Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
He stood in company with his shame and faced them all: the tearful mother, the angry father, his own conflicted parents. His father spoke first.
“Well said, Wescott. Now, provided Lady Ophelia is in agreement, we should begin making marital arrangements.” The duke gave a diplomatic flourish to the succinct request. “My son will be honored to unite the Arlington peerdom with the esteemed Halsey line.”
“Lady Ophelia shall be in agreement,” said her father. “Now that you’ve left her no other choice.”
The negotiations that followed were complex, fraught, and frequently testy, but within an hour’s time, they’d drawn up a preliminary contract of marriage, including gifts, dowries, settlements, and plans for the procurement of a special license, so the wedding could take place within the week.
There was, after all, no time to delay. They’d been seen together, and gossips would talk. A story could be spun of rescue and romance, but only if they wed quickly and disappeared to the country, before the finer details were brought out. He’d been inside Lady Ophelia, had stripped her of her virginity, even if he’d pulled away before he’d spent. She must have the security of marriage.
After they put signatures to paper to seal the accords, Wescott stood and faced Lord Halsey.
“Sir, is it possible to speak with Lady Ophelia before I go?”
Halsey practically growled his rebuttal. “What for? Even if she wanted to see you, she’s in no condition to receive visitors after last night, particularly gentlemen callers.”
“He’s hardly a gentleman caller,” his father said. “They’re to be married. Let Wescott speak with his fiancée.”
Lord Halsey wasn’t happy about it, but his wife offered to accompany Wescott to her daughter’s rooms. It was a relief to leave the drawing room after so much antagonism. For him, the experience had been nearly as bad as escaping the fire.
“I’m not sure you’ll receive a warm reception,” she said as she led him up the stairs. “My daughter’s mind is quite…unsettled…from her…your…adventure.”
Like him, Lady Halsey barely knew how to handle the situation. He thought longingly of a time years in the future, when this awkward betrothal would be forgotten, or at least never mentioned.
Lady Halsey went into her daughter’s room first. After an uncomfortably long time, during which Wescott expected to be dismissed, she reemerged and beckoned him into the outer drawing room. It was a private, feminine space, a smaller echo of the larger parlor downstairs. His bride-to-be stood looking out the window, dressed in a maidenly white gown with a pale sage sash. Her blonde, braided hair was pinned atop her head in the crown Hazel had described, baring her neck and slumping shoulders. She looked so bereft his heart thumped in sympathy.
“So…you’ve told her we’re to be married?” he whispered to her mother. He’d expected more of a reaction, at least for her to turn around.
“I’ve told her,” the woman replied through tight lips. She took up a chair near the fireplace. Wescott approached Lady Ophelia, remembering the bewigged sorceress of the night before, with her bright, full dress. Now she looked small and fragile, in her gauzy, understated column of a gown. How could this be the same woman? He clasped his hands and stopped a few paces behind her.
“My lady.”
She turned her head to the side, running small fingers over her pale throat. “I’m sorry, but I can’t speak,” she said in a whisper. “My voice has not returned.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
His own voice sounded too loud in the silent room, especially after her whisper.
“I’m sure your lost voice is only temporary. At least I hope so. At any rate…” He cleared his throat, feeling like an ass. “Thank you for seeing me. I must begin by apologizing with the most abject regret for my behavior last night.”
“Last night…” She repeated the words in a pained murmur. “I cannot think of it. I cannot even look at you.”
He frowned at her exposed nape. “Nevertheless, I am here.”
“Yes, you are here to perform your duty, and ask for my hand. My mother says you are a gentleman, but I can hardly believe it.”
Her whisper held as much rancor as a shouted insult. “Lady Ophelia,” he replied, as calmly as he could. “Neither of us wished for this to happen. The unorthodox circumstances, the fire—”
“Fire or no, it has ended in disaster. I should have refused your assistance.” She shook her head. “I’m ruined now. That’s the word, though no one is using it.”
“You’re not ruined, because I’m here.” He grasped for patience in the face of her disdain. “Lady Ophelia, please accept my deepest apologies for my conduct last night. It was wrong of me to lie down with you. That was my fault.”
She pressed her forehead to the window, letting out a breath. “I wish I’d made you leave,” she whispered.