Page 46 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

The Vicarage, Little Valentine, South-East Coast of England. 15th July 1815

Clementine sat in the parlour with her sisters, wondering why the two of them were staring at her with such peculiar intensity.

“What?” she demanded, folding her arms. “Do I have a horrid spot on my nose? Or spinach in my teeth? Or have I grown a second head? Why are you both looking at me like that?”

Izzy and Bea exchanged glances, then Bea leaned forward, her lovely expression gentle. “You said Lord Beaumarsh asked you to guess why he was here,” she repeated.

“I did,” Clementine confirmed, wondering if the entire town had been afflicted with some dread disease that made them ask pointless questions.

“And that he had come to speak to Papa,” Izzy added, almost sounding out the words.

“Yes, what of it?”

“She’s hopeless,” Bea said with a sigh, shaking her head.

“A lost cause,” Izzy agreed. “There she is, wanting to marry you off to a duke, and she can’t tell when she’s landed an earl.”

Clementine stared at them, bewildered. “Landed an earl? He’s not a fish. A peacock, possibly, but definitely not a fish, and—”

She gazed at them as their meaning filtered through the turmoil in her brain. It did not help matters.

“Ah, there it is,” Bea said cheerfully. “She’s finally figured it out.”

“Just to be certain, let me spell it out in words of few syllables. Clemmie, dearest, the earl has come to ask Papa if he can marry you,” Izzy said, speaking in the same tones she might use on an elderly halfwit with hearing deficiencies.

Clementine shot to her feet. “No!” She shook her head, gave a hysterical bark of laughter, marched to the window, and then marched back again. Standing in front of her sisters and gazing down at them, she regarded them with fond exasperation. “You poor little hen-wits—” she began, just as the door opened.

“Ah, Clemmie, my dearest,” her father said, bubbling with excitement. “There you are! I told you she’d be with her sisters, my lord. Now, girls, you must leave Clementine alone for a moment, for the earl has something most important he wishes to say to her.”

Slanting ‘I told you so’ glances at her, Izzy and Bea rushed from the room, their muffled laughter and squeals of delight only too audible. Clementine, by contrast, stood frozen in place, shocked to her core.

She did not move, even as her father winked at her and closed the door, leaving her alone with the Earl of Beaumarsh.

“Ah,” he said dryly. “I see you hadn’t figured it out after all.”

Clementine stared at him. Her heart was beating a hectic tattoo in her chest, and she did not know whether to laugh or to cry. Perhaps both. Yes, both at once were distinct possibilities. Hysteria seemed to her a perfectly reasonable response to an offer of marriage from an earl. From this earl.

“Is this a joke?” she managed, startled by the faint quality of her voice.

He shook his head, his expression gentle. “I’m afraid not. You’ll have to take me seriously. And please remember that, whilst I am an idle peacock, I do have feelings. Please take a moment to reflect before you laugh in my face or run away screaming. Or laugh and then run. I’m certain you are contemplating something of the sort.”

A strangled giggle escaped her, his words touching so close to the truth she couldn’t help herself.

His lips quirked, and that endearing smile made her stomach lurch again. “I thought as much.” He gestured to the settee, moving slowly, as if afraid to spook her. “Might we sit down?”

Clementine nodded, but seemed unable to make her legs work. Apparently accustomed to dealing with hysterical females—was that reassuring?—Lord Beaumarsh took her arm and guided her to the settee. Clementine sat, put her hands in her lap and stared at them, wondering how she had got here. It had started out as a perfectly agreeable but quite unremarkable day. What had happened to it?

“Now, then, I’m sure this has all come as a most unpleasant shock to you,” he said, his tone perfectly reasonable. “And you are wondering what on earth I am playing at. Well, if you will bear with me, I shall explain. Or attempt to. You will note that I am not quite comfortable with this situation myself,” he added ruefully.

Clementine glanced up at him again. He’s nervous. The realisation was startling. Why on earth was he nervous? The Earl of Beaumarsh was a catch, one of the prizes of the marriage mart. What had he to be nervous about? Any girl in her right mind would snap his hand off if he proposed marriage. Well, apart from her, obviously. She wouldn’t. Would she?

She pushed the question aside. Obviously, she would refuse him, because… because this was insane. He’d obviously lost his mind. He could have any woman he crooked his finger at. What on earth would induce him to offer for her?

“Why?” she demanded, finally having got a hold of her wits. “Why me? We hardly know each other. You didn’t even like me when we first met.”

“You liked me less,” he retorted.

“True, but that’s by the by,” she replied briskly, unsettled by the delighted smile he returned when she agreed with him.