Page 33 of An Amiable Foe
Shock stole her voice, along with any notion to flee, and he planted his feet farther apart, folding his arms that were still wrapped in the cloak. “If I may?”
Was that what he had been struggling to tell her?No, surely not. Though she focused all her attention on him—blinking to catch some subtle clues as to his meaning—his words did not become any more sensible. What did he mean that he liked her? Did he mean that his opinion of her had not changed though she had publicly disgraced herself? As he did not assist her comprehension by clarifying his words, she was forced to ask.
“What do you mean that you like me?” Her voice squeaked at the end, proving just what a timid, spiritless creature she was.
Mr. Osborne looked again to the ceiling and exhaled as though searching for divine inspiration to answer an impossible question. “By that I mean that I like to talk to you and look at you”—he paused—“and that I would like you to call me Perry instead of Mr. Osborne.” He frowned and tucked his brows together as he thought some more. “It means that I think about kissing you—and would do so if I could.”
Her face burned scarlet then, and he hastened to add, “Not that I mean to do it, so you need not worry. I will behave as a gentleman. But that is what I meant when I said you need not dwell much upon what village society thinks. Because such prejudices against those who do not fit into the mold are not universally shared.”
Marianne looked down, a warmth settling in her breast, which warred against the nervous breathlessness coming from what she had just heard.He liked her enough to kiss her?She had not thought of such a thing, but now that the idea had taken root, she discovered just how much she would like to see what that was like.
It didn’t change her position, however. Had he not said that as a gentleman he could not kiss her? He had probably meant those words as a kindness—a balm to her heart to let her know she was not so repulsive after all. In truth, the words did help her—especially as someone who had no intentions of marriage. So there was no need for her to feel so empty at the thought that he would not attempt it. And it was good to know she was not universally found distasteful.
A suitable reply escaped her, and she kept her gaze glued to the floor. “I must tell Miss Fife that we will remove to the cottage as soon as it might be arranged.” She curtsied and hurried away, putting as much distance between them as she could.
But his declaration had not left her unmoved. It would take everything in her to fight the temptation to build a castle of dreams on his words. She marched toward Miss Fife’s room, numb with bewilderment from the morning’s revelations.
“Perry,” she whispered, discovering that his name slipped effortlessly off her tongue.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Perry watched Marianne flee from his declaration. He could hardly blame her for having done so. It had not been particularly smooth. His mind was befuddled thanks to the stiff neck and uncomfortable night spent tossing and turning on her doorstep. He had been incapable of thinking in any kind of coherent manner, much less expressing some new and revelatory feelings he was only discovering himself.
Despite how exhausting the night had been, he had done right to camp out in front of the door to her room. It might have a latch, but that was easily worked around. And at some point in the middle of the night, he had been awoken by the sound of Lorry’s door creaking open. Light spilled out into the corridor, and Perry had sat partly upright, leaning on an elbow and peering at the source of the disturbance. He caught Lorry’s gaze and sent the man a pointed look, freezing him in his steps. Lorry raised his hand as if to acknowledge a hit, then retreated back into his room. Perry wondered if he would mention it when they met today, or if it was better left alone—much like their friendship, he had come to realize.
Not knowing what else to do with himself, Perry headed into the dining room, hoping breakfast would wake him up. Before he stepped into the room, it crossed his mind that perhaps Marianne had come here instead of going to Miss Fife, but the hope turned out to be an empty one. He went over to the sideboard and turned a cup over on its saucer as Annabel hurried in with a steaming pot of coffee in one hand and tea in another.
“Good morning, sir. May I?” She held both aloft and he nodded at the coffeepot, allowing her to fill the cup. “Mrs. Malford is making the steak and potatoes. The bread is freshly baked.”
“Very good.” Perry sat, facing the northern window where he had a glimpse of the sun’s reflection on the pond and the corner of the stables above that. The forge was not visible from here, but he must see about that today along with hiring Marianne’s footman if she was determined to go. For now, he would enjoy his coffee and the silence, grateful he could be alone with his thoughts.
What good had it been to divulge his feelings to Marianne if he was not yet brought to the point of a declaration? All he had done was succeed in embarrassing her, if her reaction gave any indication. He remembered Robert Vernon’s glance his way last night, and the proprietary look that had gone with it. Had the man made any inroads into her heart? The way she defended the village this morning made him wonder if indeed the village was another name for her childhood friend. It might take only a single event outside of her comfortable surroundings for Marianne to suddenly paste virtues on a man who did not possess them, simply because he was familiar.
Then Perry was left to wonder if those virtues were indeed present in Vernon, but hidden from him by some vein of jealousy. He stood to refill his cup.Ah, these wonderings are futile.
The door opened, and instead of the maid returning with the breakfast, Raife entered and lifted a hand in greeting. He went over to the sideboard and helped himself to tea, then took a chair across from Perry. They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“You’ll have to keep me abreast of your gentleman poacher.” Raife raised his eyebrows above his cup.
Perry glanced up and nodded. “I will. Likely by letter, as I’m not sure how soon I will be back in London.”
“I’d guessed as much.” Raife met Perry’s surprised look with a smile. “Once a man has an estate to oversee, the clubs and gambling begin to pall. If he is a man of sense, that is to say.”
Perry thought about this, and shook his head. “Neck has property.”
“I said a man of sense,” Raife clarified.
Perry chuckled, then as the silence stretched, his thoughts turned in a more sober direction. “I will be honest with you. I’m finding I have little in common with Lorry and Neck.”
He looked up, assessing how Raife took the news. “In fact, I can’t think why I seek their companionship at all.” He left unsaid the part where he wondered why Raife did either.
Charlie entered, followed by Annabel, and they placed dishes of steaming meat and potatoes on the sideboard. Annabel had a sack of plums she emptied into a bowl. Then, after loading plates for the gentlemen and verifying that they needed nothing further, the servants left the room.
Raife appraised the contents of his plate before lifting a fork. “I suppose gambling at The Cocoa Tree and parading as part of the Four-in-Hand Club has been at the root of our friendship, but I’ve grown weary of such sport myself.”
“The 4HC? I had no idea you’d even belonged. I’ve never seen you wear the yellow striped waistcoat,” Perry said.
Raife gave an exaggerated shudder. “Ghastly.”
