Page 19 of A Lady of Conscience

“I own that I have struggled with my feelings,” he said. “You are not, it is to be admitted, the sort of young lady I had anticipated attaching myself to. However, since almost the first moment of our acquaintance, I have found myself unable to fix my attentions on anyone else. I admire you greatly, despite my justifiable misgivings, and believe that, with effort and mutual endeavor, we would ultimately do well together. I beg you would accept my proposal of marriage.”

Hannah stared at him blankly. She had no experience of marriage proposals, but surely they were meant to be more romantic than that?

He’d said nothing of love. Nothing even of affection. He’d admitted to struggling over his feelings rather than welcoming them. To having ‘justifiable misgivings.’ It was an insult, though not, she suspected, an intentional one. The sting was no less sharp. She felt it in her soul.

A bleak future materialized before her, as vivid as a waking dream. She could, at once, see it all quite clearly. Were she to accept him, he would always find her wanting. He would see only her flaws, her failures. He would never appreciate her strengths. It would not be long before he regretted having ever proposed to her. By then it would be too late. They would be stuck with each other, both of them miserable.

It wasn’t what she wanted. No matter that she’d been nurturing something like a school-girlish affection for him. That the mere sight of him provoked butterflies in her stomach. It wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Indeed, she deserved more.

Gathering her courage, she made her answer. It didn’t come easily. Though she knew the polite order of words, she was not practiced at refusing. “I thank you for your attentions,” she said with what she hoped was a creditable degree of calm. “I’m very sensible of the honor you do me. But no. Thank you. I do not wish to marry you.”

James’s handsome face betrayed an almost imperceptible flinch. “You’re refusing me?”

Hannah’s stomach quivered. Good gracious, she was, wasn’t she? “I believe I must.”

“Why must you?”

“I don’t belong in your world, sir.”

“I should think that I am the best judge of that.”

“And you have indeed judged it so. You admit yourself that you’ve struggled. That you’ve had misgivings.”

“Not about your character, or about the basic suitability—the admiration that I—” He broke off, seeming to collect himself. A muscle pulsed in his cheek. “My doubts have been confined to your ability to move in fashionable society. Part of my life must naturally be in town. Your shyness won’t serve you there. You will have to develop confidence to succeed in London.”

“I don’t wish to move in London society.”

“I shall guide you,” he assured her. “I’m confident you’ll rise to the challenge.”

“Guide me,” she repeated.

“It worked well for us when we danced together.”

Hannah shook her head. She recognized his intentions were well meant. Even so, he didn’t understand. “Marriage isn’t a waltz,” she said. “It’s a partnership. I don’t desire to be led. And I don’t desire to change into something I’m not. When I marry, it will be to a gentleman who values me as I am.”

His jaw tightened. “I see I’m to be punished for my honesty.”

“No. Indeed, I hope we shall remain friends. We are soon to be⁠—”

“Brother and sister, yes. So you’ve said.” He stood abruptly. His face was hard, his expression wiped clean of emotion. “If that is your final word, then I must respect it.” He gave her a stiff bow. “Miss Heywood.” He turned to leave.

Hannah rose swiftly before he could quit the room. “James.”

He stopped by the drawing room door, his back to her. His broad shoulders were taut beneath the line of his coat.

She took a hasty step toward him only to come to halt. “I do like you very much,” she said softly. “I-I wish my answer could have been otherwise.”

He remained where he stood a moment longer before striding out of the room.

Chapter Six

Hannah returned to her seat on the sofa, her throat tight with emotion. She’d never received a proposal of marriage before. And she certainly hadn’t anticipated receiving one from James Beresford, Viscount St. Clare. She hadn’t even known he admired her until he’d said so.

But admiration wasn’t love.

She hadn’t done wrong to refuse his offer. They were ill-suited; their visions for the future too disparate to guarantee any chance of happiness for either of them. It had been a kindness really, telling him no. Even so…

She rather felt as if she was going to cry.