Page 6 of A Tenuous Betrothal
He nodded. Though this was the first she’d mentioned her feelings on the matter, he had assumed she was not looking forward to leaving. “I can well understand, though I see why your father did what he did.”
“Yes. He knew Uncle would behave the way he has.”
“I saw you arrive by carriage. Where have you been living?”
“In the hunting cabin.” She arched an eyebrow, as if to dare him to say anything disapproving about it, but all he had was respect for her.
“You are made of the ore in these fine rocks around us—strong and, dare I say, stubborn.” He grinned, knowing he, too, would have lived in any circumstance to assist those in his home.
“Stubborn.” She laughed. “Astute observation that others have also made. Yes, I am stubborn when it matters.” She returned her gaze to a trunk of linens, which she slowly, almost regretfully, closed, as if to leave it behind, then spoke again. “We must go to the cabin after we finish in the house,” she said, appraising him. “I was able to rescue some of my most precious things and have stored them under the floorboards.”
His respect for her resourcefulness grew. “Whatever you need.” He was anxious to get her situated and for them to be on their way.
He strained against his cravat while she continued to sort through her family’s things. If his father had expressed the whole purpose of this visit before Marc had departed, Marc would unquestionably have had things to say. He’d have sent another of his brothers in his stead. Some of them were looking forward to marrying, were ready to do so straightaway. Even now, he would be willing to adjust his plans. He’d traveled to Britain with Kristoff and Henri. Either of them would be much more amenable to an immediate marriage than he was. Marc was the least prepared candidate, and he couldn’t fathom the reasons behind his father’s decision. Regardless, he had no intention of marrying the woman.
But many a man would consider her. She was lovely. And had a significant dowry, which Marc had arranged with her uncle, taking control of the whole of the marriage negotiations. Was she well-bred? His father seemed to think so. Her father was a gentleman, and her mother was likely of the gentry as well. Her family was successful and wealthy.
Perhaps she and Marc could pass some time in London. He smiled at the thought, though subtly. The diversions of the Londontoncould wash away the woes of most anyone and would likely do them both some good. And perhaps she’d find someonethereshe’d prefer to marry. Someone who was not him.
Surely, the lords of thetonwould not snub such a woman. As he considered her many assets from a marriage perspective, he had the briefest image of her standing at his side on his balcony at home. The wind would toy with her hair, which was thick and full of life. She, too, would not be tamed. Something about her Welsh strength fit in with the rocks around them. He blinked away the image, his heart pounding in alarm. He was not in a position to marry.
Was it wise to stop in London? He could send a message forward to Bartholomew, the Duke of Sumter. Surely, he and his wife, Sophie, would welcome a friend of Oldenburg. He studied Miss Davies. She’d stand out in Society in pleasing ways. She was a beautiful woman.
“Why are you staring?” she asked, the fire of a challenge in her eyes.
Had he been staring? The servants were busy on the other side of the room. Perhaps now might be a good moment to discuss their situation. “I’m lost in thought—about you, admittedly, but I wasn’t exactly staring. I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable.” He dipped his head.
“And just what are you thinking? I must admit I’ve never been around an almost-betrothed who spoke so little.” Her eyebrow rose again, and he thought it quaint, if not attractive. She really was the type of woman who could draw every eye in a room. His, even, were he not distracted by a tightening clamp around his freedom.
“Have you been betrothed so often as to be able to compare experiences?”
She laughed. “Not at all. You are my firstalmost-betrothed. Please do recall that no agreements have been made between the two of us.”
“I recall. Believe me.” He smiled to soften his intent, but she did not seem offended, only pleased that he didn’t wish to rush into marriage either.
“And do you feel, as I do, that perhaps the mandate of a marriage between strangers was premature?” Her body went perfectly still. From the looks of things, she’d even stopped breathing while awaiting his response.
He smiled in relief. “Absolutely prematurely decided, since none of the parties involved were consulted. But not premature as to the timing in your aid.”
She dipped her head. “Yes, this is quite the rescue. I can be nothing but grateful.” But then her gaze jerked back up. “Thus far.”
He laughed out loud. “Understood. Your gratitude might not extend to those who would force the rest of the addendum’s requests.” He placed a hand at her back to guide her from the room. The touch was fleeting but left a rush of feeling in his hand and an unaccountable desire to find another excuse to have contact with Miss Davies. He strained against his cravat again and said, “Let’s go get those jewels of yours.”
“Uncle is a slippery sort of man,” she said as she led Marc toward her uncle’s room.
“I’ve dealt with worse.”
Her eyes sparkled with interest, but she said no more.
They walked side by side with servants in tow to the other end of the estate home and what used to be her father’s bedchamber.
She gritted her teeth. Her jaw stiffened, and her eyes squinted; perhaps entering her father’s room and seeing it occupied by her uncle’s things was trying. Marc imagined it would be.
“Are all of these items your uncle’s?” He gestured to the bedding and the dressing table.
“Some.” She twitched her nose. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Marc moved into the room and waved to the staff. “Check the bedding, the closet, and the safe.”
