Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Once the others were gone, the duke regarded him directly.
“What troubles you, August?” he asked.
“It’s only that…” He cleared his throat. “Sir, I don’t want to propose to your daughter without explaining myself… Without confessing…that is…”
“That you have lived your bachelor’s life to the fullest, and have the infamous reputation to show for it?”
“Well, I would not say infamous.”
The duke tilted his head. “I know what Wescott got up to, what you got up to, and Marlow and Townsend besides. But they turned out all right as husbands once they settled down, and I believe you will also. Of course…” He raised a brow. “I will expect you to leave off with the women at Pearl’s.”
So the man really did know what they’d done as unrestrained bachelors. “I would not expect to continue visiting that establishment,” he said, his cheeks flushing hot.
“In my opinion, there must be strict fidelity in marriage. Do you keep any mistresses?”
“No, sir.” He could say that honestly, having broken off his London arrangement before he left for Wales.
“What of Felicity?”
It was a softly spoken query, but it hit August like a box to the head. What of Felicity? She’d long been his fantasy of perfection, but Elizabeth was spirited and fascinating in her own way. He did not think spankable. This was a serious conversation and he must treat it as such.
He met the duke’s piercing blue gaze and chose his words carefully. “It’s been years now since I’ve imagined I had any chance with Felicity.”
“Even so, do you still love her? I won’t have you pining over another woman while you’re married to my daughter.”
“Felicity is happily married, sir.”
“Which doesn’t prevent you wanting her. Do you still love her?” he asked a second time.
“It was never real love,” August admitted, taking a harsh breath. “I understand now that it was more infatuation than true feeling. I love Felicity as I love all my friends and family, but I promise you, sir, my days of pining are over.” It felt good to say it, like a weight had been rolled from his chest. “How am I to pine for Felicity, anyway, with someone so marvelous as Elizabeth on my arm?”
“Marvelous. She is that, isn’t she? I think she’ll make you happy.”
“Of course. I know she will.”
“But for true happiness, partners must love one another. They must make one another happy. Elizabeth is my youngest, my sweet one, my baby.” He leaned forward, his expression harshly and unyieldingly stern. “It is very important to me that she is fulfilled in marriage, that she is a happy wife. You must promise me…”
August straightened his knotted cravat beneath the full weight of the Arlington stare. “I swear to you, sir—if she will accept me, my utmost goal in life will be to make her happy.”
The duke’s stern manner softened like a breath let out. “I believe you, son. I hope she’ll have you, for we’ve been through too much these last few years. She’s desperate to settle down into a pleasant, comfortable home life. If you could only provide that, I should be eternally grateful.”
“No gratitude is necessary. It would be my honor.”
I do have honor, he thought to himself. I can have honor. I will try to be good enough.
“How is Elizabeth?” he asked the duke. “After this morning…?”
“She is not well at the moment, but she will be better,” he said. “I’ll let you know when it’s best to approach her, and we shall have this thing done.”
Chapter Eight
For Honor
By luncheon’s end, the last of Fortenbury’s family and guests were gone from Cairwyn, departing with terse thanks for the manor’s hospitality. But none of Elizabeth’s friends or family made plans to leave.
No, they lingered and ate and whispered amongst themselves, waiting. Furtive gossip traveled from table to table, that an unwed family friend might propose to the jilted bride. They spoke of a Welsh marriage license, expedited by the duke’s influence, and a wedding that might proceed in Cairwyn’s chapel before the week’s end.
August’s friends knew the “family friend” was him. They dined with him, rode with him, played cards with him in the cozy salon as the hours ticked by, sending him occasional approving glances and silent support. Even Wescott, who knew the worst of his vices, seemed secretly grateful.
Elizabeth did not appear in company until the second day after the wedding, and if she heard the whispers about an impending proposal, she did not let on. She kept to her small circle of friends, not her usual effusive self. She seemed muted by her recent shock.
She may not accept me, he wanted to tell the gathering. It was a lot of pressure. It was also strange, for once, to play the hero, since he was not generally the heroic sort. Steady, yes. A good friend, certainly. But a lauded hero…