“No,” she replied, keeping her gaze focused on the lapels of his blue jacket.
“Then why can’t you look at me?”
She brought her gaze up to meet his. “Does this please you?”
Taking a step closer to her, he replied, “What pleases me is when you speak your mind.”
He could see the questions in her eyes, and he hoped that she would confide in him. But he was not so lucky. She blinked, and her eyes became guarded.
Henrietta took a step back. “We should be heading back.”
“So soon?”
Bringing her hand up to her hair, she replied, “I forgot to bring my bonnet with me.”
Charles resisted the urge to demand to know what was troubling her. It wasn’t his place, at least until they were wed. “Before we go, I was hoping to speak to you about something important.”
“Which is?”
“I have secured the special license and hoped that we could be wed tomorrow.” He held his breath as he waited for her response.
She clasped her hands in front of her. “I am amenable to that.”
He let out his breath. “Excellent,” he said. “I shall see to the arrangements.”
Henrietta opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it, making him wonder what she had intended to say.
Charles offered his arm. “Allow me to escort you back inside.”
She hesitantly reached for his arm and replied, “Thank you.”
Charles led her back inside, wondering what had come over Henrietta. She appeared timid, when she was truly anything but. He hoped she wasn’t having second thoughts about marrying him.
“Raise your glass to your last night of freedom,” Brixton said, holding his glass up. “It is something that you will never see again after you are married.”
Charles chuckled. “I doubt that.”
Roswell spoke up from next to him. “You are an idiot, Brixton.”
“You wound me,” Brixton mocked.
“I doubt that,” Roswell replied. “Besides, not every wife is a burden to her husband. Some marriages are based on love.”
Brixton huffed. “That is rare in our circles.”
“That may be true, but I was lucky enough to find a wife who is my love match.” Roswell paused. “As did Charles.”
Charles shifted uncomfortably in his seat at Roswell’s proclamation.
Brixton took a sip of his drink. “I suppose you are right. Marjorie is my love match, but she won’t accept my offer of marriage.”
“You offered for her?” Charles asked.
“I did, a few days back.”
“And she refused you?” Charles pressed.
Brixton shook his head. “She said she would have to think on it.” He looked dejected.
