Page 39 of Dare it all for Love

His voice was rough, a little angry as he berated himself for always wanting more than he could have. He’d known Lily could do better than him, she’d been the season’s diamond, and no one had been more surprised than he when she’d accepted him. Except she’d come to her senses and taken a far better offer in the end. He was doing it again, wanting something that ought not be his. Florence’s father might be a self-made man, but he was too wealthy to be ignored, and her mother was sister to a duke. Florence was also a beauty, intelligent and kind, and so much more. A woman like her could have any man she wished with a snap of her fingers. So what was it she wanted from him?

“I want what I see when my parents look at each other. I want a man who will stand by me, no matter what, who will never let me down. A man who keeps his promises and honours his wife and family, a man who is proud of me for having opinions, even if he doesn’t always agree with them and never tries to silence me. I want a man who will discuss instead of arguing, who will seek my counsel before deciding on things that affect our family, who will allow me to make decisions for myself instead of telling me what I must do. Someone who will love me for who I am, the good and the bad, not just the pretty face I must present to society and the fat purse marrying me will give him. That is what I want.”

Florence faced him with defiance and Henry let out a breath. Well, then.

“I can do that.”

He held out his arms to her and she ran into them, clutching him about his waist and holding on tight.

“I know,” she said, her voice muffled as she buried her face against his chest. “And that is why I want you.”

Chapter 11

Dear Miss Smith,

Are you having an enjoyable stay at Holbrook House? I wish we had been able to visit too, but Father has responsibilities which take us away for August and he does not like to be absent from Mama. Mama won’t be parted from the rest of us for long, so we’ve all been hauled off to the estate in Hampshire. Not that I’m complaining, it is a marvellous place, the fishing is excellent and there’s lots to do. Only I do miss everyone. I hope you will come and visit us here one day, I’m sure you’d like it, and Cat too, of course.

―Excerpt of a letter from Lord Frederick Adolphus (younger son of Robert and Prunella Adolphus, their Graces, The Duke and Duchess of Bedwin) to Miss Agatha Smith.

16th August 1839, Holbrook House, Sussex.

Grace accepted the glass of water from Mr Oak with a polite nod. Though she was glad she’d diffused the awkward atmosphere, she rather wished she’d not been such a martyr. For now she was alone with Mr Oak, and she had not the faintest idea what to say to him. Why Florence had been so antagonistic to him she did not know, but she well understood he was not an easy man to be around. Partly it was the way he looked at one. The way he was looking at her now, as if… as if he knew….

“How far gone are you?”

Grace choked, her shock so profound she almost dropped the glass. Mr Oak lunged for it, taking it from her slack grasp before it hit the floor. He knelt beside her and gave her a couple of firm pats on the back.

“Breathe,” he said. If Grace had been able to, she’d have demanded what on earth he thought she was trying to do, but she could do nothing but gasp. “Try to relax. No, don’t fight it. In… and out. That’s it. Steady, now.”

His large hand rubbed slow circles on her back and the warmth of his palm burned through her gown, somehow even through her corset, yet it was a reassuring touch, if outrageously inappropriate.

She met his eyes, determined to deny everything and rail at him for voicing such a dreadful, ruinous, damaging accusation to an innocent young lady. But she looked into his eyes and got lost somehow, the angry words snagging in her throat. His eyes were so dark, a deep rich brown, thickly lashed and watchful. They watched her now, without condemnation or sympathy. Perhaps that was why she burst into tears.

Mr Oak got to his feet, and for a moment Grace believed he meant to walk off in disgust and was gripped by such overwhelming panic her chest grew tight. Then she saw he had only gone to close the door that he’d left open for propriety’s sake. Well, that horse had bolted right enough.

He returned to her and handed her a clean handkerchief. She took it and wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and tried to get herself back under control.

“What must you think of me?” she wondered aloud, not expecting an answer, which was just as well, for she did not get one.

“How many monthlies have you missed?”

Grace felt a blush scald her cheeks and glared up at him, scandalised. “You cannot ask me such… personal…. Really, it’s too—”

“How many?” he demanded.

“Two.”

What was the point? Now he knew he’d probably tell everyone. Why in the name of everything holy had she answered him? Why had she tried to stop the argument between him and Florence? Why had she been such a stupid, reckless ninny and given herself to a man who didn’t give a snap of his fingers for her?

“Reckoned as much,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, his gaze unwavering.

“Who told you?” she asked, angry now.

Only Florence and Arabella knew, and she knew they would never have told. She’d thought perhaps her maid suspected. Had she tattled to someone? Surely not.

“No one told me,” he said, his voice sure and calm. “I know what a breeding female looks like.”

“I’m not a cow!” she objected, hot with indignation.