Page 70 of Barely a Woman
She blinked with confusion as her other two brothers chimed in with agreement. Steadman lifted a palm toward her. “If it is acceptable to you, Miss Brady.”
She nodded numbly while remaining rooted to the floor. He dipped his forehead. “Very well, where were we?”
“The beanstalk!” The boys cried in unison.
“Oh, yes.” Steadman leaned forward in his chair to address the audience at his feet. “So, Jack began climbing down the beanstalk just as fast as he could, with the golden harp under one arm and the golden goose beneath the other. How he managed this while still holding the beanstalk is a mystery to this day, but he was a boy of many talents. Anyway, he looked up to examine the beanstalk above him.” Steadman raised his arm overhead to create the mythical beanstalk. “And who should be following him but that very disagreeable giant. In great distress, Jack hastened his descent until he reached the ground, retrieved an axe, and laid into the beanstalk with all his might.”
Morgan’s eyes flickered between her attentive brothers and the Beau Monde Highwayman, and she deeply understood their captivation. He was a man that could never be ignored, never dismissed. However, she would never again wonder what sort of father he might make. Her breath hitched with disappointment that it would not be her to make him one.
“And though he was a wee lad such as yourselves,” Steadman continued, “Jack possessed strength and courage unseen and unappreciated by others. Thus, within a dozen strokes of his axe, he hewed through the beanstalk until it began to fall with the giant still in residence.” He allowed his arm to fall slowly as if from a great height until his palm slapped against his knee. “The giant was, of course, quite dead as onewouldbe after falling from such a great height. There was great rejoicing across the land because of this auspicious event. And because of Jack’srare strength and courage…” Steadman cut his eyes to engage Morgan. “He and his family lived happily ever after.”
The little boys expelled pent up breaths and applauded. “Tell us another!”
Steadman held his palms to them. “Perhaps later. For now, I ask that you indulge me a moment to speak with your sister.”
Instantaneously, Aunt Meg was in motion rounding up the boys. “Come, lads. Let us retire to the other room.”
She ushered them into the adjacent room, which contained the bed Morgan and Aunt Meg shared, and pulled the curtain. As Steadman rose from his chair, Morgan’s heart stuttered. He looked more handsome than ever, the perfect blend of dapper masculinity.
Resist, she thought.Stand by your principles.
She squared her shoulders and lifted her drifting chin. “I do not know what there is for us to discuss. I have already explained my position very carefully, and I am quite finished with the suit.”
A soft smile grew on his lips. “Perfect. For as much as I like Mr. Brady, I am truly devoted to Miss Brady.”
She had imagined any number of responses: defensiveness, attempts to explain his position, annoyance. She had not expected a declaration of devotion. More surprisingly, she felt worthy of such devotion. If nothing else, her brief association with Steadman had elevated her self-regard from the pits of its previous existence. For that, she would always be grateful. However, she could never support his exchanging her for the opportunity to destroy his own family. She remained ramrod straight.
“Neither Mr. Brady nor Miss Brady approve of what you did to your family.”
He nodded with an expression of contrition. “I deserve that. For what I intended to do but did not.”
She furrowed her brow. “You…you did not?”
“No, I did not.” He proceeded to explain the events of his meeting with his father. The accusation. The compassion. The forgiveness. The reconciliation. The reclamation of his birthright. The restoration of the defrauded farmers. As Morgan listened, her hands began to tremble.
“I am proud of you, Steadman.”
He closed the gap between them until only two feet of air separated them. “Any pride you have in me is of your doing.”
“What?” Her voice faltered over the word.
“Don’t you understand? You changed me. You burned out the brambles of my vengeful pride and grew in its place an orchard of sweet fruit. I am a different man than I was the first day we met, and it is all because of you.”
Cautious bewilderment threatened the stability of her knees before a sudden realization pushed through the chaos to reawaken her dismay. Steadman would inherit his father’s title, and soon. He would become the very thing he loathed—a man of power. Regardless of his feelings on that, he would become more eligible than ever with a class of women far above Morgan’s station. Far prettier. Far wealthier. Far more sophisticated and accomplished. Her face must have betrayed the careening chain of thought, for he lifted her descending chin with a finger.
“What distresses you so?”
She trembled while staring into his eyes. “What happens when you assume your title? How will you become what you vowed to destroy?”
He nodded while effusing understanding. “I have given that question much thought these past few days and have realized a very important truth that had heretofore eluded me.”
She lifted her eyebrows in question but said nothing.
“I have realized,” he said, “That I might do more in the House of Lords than I ever could on the road. Until now, I could only help a few people at a time. With a title, I can influence laws that might help millions. A highwayman cannot change the Corn Laws, but a baron might.”
Relief and disappointment swept through Morgan. Relief that he would not allow his title to crush his character. Disappointment that she would forever lose him to the gulf of class between them. She bit her lip to stifle a sob and to regain her composure.
“May I ask a favor, then?” She tried not to sound wounded but feared she had failed.
