Page 94 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
Anne sighed. “So many people are depending on me.”
“I understand that. But let us continue. You wanted to have children. A whole pack of them, you always used to say. Is that still your desire?”
“It’s what I want more than anything.”
“And do you wish to spend time with your children? Or do you plan to hand them off to the nurse and inspect them once a week?”
Anne’s mouth fell open. “Of course I want to spend time with them! Hand them off to the nurse—how could you even ask such a thing?”
He held up both hands. “I ask only because your current schedule does not seem to allow time for anything else.” He continued over her sputtering protest. “You currently spend upwards of twelve hours a day on your charity work. What do you plan to do once our first child comes along?”
Anne rubbed her forehead. “I… I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to scale back. But if I cut back on fundraising, I’ll have no choice but to reduce the size of the Ladies’ Society. And I hate to even consider that.”
Michael was studying her face. “It would make you sad.”
“It would make me sad,” Anne agreed.
Michael took her hand. “I cannot bear for you to be sad.”
“I don’t see any way around it. I’ll have to either give up my dream of starting a family or gut the Ladies’ Society.”
“I refuse to have you do either.”
“But Michael—”
“Which is why the first thing you need to do is hire a secretary.” Anne blinked up at him in surprise. He continued, “Do you think Archibald Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy opens his own mail? Of course he doesn’t. He employs a secretary. You must have the same.”
Anne sighed. It wasn’t as if the idea had never occurred to her before. “Secretaries don’t work for free. And the Ladies’ Society runs on a tight budget.”
“Money will be less tight after my father makes his donation.”
“Donation?” Anne frowned. “What donation? Your father has a subscription.”
“Oh, did I forget to mention it? My father is planning a donation to the Ladies’ Society in honor of our marriage. For twenty thousand pounds.”
Anne blanched. “Twenty… did you say twenty thousand pounds?”
“I did.” Michael laughed at her gobsmacked expression. “How much do you want to marry me now?”
Anne rolled her eyes. “As much good use as I could find for twenty thousand pounds, it ranks very low on the list of reasons I wish to marry you.”
“You have a list, do you? Allow me to speculate what’s pushing my twenty thousand pounds out of the top spot—perhaps that thing I did to you last night, with my tongue?”
Anne swatted at his arm. “Fishing for compliments, Michael Cranfield? I suppose you deserve one, because that thing you did last night with your tongue was rather spectacular. But it’s not at the top of my list.”
“Then what is?”
She swallowed. “Spending every day of the rest of my life with my favorite person in the world.”
Michael pulled her into his lap and started kissing her. And there they were, driving through the streets of Mayfair at ten o’clock in the morning, and anyone who happened to look through the carriage window would have seen them kissing as if the world were about to end.
She felt a tear sliding down her cheek. Michael pulled back. “What’s all this?” he asked, brushing it away with his thumb.
“I don’t want to lose you. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed you until you came back. And now—” Anne broke off, unable to speak around the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.
Michael rested his forehead against hers. “We’re going to work everything out. I refuse to consider any other possibility.”
“I don’t see how we can. If you’re still bent on returning to Canada—”
