Page 42 of A Spinster's Unexpected Marriage
I am too late.
The thought ran through his head, frightening him all the more as he pushed through the crowd with all the greater determination. He was too late with his declaration of his affection, with his realisation that he was drawn to Lady Newton in a way he had never been pulled towards anyone else. Late with his explanation to Lady Lamberton, late with his understanding of his own heart and now, mayhap, too late to keep Lady Newton from ruining her own reputation simply so she might escape from him.
“Lord Granton, is that you?” One hand grasped at his arm but he pulled himself away, not willing to stay for even a moment, not ready to see anyone other than Lady Newton. He heard a loud exclamation behind him, a cry of dismay and disapproval but he cared nothing for it. He was not about to be stopped by grasping hands, was not about to be prevented by any sweet smiles or whispers of encouragement. All he wanted to do was find his betrothed and confess how much he cared for her.
There!
His heart slammed hard into his chest and James stopped dead, his eyes widening as he saw how Lady Newton put one hand to Lord Billington’s arm and how, thereafter, Lord Billington’s eyes narrowed just a little, only for a small smile to creep across his face. James did not dare think as to what that smile might mean, his mouth going dry as he attempted to move forward, only to find his legs like lead. He could move, yes, but without the great strength and energy that he had enjoyed only a few moments ago. It was as though every force in existence was keeping him back from her, determined to pull him away, to pull him back and yet James, gritting his teeth, forced himself forward. He watched with sharp eyes as Lady Newton laughed, throwing her head back as she did so, with Lord Billington’s smile growing ever bigger. When Lord Billington moved closer to her, albeit only a few inches, it was enough to suddenly infuse all of James’ limbs with strength.
“Martha!”
He called her name, heedless to the others around him, barely noticing how many heads swivelled towards him, whispering beginning at once as he fixed his eyes to the lady, seeing that she had not heard him. Calling her name again, he felt a wash of warm relief cascade through him as she turned her head to look at him, her smile fixing to her face, her eyes tugging away almost at once.
“Martha, please!” he cried, finally reaching her, his hand going to hers, tugging her to him in a most ungentlemanly fashion. “Please, do not.”
“Lord Granton, good evening.” Lady Newton spoke in a tight voice, her smile still present but shining no light into her eyes. “Might I ask – ”
“I will not let you do this,” James gasped, one arm going around her waist, the other still holding her hand tightly. “I cannot, Martha. Icannotlose you to him, do you understand?”
“To me?” Lord Billington spluttered, though James took no notice. Instead, he looked deeply into Lady Newton’s eyes, aware of how white she had turned, how the colour had gone from her face though her gaze had, at least, finally returned to his.
“I know what you think you witnessed but you are mistaken, truly,” he said, his voice a little quieter but still loud enough for her to hear him clearly. “Martha, I do not care for anyone other than you. I do not want to pursue any other lady, I promise you. I have had such a change of heart that it has been such a great shock to me, I can barely understand it. Please,” he finished, squeezing her hand, “do not step away from our engagement. Let me prove myself to you, Martha. If you only give me one opportunity, I swear to you it will be the only opportunity I will ever require.”
Lady Newton said nothing for some minutes. She simply looked back at him, staring at him as though she had never really seen him before. James looked back steadily, wanting her to see into his heart, as if such a thing was possible and praying for her to trust him. There was nothing else he could offer her, nothing that he could present to her as proof of how he felt but the burning in his heart was there all the same. James blinked, hearing the whispering around him and, turning his head, caught the way that the gentlemen and ladies around them were all speaking quietly, some laughing, some with wide eyes, some muttering behind their fans. Clearly, he had spoken loudly enough for them all to hear and, no doubt, what he had said would soon be common knowledge.
“Martha.” Pressing her hand, James moved a little closer to her so that only she could hear him. “What say you? Will you give me the chance to prove to you that my heart is yours?”
Martha squeezed her eyes closed and, after a moment, took in a deep breath.
Then, before James could react, she had tugged her hand out of his, had turned on her heel and was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Martha paced up and down the small, narrow path which led away from the house and farther into the gardens. She could barely catch her breath, one hand pressed against her heart. There were many people walking about the grounds but she had managed to find herself a little solitude, doing her utmost to calm her frantically beating heart.
He cares for me?
She did not know what to make of that. Surely the Marquess could simply be lying to her, could he not? It would be just like a rogue to do that, to pretend that something was true when, in fact, it was not. She could not trust his words… could she?
Her eyes filled with hot tears as she battled indecision. What ought she to do? She had been so close to attracting Lord Billington’s attention, for her suggestion that they step out of doors for a time and walk through the gardens had been met with surprise, yes, but also with acceptance. She had not truly wanted to do such a thing, of course, but her mind had told her that there was no other way to escape this.
And then, Lord Granton had practically flung himself upon her, had professed his affection for her and begged her for an opportunity to prove himself.
Shaking her head, Martha pressed one hand against her forehead, coming to a stop as she sagged back against a tree. She had not known how to respond, had seen thetonlooking at the Marquess and had heard the whispering beginning – and had felt herself crumple inside. The cool air of the evening had brought her a little relief but it had not calmed the frantic thoughts which whirled through her mind and her heart.
“Is that you?”
Martha straightened suddenly, trying to move back but feeling only the rough bark of the tree behind her. “I – I… ”
“Oh.” A lady laughed and shook her head, coming a little closer to Martha. “Forgive me, I thought that you were Lord Urquhart. I – oh, good gracious!”
Blinking furiously, Martha realised quickly that she was looking into the face of Lady Lamberton. The lady’s smile had shattered the moment she had looked into Martha’s face, leaving them both now staring at each other without a word passing between them.
“I should return to the ball.” Martha made to sidestep the lady, only for Lady Lamberton to put one hand out, preventing her from doing so.
“Wait a moment, if I may.” Lady Lamberton sniffed and arched an eyebrow, coming closer to Martha. “I want to speak with you.”
“If it is about the Marquess and the connection between the two of you, then I have nothing to say.” Martha could not look into Lady Lamberton’s face, finding it too painful to gaze into the eyes of the lady who had been so very close to Lord Granton. “Please, let me pass.”
