“How could that possibly be true?” He frowned as if in censure.
“Because while you were away, I imagined a hundred different ways your nose could have been broken, each of them more scandalous than the last.”
He shook his head. “I don’t feel that you should forgive me so easily.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Lily said. “You made a mistake, but even that speaks to your character—you thought Francine could be healed at home. Many gentlemen would have shipped her off the moment she struck them, pregnant or not.” He opened his mouth as if to argue, but she plowed onward. “And even after she tried to kill Rebecca—with fire, no less—you still followed her onto the roof, even though you’re frightened of heights.”
“I fear you are determined to view me through the best lens.”
“While you are trying to blame yourself for a situation that was not of your making and not fully under your control. I understand your guilt, but it isn’t yours to bear. The guilt lies with Francine and her dreadful parents.”
Bradford turned to her. “Please, take the rest of the morning and think about what I’ve told you. I don’t want you to rush into an attachment without considering it.”
“Very well.”
The sun was fully up now, and a family of ducks swam toward them.
He studied her. “Out of curiosity, what was your best theory regarding my nose?”
“A jealous husband, perhaps?”
Bradford exhaled a rueful laugh. “Not hardly.”
“That was nothing. Margaret suggested you might be a highwayman.”
CHAPTER 31-BRADFORD
Bradford ascended the steps of the impressive townhouse, patting his jacket to make sure the ring was still there. It would be just his luck to have the entire process ruined by a hole in his pocket.
This time around, he was sure of his decision. He didn’t have butterflies of uncertainty in his stomach; he had nerves that he’d sneeze in the middle of his speech or something of that nature. He could overcome such a trifle easily, but he wanted this to be perfect for Lily.
He’d seen the answer in her eyes at the pond that morning. She was firm, resolute—there hadn’t been an inkling of fear. Still, he’d thought it best to give her several hours of reflection.
When Bradford entered the parlor, Lily was alone, standing near the window. She turned to him with a smile so warm and beautiful, he forgot all the lines and compliments he’d rehearsed.
He crossed the room and took her in his arms. “Please, marry me.”
Lily grinned up at him. “Of course I will.”
He couldn’t help himself—he bent his head and kissed her smiling lips until the footman nearest the door gave a great, indignant cough.
They broke apart. Lily’s cheeks were pink, and he was relieved to see she was still smiling. Bradford rummaged in his coat and dropped to one knee.
“Lily, I love you desperately. Will you please do me the greatest honor and become my wife?”
Though he’d forgotten the rest, it didn’t seem to matter. Lily beamed down at him. “Yes. I will.”
He slid the ring onto her finger. It was a large, perfect ivory pearl ringed in round diamonds.
“I love it,” she said. “And I love you, Bradford.”
Bradford stood, and perhaps the footman saw the expression on his face, for he gave a pointed, preemptive clearing of the throat.
“Of course, you’ll have to speak to my brother,” she said.
“Is he at home?”
She nodded. “He’s in his study. Shall I show you?”
