Page 97 of Tremaine's True Love
“Why shouldn’t you have kissed me?”
Her expression said his question surprised her, but George was in earnest, and a Haddonfield bent on an objective was not deterred by a little resistance.
“You will think me wanton,” she said, “and then Edward’s low opinion of me will be justified.”
“You are no more wanton than I am.” George kept his voice down, because the Stonebridge household was not yet awake. He’d ridden over before first light and was intent on bringing good news home with him.
“You’re a man—” Elsie began, as if the entire species need not fret over anybody’s good opinion.
“I am a man, one who has found himself occasionally attracted to members of his own gender. I probably will in the future as well, but here’s what matters, Elsie Nash: I like you exceedingly and I’m attracted to you. You’re tolerant, kind, fair-minded, and a devoted mother. My regard for a passing handsome or even pretty face is eclipsed by the loyalty those characteristics inspire.”
He hoped.
George’s hope was based on several solid realities. First, his involvement with men had never gone beyond the casual or the physical. Men were a lot of bother, in George’s experience, full of strut and blather, every bit as capable of drama as the blushing debutantes filling any ballroom.
Second, his regard for Elsie included a fat dose of physical attraction, and finer emotions as well. He respected her, he enjoyed her company, helikedher.
He liked her a lot, always had.
Third, there was the boy. Digby needed a father, somebody to stand between him and Edward Nash. George could hardly be that father if he spent his evenings larking about London, bored, randy, and causing his family worry.
Elsie got up and used the bunched fabric of her apron to protect her hands as she turned the cooling loaves of bread out of their pans. Steam rose from the turned loaves, one, two, three. She watched the steam as if it held the mystery of eternal happiness.
“I’ll want more children, George. If you can’t—that is—Digby needs brothers and sisters. When I’m gone, I don’t want him to be alone. So if you seek a white marriage, then, much as it pains me, I’ll have to decline.”
George was on his feet, arms around her, before she got out another word.
“Hush. I’m as able to give you children as the next man, Elsie Nash. You’re dear and desirable, and provided you find some similar attributes about my humble self, we’ll manage splendidly.”
She felt right in his arms, sweet, good, and precious.
“I won’t be demanding. I won’t nag, George. I promise.
The daft woman was giving him permission to stray. “I’ll be demanding,” George said. “I’ll demand of myself the same faithfulness and loyalty I expect from you, Elsie. I’ll demand that my vows are spoken in earnest, not empty words. I’ll demand that you and Digby never want for anything and never fear for your well-being. Should anything happen to me, my family will provide a home for you both.”
Of that, George was certain. By the end of the day, Nicholas and their sisters would be certain of it too.
Elsie laid her head on his shoulder. “Then yes, a thousand times yes. I will gladly marry you, George Haddonfield. The sooner the better.”
George imprinted the moment on his memory: Elsie in his arms, the kitchen quiet and fragrant with fresh bread, weak winter light coming through the window, and peace and joy flooding his soul.
“When does Edward rise?” George asked. “I’ll speak to him today, unless you’d rather I wait.” As a widow, Elsie could remarry where she pleased, though George would observe the courtesies for her sake, provided those courtesies didn’t take too long.
“Edward didn’t come home last night,” Elsie said. “He occasionally over-imbibes and spends the night at the inn. He comes home in a foul temper the next morning, having drunk too much and gambled too deeply.”
“He’ll not trouble you with his moods once he knows we’re engaged,” George said. “I’ll retrieve him from the inn and improve his mood before he arrives home.”
Elsie eased from George’s embrace. “Be careful, George. Edward’s foul moods can turn violent.”
“I know how to be careful, Elsie. Start packing. We’ll be married within a fortnight.”
When she ought to have beamed a smile at George worthy of a prospective bride, Elsie walked him to the back hallway and took down his greatcoat.
“We’re not married yet, George. Don’t turn your back on Edward. My heart would break if he hurt you.”
“Edward Nash has indulged his last violent mood.” George whipped his scarf around his neck and kissed his intended once more for luck.
Before Elsie allowed George to make good on his pronouncement, she grasped the ends of his scarf and kissed him right back.
