Abigail.
She gave the note to the maid, who left silently, and she went back to getting ready.
She chose the most modest and demure gown she had, a brown worsted with a high neck and long sleeves. She pulled her long and wavy hair into a severe chignon and secured it with a multitude of pins so that not even a strand could escape.
Then she placed a small cap on her head and looked at her handiwork in the mirror. Maybe the cap was a little over the top. After all, she had never worn one around him. He might think she was trying too hard. Off with the cap then, but the rest of her looked suitably demure. Almost nun-like. Perfect.
It was still an hour until eleven. She should break her fast, but her stomach was tied in knots. She could not eat anything. Instead, she paced and worried. It was too early to look in on the countess.
Elizabeth was in the garden, she was told. She checked the clock. Fifteen more minutes until eleven. Too late to take a walk in the garden now. So she met briefly with the housekeeper and at exactly eleven was knocking on the study door.
His deep voice bid entrance, and she did on trembling legs.
He looked her up and down and a small crease formed between his brows, but other than that, he gave away nothing.
“Good morning, my lord.”
“Abigail. Thank you for coming. Have a seat, please.” He looked preoccupied.
She sat in the chair in front of his desk, and he resumed his seat behind it. He leaned back, rested his elbows on the armrests, tented his fingers in front of him, and studied her soberly. She fought not to squirm under his gaze.
“I have been thinking about our situation, the needs of the family, and considering what transpired yesterday...”
She closed her eyes in despair. Here it comes. He was going to tell her she needed to leave. Or worse... But he was still speaking. She ought to pay attention. At least try to make a case for herself.
“...so with my sister's presentation and all, I came up with a possible solution, and now I have a question to ask you.”
He stood up and came around the desk to stand in front of her, then he started lowering himself and she thought he was going to sit on the other chair, but before she could realize his intent, he came down on one knee in front of her, took one of her nerveless hands and said.
“Abigail, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She was so stupefied that for long moments all she could do was stare at him, her eyes wide. Her mouth worked, but no words seemed to form and no sound emerged. A small, still working part of her brain informed her the look must not be flattering.
Of all the things she had thought he might want to discuss today, this had never even crossed her mind. The mere idea was so out of the realm of possibility that it was ludicrous. A small, hysterical giggle escaped her.
Something crossed his eyes. All this time he had been studying her, she realized. His expression was stoic, but she thought she saw a flash of hurt in those warm brown eyes of his.
He stood from his kneeling position and took a seat in the chair next to hers, still holding her hand.
“I know the idea might be surprising. But I ask you to listen to my proposition and contemplate it. Could you do that before rejecting it outright?”
She nodded slowly and tried her voice. “All right, my lord.” Because really, how else could she respond to that?
“I think there are advantages for all involved.” He continued in a neutral voice.
“As part of assuming my responsibilities as Earl, I need to marry and beget an heir.” She nodded in acknowledgment. She knew this. “But I don’t particularly relish the prospect of entering the marriage mart, or courting a young debutante.
“I need a wife with very specific attributes. Someone who could help me run the estate and my many responsibilities, so that I can pursue my real passion, which is medicine. You know the house, the estate and all its servants. As my wife, you could continue to live here, but now you would be the lady of the house. The Countess, not simply a lady's companion. You would have security, prestige and protection. And you could better present my sister in society.”
He paused momentarily and frowned, looking down at their still joined hands.
“Besides that, the only thing I ask is that you be willing to perform the necessary act to beget children.”
She looked away, trying to process the mix of emotions his unexpected proposal had engendered. How did she feel? A little flattered, yes, that he would consider her a suitable wife. And more than a little tempted. But underneath it all, there was a beat of hurt. He had said nothing of love or feelings. He just wanted her for practical reasons. And woven through it all, an insistent panic that told her she was not worthy to be his wife. That she would fail and disappoint. She took a deep breath.
“There's a fault with your plan. I’m unlikely to give you children.”
Far from looking deterred, he just tilted his head and considered her pensively.
