Page 39 of The Work of Art

Philly could hear the wry humor he attempted to infuse into his speech. It made her feel inexplicably sad. Without a thought for propriety, she placed her gloved hand on his arm. He immediately stilled. “Your name is quite sufficient. I would be honored to have it.”

Captain Heywood had plainly not expected her answer. When she gave it, he searched her face with something akin to desperation. “Miss Satterthwaite…I can’t have heard you correctly. Are you saying that you’ll marry me?”

“Yes, Captain. I will marry you. But I feel obliged to tell you… Well, perhaps you haven’t considered that…the benefits of such an arrangement would all be on my side?”

He didn’t answer her right away. Indeed, it seemed that he was still very much affected by her response. But when at last he made his reply, the bitterness and frustration that had characterized his voice only moments before were gone. “I’m sure you’re wrong, ma’am.”

Her hand fell from his arm. “I wish I were, but the fact is, I’ve little in the way of a fortune and even less in the way of connections. There’s no doubt that, if you were to marry me, I’d be forever hanging on your sleeve.”

“Those sorts of things mean nothing to me.”

“Don’t they?”

“Less than nothing.”

“Oh, I’m glad of it. But there’s more, I’m afraid.” She dropped her eyes, sincerely wishing that her conscience didn’t compel her to be so honest with him. “I wonder if you’ve given proper thought to what might happen if you were to one day meet a woman for whom you have a true affection?”

“On that score, Miss Satterthwaite, you need have no apprehension. I can promise you quite faithfully that there will never be another woman I wish to marry.”

Philly lifted her gaze back to his. “I daresay you think I’m worrying over trifles, but I’d be a selfish creature indeed if I said nothing at all.”

“You’re the most unselfish person I’ve ever met. Now, tell me, are there any other warnings you feel compelled to issue me?”

“No. That is, I’m certain there must be, but I can think of nothing else at present.”

He regarded her with solemn attention. “And is your answer to my proposal still yes?”

“Yes. Yes, of course it is. But how can such a thing even be done? The duke will return on Saturday, and any moment my uncle may make good his threat against my dogs. There’s so little time.”

“There’s time enough. I should have no trouble procuring a special license. We can marry tomorrow morning and leave at once for my estate in the West Country without delay. Unless…” His expression turned grave. “Do you think it safe for you to spend another night under Townsend’s roof?”

Philly’s head was spinning. Married tomorrow morning! “Yes, I think so, but do you really mean for us to marry tomorrow?”

“It will enable us to leave immediately for Somersetshire. The plans for my departure are already in place, and the sooner you’re out of London, the better.”

“But if you were to call on my uncle and tell him of your intentions, then perhaps—”

“Your uncle would never countenance an offer from me. He and Moreland may even take steps to try and prevent our marrying. No. It’s better if he knows nothing until after it’s done.”

“Oh, yes. Quite.” She was feeling a trifle overwhelmed, but took comfort in the fact that Captain Heywood now appeared completely in control. He looked, for all the world, like an officer planning a military campaign.

“I’ll make the arrangements. You needn’t worry about anything except meeting me one final time tomorrow morning.” He met her gaze. “If you will but trust me, Miss Satterthwaite—”

“I do trust you, Captain Heywood,” she said. “I trust you enough to put my fate and the fate of my dogs in your hands. I know you won’t let us down.”

He regarded her steadily. “I shall endeavor not to.”

Upon leaving the park, Arthur told his coachman to drive him to Doctors’ Commons. The coachman flashed him a look of surprise, but complied without a word. Once there, Arthur took care of the necessary paperwork at the archbishop’s office, and then waited for the clerk to write out a special license.

While waiting, he planned out exactly what he’d do next, trying to focus on the tasks that needed to be done as dispassionately as he could. It was harder than it otherwise might have been, for every few minutes the reality of the situation struck him afresh, and he experienced a vague sort of euphoria as he realized that he was, in fact, going to marry Phyllida Satterthwaite.

He hadn’t planned on proposing to her. His offer had started as a response to all she’d confided in him, born of frustration that he could do nothing else to help her. But no sooner had he said the words than he knew beyond all doubt that he must have her.

It was this certainty, this very determination to keep her in his life by any means, that had compelled him to utter those fateful words a marriage in name only. Even then he’d never truly believed she would consent, and now, as he awaited the license which would enable them to marry, it seemed to him somehow impossible.

No doubt he’d arrive for her in the morning as planned and find she wasn’t there. Or, perhaps, a note might come later this evening telling him that she’d changed her mind.

She’d accepted him under the influence of a great emotion. She was scared and upset, overwhelmed by all that had happened with Moreland and Townsend. After calm reflection, she’d likely realize that a marriage to him—even a marriage in name only—wasn’t anything worth having at all. And then all of the plans he was making would come to naught.