They nodded.
“But I’m not good enough for her,” he growled, “remember? Surely you have not forgotten your own words.” He hadn’t. The misery of knowing he’d been partly at fault for her situation, the exhilaration of knowing this was his moment to play hero. He’d marry her, save her, convince her from the marriage bed to love him back.
But his parents had said no as if responding to a request for more wine.No. So simple, so logical. He was one of eleven children, had not an allowance large enough to support a family, had not work to supplement his allowance, had not committed himself to the church or the military or the law. They would not allow him to ruin that poor sweet girl.
Ruin.
Ha.
He’d felt ruined, crushed under his parents’ dancing feet. Yet he’d told Tessa how he felt anyway, hoping they could promise themselves, bide their time until his parents relented.
I love you.
And she’d had no clue how he’d meant it.
His mother wrapped both hands around his wristsand gave his arms a little shake. “You were not ready then, Remmy. You are now.”
“Would you have been able to sleep in the back of the theatre if you’d had a wife?” his father asked.
“No.” He’d not even taken rooms during the first year and a half as the Folly’s owner. He’d slept on an old broken sofa in his office, using every bit of his allowance for repairs.
“Would the Folly be as close now to success if you’d been married?”
Likely not. He would have spent pounds and hours caring for his wife.
“You were not ready,” his mother repeated. “You are now. You know, Remmy… You could have married an heiress.”
Instead he’d played the rake, trying to forget, but always keeping a part of him closed off, waiting…
His mother hooked one arm through his. On his other side, his father did the same. Then they dragged him back down the drive toward the house.
“The horse,” he said, but it was trotting along behind them like a well-trained dog. Felt like betrayal. “My clothes?”
“Do you care?” his mother asked.
Suddenly… he did. “They’re in the stables,” he grumbled.
“Do you know,” his father said, “you’ve not even given me a birthday present yet.”
“I know what gift would bring you much joy, Howard.” His mother’s voice skipped along like a happy child.
“What’s that, my flower?” His father sounded much too pleased with himself.
“An engagement.”
“Thatwouldbe nice.”
His mother laid a hand on Remmy’s arm. “You came to me quite scared once. For a woman. And I helped her find a position because you were not quite ready. Now you are, and she has returned…” Her words dissipated into a shrug.
“How do you know I am ready?” He didn’t feel ready. Not even a little. “The Folly is not yet solvent.”
“How close are you?” his father asked.
Damn close. “Not there yet.”
“You will be.”
“How can you know?”
