her eyes tightly closed.
Finally, after long moments when even the birds seemed shocked into silence, Rose opened her eyes and gulped, a sound that echoed very loudly in his ears. Her lips moved, she made a squawking sort of sound, then cleared her throat…and tried again. “What?”
“I think we should get informally engaged.” He was emboldened by the flicker of interest he swore he could see in her eyes. “I say informally, since it would be a pretence. But it would definitely be enough to get our families off our backs.”
“Ah.” Her eyelids lowered, shuttering those expressive eyes.
“Well? What do you think?”
She turned away from him, staring back out over the river. “Give me a moment? You have taken my breath away and sent my brain whirling with your suggestion.”
He resisted the impulse to remove his pocket watch and try to decide exactly how long a moment might be. Neither did he drum his fingers on his knees. But it was close on both counts, and he caught himself up before he nudged her to see if she was still awake.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He breathed slowly, told himself to get his thoughts in order, and be patient.
Finally, eons later, she straightened, and turned to him, an expression on her face he could not quite read. “It’s a brilliant idea, Miles. Just brilliant. It will solve both yours and my problems, so yes, I will indeed agree to a pretend engagement. And at the end of the Season, I will cry off?”
“As you wish,” said Miles. “We can work out the details later.” He sighed. “I just want to get out from under this crushing obligation my mother is laying on my shoulders.”
“As do I,” she affirmed. “Mind you, there will be some challenges…” She glanced at him, a warning in her voice.
“I look forward to meeting them, shaking hands with them, and then beating them to death,” he answered, grinning.
“I have every confidence you’ll do just that,” she replied.
Chapter Ten
Rose took his hand as he stood and allowed him to steady her as she came to her feet.
She was very glad he did because she wasn’t quite sure if her knees would work—her entire body had become a rampant mess of squirrelling emotions after hearing his proposal.
No, stop, it wasn’t a proposal. She must not, by any means, think of it as that. It was an escape. A way out of their shared dilemma, and that was all. It was a reasonable, if slightly scandalous, suggestion.
And one that—for several incredible seconds—had lit up her world in shades of gold, silver and rainbows.
Literally.
She’d closed her eyes and opened them again to see everything in such startling colours…it had stunned her to silence and taken more than a few moments of fierce concentration to pull herself back together, only to see him gently smiling at her and completely wrecking her good intentions.
Using every iota of strength she possessed, she had been able to converse with him, and as he spoke, so calm and orderly in his voice and sensible in his words, her moment of hysterical bliss faded and her feet returned to the ground.
More collected and ready to think coherently, she tucked her hand comfortably around his arm as they began the walk back to their horses.
“How shall we proceed?” She glanced up at him.
“I think our best course of action is for me to accompany you home. Your mother will be there this morning?”
Rose nodded. “Yes, I assume so.”
“Good,” answered Miles. “Then we will inform her, together, that we believe we will suit. I shall find out who I am supposed to talk to when it comes to requesting your hand in marriage…who would that be, do you know?”
“Um…” She frowned. “Well, I suppose it would be my papa’s cousin Sinjun. St. John Beauchamp. He became the titular head of the family when Papa died. But honestly, Miles?” She bit her lip. “I’m not sure where he is at the moment.”
“Why not?”
“He travels. Has what he calls itchy feet. Last we heard from him was at Christmas, I believe. A note from Yugoslavia.”
“Hmm.” Miles pondered that. “Well, good luck to the man. Travelling that way in winter is probably quite an adventure, and honestly not one I’d care to embark upon. However,” he sounded quite smug, “that falls most conveniently in with our plan.”
“How so?”
“He cannot give final approval if he’s riding a yak somewhere in Asia, can he?”
Rose stopped herself from asking if yaks were common in Yugoslavia. “Well, that is true. But if you think that will deter Mama…”
“It probably won’t, I agree. And we don’t really want to deter her, just slow her down a bit.”
“Agreed.” Rose fell silent as they walked, turning the situation over in her mind. Crying off at a certain point during an engagement was not in the least bit uncommon. But it gave rise to as much gossip as the engagement did in the first place. Was he ready for that? She decided to ask.
“You do realise that if our arrangement becomes public knowledge, which of course it will, there will be a lot of talk, rumours, innuendoes and curiosity.”
“Yes,” he said, unmoved. “Society is a greedy bitch with an insatiable appetite for anything that smacks of spice. And do pardon my language.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself.” At least he understood. “Many will wonder what you see in someone of my lineage. And they may accuse me of entrapping myself a husband with a fortune.”
“I’m ready to ignore all that.” He paused, drawing them both to a standstill. “But I should ask at this point—are you?”
“When compared to what my mother and my aunt have put me through, and from all appearances will continue to do so, then yes. Nothing can be worse than an endless barrage of reminders, nudges, nags and orders.”
As she spoke, Rose realised that her words were absolutely true. A weight had completely lifted from her
shoulders. To know that she need not endure the constant, eroding pressure to get married…it was a gift, a genuinely wonderful gift.
“Miles,” she said. “The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. It’s silly, but for some reason it feels like I can breathe again.” She looked up at him. “Thank you for this. I will be forever in your debt. And the fact you’re willing to share the chaos that will follow…well, that’s above and beyond the call of friendship. So again, thank you. Thank you more than I can say.”
His eyes met hers and something flashed between them like an arc of lightning.
“It’s my pleasure, Rose.” Then he shocked the dickens out of her by leaning down and dropping a light kiss on her cheek. “There. Now we are not-really-properly informally engaged.”
She could smell him, male, wool, leather and a touch of sandalwood. Warm pink colours touched him, and she blinked, trying to recover herself. “I…”
He chuckled. “Well this is a first. I’ve never had an improper engagement before. Should we call it that, do you think?”
Catching his mood, she laughed as well. “I would say that is an excellent and accurate description.” She gasped. “Oh my God. Wait until Lydia and Ivy hear about this. And Judith will be back soon. They’ll never believe it.”
“They might,” mused Miles. “After all, we have spent quite a bit of time together.”
“Yes, but it’s me…” she answered with a shake of her head. “And you.”
He tipped his head to one side. “Yes. Yes it is.” He sounded puzzled.
She rolled her eyes, pleased to see the horses where they’d left them. “Miles, it’s a terrible mésalliance, you know.. That’s what London will talk about. Not the fact that the delightful and eligible bachelor, Lord Miles Linfield, is now off the marriage market. It will be all about how shocking for someone of his standing to even think about marrying a lowly Glynde-Beauchamp.”
