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Her lips curved and his fingertips twitched with anticipation of what it would be like to touch her. To kiss her. To walk with her under the banner of stars, to properly court her. All those things she inspired in his heart and more. The lady must be unaware of the captivating picture she made with her smiles, or surely, she would dole them less frequently.
He was flummoxed, for he hardly knew her. It was quite astonishing, the immediacy of which she captured his regard. Simon had never been the type of man to shy away from the things that interested or puzzled him greatly. At his heart, he was scientific, and truly, Lady Miranda invited study. He wanted to get to know her.
Breaking a stick in two, he glanced toward the lowering sun, and the sky painted in a fiery blaze of orange and lavender. "Do you wish to marry?" he asked gruffly.
She broke into a wide, open smile. "I…I do. Once I did not understand the desire my parents had for me to marry. That was all I heard about since I was a child. My eventual come out and the connections I would make with my marriage. And that is all my friends speak about. Who they will walk out with, and when they would marry? For a long time, I became bored with the idea of marriage, certain there was more to life. I would tumble into bed exhausted from late-night balls or rides in the park, and oddly, though I should be having great fun, I started to feel saddened.”
At her silence, he prompted, “And?”
"There is more," she murmured. "But there is something beautiful about sharing life experiences and joy with someone who could appreciate all of your eccentricities, is there not? Someone to laugh with, to rest your head upon their shoulder when you are tired. Frequently I would feel lonely at a ball, and I am astonished by that awareness. And it is because I feel I cannot express to my friends
what is in my true heart. They might believe me to be a trifle odd for expressing any individuality, but I do believe if one should marry, it should be to someone whom you can be honest about with all your heart.”
She chuckled with evident discomfort as if embarrassed about revealing such an intimate part of herself to him. A flash of vulnerability lit in her eyes, and a sudden insight into the sadness in her eyes pierced him. She wasn't allowed to experience life the way she hungered to. Instead, she was guided by her mother's expectations, perhaps even society's, and she wanted to break away without recriminations heaping onto her head.
Unexpectedly she said, “My mamma is determined I wed a prince. As if they pepper London’s haut monde.”
“A genuine prince?”
Her eyes danced with mirth. “But if a prince is unavailable, a duke will do.”
In silence they walked farther into the clearing, approaching a small brook.
“Is that what you also wish, to marry a duke?”
"I wish to marry a man I could love," she said softly. "I've been offered for by several gentlemen, but what they admired was my beauty and dowry, but never my intelligence or accomplishments, and most certainly no gentleman has ever truly tried to woo my heart. It seems like such an inconsequential desire—to be liked or even admired by the man I would marry. But when I dwell upon it, what should we talk about if he cannot tolerate me, or if he dislikes my opinions and the way I laugh? There is a rumor in society that Viscountess Bellamy's husband loathes her laugh, comparing it to a braying donkey, and makes every effort to not make his wife laugh! He prefers her querulous or simply not to see her at all. Why, I cannot credit it, I hope there is no veracity to the tale. How tedious and painful life would be without genuine affections and caring. I want to be loved…admired…respected for all I am."
Her answer was so unexpected he faltered. She stopped as well, and they faced each other. Simon had never met a young lady of high society who was not determined to snag a gentleman with a title. The entire success of young ladies in the haut monde depended on securing an advantageous match, the loftier the title, the better, the more yearly income, the better. Even his sister had made a list of eligible gentlemen to marry with those desirable attributes in her thoughts.
"Mamma, of course, believes I am silly, and Henry says my delicate nerves are overset," she said on an indelicate snort.
He clasped his hands behind his back, lest he tug her into his embrace and did something foolish. “Your desires are perfectly reasonable, and quite admirable if I may say so.”
She shot him a surprised but very pleased glance. “I’m gratified to hear you say so.”
“I’ve had such leanings myself.”
She arched a brow teasingly. “That you would like to marry a gentleman for love?”
Simon smiled, enjoying her odd humor. He was tempted to inform her that he was the son of a duke, but he did not like how people invariably adjusted their behavior once they learned of his connections to such an elevated family. And it would gut something inside of him if he were to observe such conduct in her. Though he did not believe the lady capable of such hypocrisy.
“I’ve always thought when I do marry, which I hope to be soon, it must be to a lady who admires me genuinely. And I dare hope she would not choose me because of my income or connections to a distinguished family. I would not begrudge her if she wanted those things, only a fool would wish to live in discomfort and poverty, but I daresay, I hope she would have respect and affections for me."
She turned her head toward him, her eyes brimful of merriment. “You have exactly expressed my feelings. And I daresay if the lady of your heart does not fall madly in love with you, she is a fool.” A flash of humor crossed her face. “Perhaps we are a perfect match with all our idealistic idiosyncrasies.”
“Alas, I am not a prince,” he said, pressing a hand against his chest as if wounded grievously.
“Or a duke,” she replied with an unladylike roll of her eyes.
“I could whisk you away to a secret island, where we would marry and live in love for the rest of our days.”
Her cheeks pinkened becomingly. “I could tell from your reading books you have a romantic heart.”
Simon laughed, reached out, and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Was it the copy of Sense and Sensibility on my desk you saw,” he murmured tenderly.
“Isn’t the romance between Elinor and Edward simply wonderful.”
“I much prefer the sentiments which grew between Colonel Brandon and Maryann.”
