Page 48 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

He shifted closer, lowering his voice. His brandy-scented breath fluttered against her neck, making her shiver. “She must be beautiful, for I am a vain peacock, you know, and I could not wed a woman I did not desire.”

Clementine swallowed and closed her eyes against the tears that prickled there. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t playing fair. No one had ever said such lovely things to her, things she had not realised how much she craved hearing. She was a sensible girl, not the kind to be swayed by romantic nonsense and sentimental words, and he knew that, so he had demolished any argument she might make before she could make it. And oh, how she wanted to say yes, but if she said yes, she would be married to a man who would not love her, and who she very much feared would consume her heart as her mother had done her father’s. Then what?

“I’ve just begun our ladies' club,” she said, her voice quavering.

She felt his gaze on her face, his attention absolute.

“Which is important to you.”

“It is. My sisters are perfectly capable of running it with Mrs Adamson, I know. I am not indispensable, yet—”

“You are indispensable to me,” he said, and she turned to stare at him, surprised by the sincerity of his words. “As the Countess of Beaumarsh, you will have far more power to change things for women than you do as Miss Honeywell, you know. The club will do wonderful things in Little Valentine, and you can still be a patron, still be a part of their plans, and donate as much money as you desire to their causes. I will give you a generous allowance and I will not question what use you put it to. That will be your own affair. I will also see to Caspar’s education and settle a dowry on both Daisy and your sisters. You’ll be able to give Beatrice the splendid season you so want for her. Izzy too, if she wishes for it.”

Clementine gasped. She had not even considered what this would mean for her family, let alone the town. How selfish she was! “That’s a dirty trick,” she observed, realising now that he would not give her any reason to refuse him.

He laughed. “It is, and I shall use every weapon in my arsenal, my dear, for I do not wish for you to turn me down. I give you my solemn promise, however, that I will do everything in my power to ensure you never have cause to regret it. I have many more arguments lined up if you would like to hear them.”

She already knew what she would say, for she could not refuse him. No matter her regret over the club, no matter her fear over how much he might come to mean to her, she could not run away, not when her marriage would bring such good fortune to everyone she loved. Clementine Honeywell was many things, but she was not a coward.

She turned her head, her heart thudding in her ears.

“Ask me, then,” she said, her voice sounding strange and far off.

He gazed at her, searching her eyes for a long moment before setting down his glass and taking hers too. He slid from the settee in a smooth move that took him to one knee and, as he took her hand in hers, he was smiling. Clementine wondered how many times he would break her heart in the years to come but knew there would be compensations. Her family would be secure, no matter what. They would send Caspar to an excellent school and fund his education, and Beatrice would have her chance to shine. There would be a fine home and all the challenges that would bring. She would have security and, if she were lucky, there would be children to love. She had never allowed herself to mourn the fact that she would be childless, but now that she was to be given the chance of having them, she realised she wanted that chance. She wanted it badly enough to risk her heart by putting it in this man’s keeping.

Her father said he was a good man, she reminded herself, and her father was the best judge of character she had ever known.

“Clementine Honeywell, would you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?”

Clementine stared at him, felt her heart give an agitated thud in her chest, and took a deep breath. “I will.”

Chapter 14

Seagulls, upside down or otherwise.

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

Beau watched his fiancée carefully as the house erupted in chaos around her. Shouts and exclamations of surprise and joy rang out and the children ran about madly, not understanding the commotion but reacting to it all the same. Throughout everything, Clementine remained composed, smiling and receiving hugs and kisses, and thanking everyone for their words of congratulations. He suppressed a twinge of anxiety, knowing she was still in shock, that he had overwhelmed her and nigh on blackmailed her. He had held out the carrot of his wealth and position to secure not only her sister’s happiness and that of her family, but the female population of the entire town. It had been a dirty trick, but he had needed her to say yes. He had not realised how much he had needed a positive answer until he’d been making his case, then it had become imperative that she agreed for reasons that he was disinclined to wonder about.

He smiled as the nanny and the cook and the maid of all work came rushing up from various parts of the house, chattering with excitement. They were all included in their celebrating, and he felt the warmth and love that lived in this house wrap about him. It was almost tangible, and he realised what a responsibility he had taken on. He would remove Clementine from the home where she was a beloved and cherished presence, and take her to his own. If he did not do things correctly, she would not flourish there, and all the colour and sparkle that he delighted in when in her company would wither and die. He could not allow that to happen. No matter what he had to do, he would ensure her happiness, first and foremost. He had made a promise that she would never regret giving him this chance, and he had meant it. He would not let her down. The realisation that he had something, someone, to live up to now might once have irritated him, or concerned him, but it was strangely satisfying to know he had a reason to do better.

“Congratulations, my lord,” Reverend Honeywell said, beaming at him and shaking his hand vigorously. “Or may I call you ‘son?’” he added, a merry twinkle in his eye.

Beau laughed, relieved and bolstered to know her father seemed to hold none of the reservations that he did. “You may. Or Sylvester, if you prefer.”

“Sylvester,” the man repeated, as if trying it out. “I like that. A good, strong name. Mind, you’ll need to be strong and adaptable to keep that girl of mine out of trouble. Headstrong, she is, and clever with it, but you know that.”

“I believe I do, sir,” Beau replied, smiling as he watched Clementine across the room.

She looked up then, perhaps feeling the weight of his gaze and colour flooded her cheeks. The sight made heat rush beneath his skin, the knowledge that she would be his now giving him a strangely possessive feeling he had never known before. It settled in his chest, a warm sensation that grounded him as he realised he belonged to her too. They would be joined together, a partnership of a kind he had never expected to have. She would celebrate his successes with him, as he would celebrate hers, and if he behaved like an arse, she would have something to say about it too. The thought was both shocking and reassuring.

He’d never been accountable to anyone, not since he'd reached his majority… or even before that, given he’d become the earl when he was just a boy. His mother counted, perhaps, up to a point, but she had spoiled and indulged him to such a degree her scoldings had only ever been superficial, and she had delighted in his scandalous reputation. Her words been no more than lip service, she simply didn’t mean them. Clementine would mean them. Every word.

“It’s an excellent match,” the reverend said, and Beau assumed he meant for Clementine, for her future security, but as he turned and met the man’s eyes, he realised he was a fool to think it. “You’ll be the making of each other,” he told Beau, his voice quavering a little.

Startled, Beau watched as the reverend fumbled for his handkerchief and wiped his eyes before giving his nose a vigorous blow. Beau opened his mouth to say something, but found himself at a loss.

“You’ll be as happy as I was with her mother,” the reverend added, misty-eyed. “I can see that you will.”