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She flinched, but offered no protest. The lady was indeed aware of her father’s precarious finances.
“I see,” she said quietly. “And if my affections are otherwise engaged?”
Edmond took a swallow of his brandy and regarded her closely. “Your father told me you were without attachment for any young man. Are you saying your affections are engaged?”
Her throat worked, but she remained muted.
“You can refuse, Lady Evelyn,” he said softly, though he would hate for her to reject him without some thought. Edmond loathed the very idea of entering the marriage mart, wading through a gaggle of females and their ambitious mammas, the eventual speculation and gossips, the weeks of empty courtship, and then the plans for a wedding of the season. He had done it all with Maryann, and he would rather walk through the bowels of hell than repeat the experience.
But remember you would traverse any challenge, even slaying the devil himself for your daughters.
He closed his eyes briefly. Yes, he would. If the lady was so averse to his offer, he would reach out to the other lords with unmarried daughters on his mother’s list, or steel himself to immerse himself in a world full of artifice. It had taken him several weeks to decide on the top five families from the list his mother had provided. All had responded to his initial query with enthusiasm, but he’d selected Lord Gladstone because the man’s daughter was the only one above eighteen. Edmond already felt jaded and empty at thirty. He would loath to be aligned with a young lady he would constantly have to reassure, and one who would long for the outings and glamour society had to offer. He’d hoped for a young lady who had at least experienced several years of balls, picnics, and outings to the theatre and gardens, who would not weep uncontrollably at the thought of spending most of the year, if not all in the country.
“Is Mamma also aware of your offer?”
“Yes.”
She bit her lower lip. “I see. And how long is it since you made your intentions known to my parents?” Her eyes were wide and pleading for information.
Apparently Lady Evelyn was not swooning with joy at the prospect of being a duchess, as his mother had informed him any sensible young lady would do. “Your father and I have been in negotiations for eight weeks. I was led to believe you were aware of my offer.”
He walked to the sideboard and poured himself another generous splash of brandy. “Would you like something to drink?”
Surprise widened her eyes. “I…I…no. Your Grace, how long do you need until I give you an answer?”
“I depart in three days’ time.”
“Does your offer expire when you leave?”
“Yes,” he said flatly. He’d promised Rosa he would be home in time for her birthday. The hope and excitement that he would be there, had shone brightly in her eyes. He would not disappoint her. Though he could very well travel back to Wiltshire after. There was no need for him to disclose that to the lady, the more time she had to ponder, the more solid objections she would have for her father.
Lady Evelyn offered him a wobbly smile. “You shall have your answer by then. If you will excuse me?”
She turned hastily, but not fast enough to hide the tears glistening on her lashes.
“Lady Evelyn,” he said softly, disturbed to be an unwitting party to her distress.
She stiffened, but remained faced away.
“Yes?”
What could he say? He needed her? Not just any wife. That would surely be a lie. It flummoxed him that he wanted to offer soothing words, to reassure her that their eventual marriage would be a success for her. He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached, and the entire time she remained rooted. Possibly waiting for words that would free her from the hell he wanted to consign her. “Sleep well,” he finally said. Inadequate words, but they were all he had to give.
With a firm nod, she departed, closing the door with a soft snick.
Devil take it all.
Chapter Three
Adel now understood why men imbibed for liquid courage. She certainly felt braver and more confident. She tipped the glass, swallowing the last drop of the delicious tawny brown liquid.
“Would you like another glass?” Evie asked tremulously.
“Hmm,” Adel murmured noncommittally, feeling pleasantly languid. She gave the decanter of Sherry a considering glance.
Before she had been a wreck, nerves rioting through her veins, and she had worn the priceless carpet in her chamber to threads pacing like a caged lion. Now she was warm, relaxed, and a bit tingly. “I believe someone needs to bottle and sell this as courage. They would make a fortune.”
Evie laughed and Adel hiccupped.
