Page 22 of The Marchioness of his Desire
“What do you mean?” she asked, and he brought his face down close to hers.
“I have made my choice. Our marriage will still go ahead. I will not cast you aside, though I am entirely in my rights to do so,” he said, and Rebecca gasped, as Edward’s entire demeanor seemed to change.
She had expected nothing less than dismissal, the cutting of all ties, and the assurance that he would see her name as mud.
“But you must. How can you marry me after what I have done?” she asked, mindful of the proposal which Nicholas had just made, and he sighed.
“I can set such thoughts aside. If you promise that never again will you entertain the question of your feelings for this man. I hold him entirely responsible for seducing you, and I am willing to put this episode behind us for the good of our future together. Your sister too,” he said, and Rebecca nodded.
“I do not know quite what to say,” she said, the secret of what Nicholas had proposed now weighing heavily upon her.
He was once again the very model of a pleasant, kind man, and yet there was something else, as though he were always keeping something of himself back, and that something scared her. How readily he forgave her now, as though she could have done anything, and he would still have stood by her. It was a universal saying thatlove is blind, but Rebecca felt as though Edward would stop at nothing to possess her, even when she had shown most clearly her willingness to be seduced by past love.
“Simply say that we shall put this matter behind us, and that you will not entertain any suggestion of Lord Somerset coming between us again. You are mine, Rebecca, and you have accepted my proposal. Let that be the end of it; do you understand?” he said, his lips narrowing, and the hint of the sadistic smile coming over his face again, and Rebecca nodded.
She could hear her uncle’s voice, and for once, it chimed with the feelings of her heart. Nicholas wished to marry her, so what now? Could she make that choice, and what would Edward do if she chose Nicholas over him?
“If that is what you want,” she whispered, and he nodded.
“It is what is right. There are certain expectations placed upon us, Rebecca, and you would do well to remember that. I may be the second son and used to setbacks, to being cast aside and treated as second best, but I am still a man with feelings, feelings that have been hurt by your actions. To think that you were so easily seduced is hurtful to me, but I will lay the matter aside, if only to avoid the scandal of exposure,” he said.
“But it is surely the talk of every salon in London,” she said, for she knew just how much she and her friends loved to gossip about others.
Finding oneself on the receiving end was not so much fun, and she was already dreading the next engagement when she would be forced to appear in society.
“We shall weather the storm together,” he said, coming to stand in front of her and placing his hands upon her shoulders.
She looked up into his eyes, forcing her features into a weak smile, and he leant forward and kissed her on the forehead. His touch was cold, without any of the tenderness with which Nicholas had held her. She could feel nothing for him as hard as she tried to do so, and as he put his arms around her, she tensed, unable to think of anything but Nicholas.
“I can only say I am sorry again,” she whispered, and she felt his sharp intake of breath.
“I do forgive you, Rebecca, and I shall never let this happen again,” he whispered, his arms grasped tightly around her as though he would never let her go …
Chapter Eight
Rebecca stood at the window for half an hour, gazing out over the gardens and marveling at what had just occurred. To think that Nicholas had asked her to marry him was almost too much to comprehend, and yet the offer had seemed entirely sincere. Her feelings for him remained unchanged, despite the many years that separated them and the knowledge that he had been far from faithful to her in the colonies.
“Yer ladyship, yer uncle is askin’ for ye?” Lyddie said as there came a knock at the door, and her faithful maid returned to look in on her.
“What does he want, Lyddie?” Rebecca asked, disturbed from her thoughts, and wishing only to be left alone.
“He wants to speak with ye about Mr. Johnson,” she replied, and Rebecca sighed.
“Very well, thank you, Lyddie,” she said, and the maid curtsied.
She found her uncle in his study, books piled up all around and a fire burning brightly in the hearth. Her uncle was wreathed in tobacco smoke, a long clay pipe protruding from his mouth, and his silk smoking gown wrapped around him.
“What did he say, gal?” her uncle asked, and Rebecca sighed.
“Do you mean Edward or Nicholas, uncle?” she asked.
“Both of them?” he asked, and she nodded.
“Edward told me that our marriage could go ahead as planned, and Nicholas asked if I would marry him. Make of that what you will,” she said, and her uncle almost choked on his tobacco smoke.
“Good heavens, what did you say? Tell me, you said yes to one of them,” he said, and she shook her head.
“I gave no reply to Nicholas, and Edward gave me no chance for reply. It was as though he had already made up his mind to forgive me and that was that,” she replied.
