Page 16 of Miss Mulberry and the Moody Marquess
“I don’t care. If you ask me to be your wife, it should only be about us and not about Georgianna Cranford and her scheming.”
Ethan reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a small velvet covered box. Flipping the latch on it, he revealed the ring inside which instantly made Charlotte’s eyes sting with tears.
“It’s so beautiful. I could not have imagined a more beautiful ring,” she whispered. The delicate gold band was etched with a wreath of forget-me-nots and in the center was a single sapphire surrounded with small, perfectly shaped pearls. “Where on earth would you find such a thing?”
“I had it made… several years back. I heard you once tell Mrs. Whitlow at some fair or other that forget-me-nots were your favorite flower. Simple and lovely, often overlooked, but beautiful nonetheless. I think that is what you said,” he explained.
She blinked in surprise. “You commissioned the ring for me on the mere hope that you might someday have an opportunity to propose?”
“Yes. Mad as that must seem, yes.”
It might have been a little mad, but it was also the most terribly romantic thing she’d ever heard. It was certainly the most romantic thing she had ever experienced personally. Arliss had not given her a ring. He’d called it a foolish indulgence and claimed that a simple band would suffice and that they would purchase it just before they married. “I think it’s wonderful,” she said. “I count myself to be very fortunate, indeed, that the future I had once accepted is now forever more lost to me. And in its place, I will have a husband who listens to me, who cares for even the most minor of my whims. I cannot think of any woman so lucky as I am.”
“Then, Miss Charlotte Mulberry, will you do me the great honor of being my wife?” He asked.
“Yes,” Charlotte answered immediately and without hesitation. “Yes, I will be your wife.”
The ring slid onto her finger effortlessly, fitting her perfectly.
The ring had been an impulsive decision when he’d had it made several years earlier. Commissioning that piece of jewelry when there had been absolutely no indication that he might ever be fortunate enough to place it upon her hand had been an act of either madness or blind faith. It depended, he supposed, entirely upon one’s perspective.
“Shall we have Mrs. Whitlow make an announcement for us? I can contact the vicar and have the banns read as early as tomorrow’s service,” he offered.
Charlotte shook her head. “I have it on good authority—namely Mrs. Whitlow’s—that a bit of scandal would make her the envy of every other hostess. So long as it’s the right kind of scandal, of course. I should think an elopement might do the trick. If you wish to be married quickly, of course. We are not so very far from Gretna Green.”
“If? Charlotte, I’ve waited seven years. We could be standing before the vicar right now and it would not be happening quickly enough,” he answered. “But elopements are for people who marry against advice and good sense.”
“I’m well past my majority. We are still within our parish… we could marry by common license,” Charlotte suggested. “There would be no one who would object. I know that Mrs. Whitlow would consider it a personal victory.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “By all means, let us marry quickly for the glory of Mrs. Whitlow.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she said, clearly horrified that he might think so. “I would never be so… so…”
“Superficial? Mercenary? Trust me, Charlotte, those are words that will never be applied to you. Anyone who spends more than a single moment with you will know the goodness of your heart and the sweetness of your nature.”
“I feel that you may be quite disappointed when you know me better. I’m quite capable of being selfish and even petty. I’m far from a paragon.”
“As am I,” he replied. “But we shall enjoy finding one another’s many facets, flaws included… For now, I can only think of kissing you again.”
“Then by all means,” Charlotte said, “I certainly think you should.”
Chapter Twelve
They did not make an announcement. After they left the garden, Charlotte returned to the house while Ethan rode into Blackpool to obtain the common license. If he was successful, they would marry the following morning. Since an outing to Blackpool had already been scheduled, it would be quite convenient and would offer them some degree of discretion.
That thought left Charlotte positively shaking. But not with fear. It was excitement and anticipation which left her trembling. The kisses they’d shared, the way he looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world, and the way her heart quickened at the merest touch from him—while it was not love, not yet, it was certainly infatuation. And that was a great deal more than she’d had with Arliss, in retrospect. It was certainly more than she’d anticipated having after he broke their engagement to marry Georgianna.
Dressing for dinner, Charlotte was nearly finished pinning her hair up when a knock on the door halted her efforts. Calling for her visitor to enter, she was stunned to see that it was Regina Cavender and her maid.
“If my brother means to tell the world you’ll be his bride, then you ought to look the part,” Regina said with her typical straightforward manner. “It wouldn’t do for people to think a future marchioness is doing her own hair.”
Before Charlotte could even protest, the maid had pushed her down into her chair and was ferociously attacking her hair with a brush and a plethora of pins. In the end, she created an elaborate coif that, while not completely opposite of her normal style, was clearly much more complex in construction.
“Better,” Regina said, nodding her head decisively. “Now for your gown. You cannot wear that.”
Charlotte looked down at her perfectly fine pink dinner dress. “It’s a lovely gown. It’s one of my favorites,” she protested.
“Precisely. I myself have seen you wear it on no less than five occasions… Collins, fetch the royal blue silk. It should do nicely for Miss Mulberry, I think.”
