Page 38 of The Viscount's Pearl
Warmth rushed through Laurence, a sudden happiness. Sheloved him! She had realised it only recently, just as he had, but now that they had both realised their true feelings… He read on.
I know that you wish for a marriage of convenience, that love would not be part of our marriage, and this I willingly accept. I know that you think me odd, as most people do, but I can assure you that I am not without practical abilities. I will be able to run your household as you would expect, I am willing to bear children and care for them. You will not find me ungrateful. I will also fully understand should you spend much time away from the estate and maintain friendships with ladies of your acquaintance. I will not draw attention to such liaisons, nor in any way reproach you for them.
The tingling warmth was replaced with a sudden cold. She did not love him. She believed, as he had told her, that he wanted a loveless marriage, and she too wanted only a marriage of convenience. She would not care if he were to dally with other women, would in fact expect it and turn a blind eye. She offered a marriage, but not the one he desired.
If this arrangement were to suit you then I beg that you make haste and offer for my hand. I cannot break the engagement to Lord Hosmer without an alternative suitor, but if you are willing to marry me then I will curtail the agreement and we can be wed at once. I have begged to be sent to Margate on the tenth of this month to tell Lord Barrington the news as my parents hope he will be generous on the occasion of my being wed, but I am to be married soon after I return. Come to Margate. If I see you there, I will know you agree to my proposal. If I do not see you there, I will know it cannot be and will submit to becoming Lady Hosmer, but I beg you as a friend not to abandon me to such a fate.
I am yours,
Frances
The tenth…she had been in a carriage on her way to Margate even as he had come to London in search of her. Their paths must have crossed. If he had but stayed in Margate one day longer…
I am yours… but she was not. She would be his in name only. He did not doubt her word, honest to a fault as she was. If he married her, she would undertake to run his household well, to bear him children and to all lookers-on appear a devoted wife. She had accurately described all he had believed he wanted from a woman, from a wife.
But now he wanted more. He wanted tenderness and passion, he wanted love. And cruellest of all, he wanted those things with her, Frances. What would it be like to live side by side with a woman he desired and cared for and yet receive only dutiful obligation in return?
Unbearable. He would not do it, it would be a sham and a torture of a marriage. Even to lie with her… yes, certainly, he would do so, for she had agreed to bear him children, but he did not wish to lie with a woman who submitted to him out of wifely duty. He wanted his wife… he wantedFrancesto welcome him to her bed with open arms, to seek him out, eager for the touch of his hands, his lips on hers, he wanted to hear her sighs of pleasure, he wanted to love her entirely and be loved in turn. No. He would not go to Margate. He would stay away, she would be married off and he would learn from this that a marriage of convenience was not what he wanted after all. Yes, his heart would be broken for some time but no doubt one got over these things. After some time he would find someone else to love and the sentiment would be returned. There were love matches amongst his acquaintances and his own parents had loved oneanother, it was not impossible. He would stay away, and she would marry Lord Hosmer.
She could not marry Lord Hosmer.
The thought utterly disgusted him.
Not only was Lord Hosmer old, and ugly, but he was not even kind. Frances would, apparently, be “taken in hand,” as though she were a hunting dog to be trained by the master of the hounds, to be schooled to his command and punished for failures. Hosmer would shape her or, more likely, break her. He would not tolerate her bluntness, her rocking, her shells. He would beat them out of her, whether through words or the back of his hand or worse. Laurence would see her again one day at some social gathering and barely recognise her, a puppet on strings, moving at the will of her puppet master. The Frances he had grown to love would have gone, never to return. Even when Lord Hosmer died, which one could only pray would be soon, it might be too late. She would have been broken beyond repair, beyond rescue.
But he could rescue her now. He could save her from the dark fate hanging over her head. And if she could not love him, then she could not, but he could love her. He could love her and be close to her and perhaps, perhaps, she might grow to love him in turn. She had reached out to him, after all, she had turned to him in her hour of need, seen him as someone who might be relied upon to care for her.
He would not fail her.
“Roberts!”
“Sir?”
“Do not unpack my bags. We return to Margate tomorrow morning at first light.”
Chapter 11
A Promise and a Bequest
Frances stood in her room at Northfield House and ran her fingers across the shells left on her windowsill. Lord Barrington had never collected shells in her absence, and anyway he was mostly confined to the ground floor. Who had placed these shells here in her absence? Could it be Mr Mowatt? Had he visited and thought of her, collected these and deliberately left them here for her? She ran her fingers over them one by one, held a few in her hand. There was something touching in the idea of his having done so. She had asked him for a marriage of convenience because she knew that was what he wanted, but if he had not been so certain on the subject she might have offered something more… not that she knew precisely what that might be, but she would have made the offer to explore what it might consist of. She liked him. Love? That she was not sure of, no, for surely it was supposed to be somethingwild and passionate, something all-encompassing. That was how people spoke and wrote of it. She had read Byron, she had heard the maids gossiping and even young ladies of theton,sighing over beaus.
But she liked Mr Mowatt. She had found his company on their walks pleasant; he talked but not incessantly, and he listened to her with interest. Sometimes she shocked him, she knew that, but rather than be outraged or dismayed, he had asked more questions, like the day when she had told him of Lord Barrington’s romantic past and he had given it some thought, she could see that. He had not treated Lord Barrington differently afterwards, which pleased her. When she had opened up about her feelings while they discussed the selkie women, he had looked at her strangely and after that walk had often seemed to pay her closer attention, but he had not refuted her feelings, had not chastised her for being odd and unable to behave as thetonwould wish and expect.
Laurence. She turned the name over in her mind. Laurence. What would it be like to be closer to him, to call him by his Christian name, to spend their days together? To grow closer physically, as well, for the marriage would need to be consummated and she had a vague understanding of what that would entail. But they would walk together, talk together, he might hold her hand when helping her, they might be arm in arm. They might… kiss, she supposed. She wondered what that would feel like. She wondered if she should, if he did respond to her letter and come to Northdown, offer more than a marriage of convenience. She could say that she enjoyed his company, that she would be willing for there to be something more between them.
But she did not want to frighten him away. If he came, it would be in answer to her letter, and she had laid that proposal out very clearly. She had offered a marriage of convenience, no more orless, and he would accept or reject her based on that assumption. She must hold to what she had offered. If he came, the deal would be done. And then they could tell Lord Barrington. He would be pleased, she thought. He had been willing for Frances to be a spinster all her life if she so chose, but he was a romantic man; he would prefer to see her married, even if it were a marriage of convenience.
Lord Barrington had received Frances with every appearance of delight, but when dinner was served, he sat back in his chair and looked her over.
“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Frances? I usually receive word from you that you wish for an invitation.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course not. I am always happy to see you. But these circumstances seem different than usual. I hope you have not run away from home? Your parents know where you are?”
“I have not run away,” said Frances.
“I am glad to hear it. But?”
