Page 73 of Marry in Haste
Then she sighed, all the spit and vinegar drained. She sat on the chair opposite. “Sam was a— He worked on my father’s estate.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your father’sestate?”
She lifted her chin. “My father was Sir Humphrey Westwood; our home was in Berkshire.”
That explained her assurance, her manners. “Was?”
“My father is dead. The estate?” She shrugged, as if to say she had no idea. And possibly didn’t care.
“It was entailed?”
She shook her head. “Papa disowned me, after...”
He waited.
She waited a long, stubborn moment. He didn’t take his eyes off her and eventually she gave a sigh, as if giving in. “I was just seventeen, naïve, innocent and wildly romantical, as girls that age often are. Sam was five-and-twenty, dark and dashing, as handsome as... as sin.” She made a rueful gesture. “I fell madly, blindly, carelessly in love. Nothing else mattered to me, except... him.”
“What happened?”
“Papa caught us... together.” She swallowed. “There was a lot of shouting.”
“And?” he prompted after a time.
“He offered Sam five hundred pounds to leave the country and never contact me again.”
Cal’s fists clenched. He wouldn’t have offered him a penny—he would have horsewhipped the blackguard to within an inch of his life. Seventeen and innocent was no match for twenty-five.
“The swine took it?”
“He did.” There was a long silence, then she gave a little shiver. “There has been no one since.”
Cal frowned. There were gaps in her story. If her lover had been so easily bought off, why had she been disowned? And if she’d been seventeen when she was disowned... She was six-and-twenty now, and she’d been at the Mallard seminary for seven years. It didn’t add up. A thought occurred to him. “Did he leave you with child?”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “No. There was nothing like that.”
She seemed genuinely surprised by the question and showed no self-consciousness when she replied. He believed her. “Then why—”
“So, if you need assistance with the management of your estate, I can help you. I did much to assist my father before—I can, for instance, read and keep accounts. Papa had no head for figures.”
“Then why were you disowned?”
“A... a misunderstanding.” She rose and smoothed down her skirt. “So now you have the answer to your questions. I hope the knowledge of my youthful imprudence will not prove an insuperable obstacle to the smooth progression of our marriage.” She gazed at him a moment with those clear sage-green eyes and said firmly, “I have not lain with any man since—except you. Nor will I.”
It was a promise—and apparently as good an apology as he was ever going to get from her.
Part of him wanted to assert himself and demand some sort of gesture of contrition for not telling him about it until after they were married. But fundamental honesty forced him to recognize he hadn’t exactly given her the opportunity to explain.
They were both new to this business of marriage, and they’d married not knowing much about each other. If they were both a little tense and prickly, well, that wasn’t surprising.
This was what a honeymoon was for, he supposed. To get to know each other better.
That and the bedding.
He rose and rang a bell. “Thank you for your frankness, madam. I suggest we put last night behind us and go on as intended. I have work to do. This estate has been neglected for the last year and I wish to get everything organized before I leave.”
“When will that be?”
“I’m not sure, not for a week at least. The girls will be arriving tomorrow.”
