Page 45 of The Pleasure in Persuasion

He crossed to the bed and dumped the pile onto the middle of the mattress. “I saw Mr. Carstairs leaving as I arrived,” he said, searching Lily’s face for clues which might explain her ill temper.

She grunted, her eyes downcast as she began separating the linens. “Yes, thank heavens,” she muttered. “He’s finally going home to Glastonbury.”

“Is that the reason for your less-than-cheerful mood?” he teased. “Already missing your ardent admirer?”

The smile he’d hoped for did not appear. “I am not in the mood for jokes today, Frederick. If you have no intention of helping me make up this bed, please leave me to it.”

His humor faded, and he frowned, only now noticing the troubled look in her eyes. Something had upset her, and it wasn’t Mr. Carstairs’ departure.

“Lily, what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

“I’m upset,” she said, shaking out a pillowcase with a sharp snap. “That’s what’s wrong.”

“And why are you upset?”

She did not answer him straightaway, but he did not press her, and his quiet patience seemed to ease her agitation. She drew in a deep breath, expelling it as she said, “A letter came for me today. From my sister.”

Ah. The sister she hadn’t talked to since she left London. The one who’d stolen her betrothed away. No wonder she was upset.

“What did the letter say?” he asked, leaning a shoulder against the bedpost.

“She’s coming to the inn,” she said, her eyes flashing with panic. “And she’s bringing Stephen with her. They plan to stay for a whole week.” She tossed the pillowcase onto the bed and crossed her arms over her chest. “I haven’t seen them in two years. We haven’t exchanged even a single letter since I came to Little Bilberry. Why are they coming? What do they want?”

“Maybe your sister wants to make amends. Maybe she misses you.”

Lily shook her head, clearly skeptical. “Maybe. But whatever the reason, I wish I’d had more time to prepare for their visit. The letter was delayed. They arrive today.” She pressed her palms to her eyes. “I need more time. I don’t know how I should behave, or what to say to them, or…”

She sank onto the settee by the window, and Frederick joined her, drawing her hands in his, offering comfort the only way he knew how. “I wish I had the right answer,” he said. “Would it help if your betrothed was there alongside you tonight?”

A small smile touched her lips. “I appreciate the offer, but Mr. Carstairs is gone now, and our arrangement has ended.”

“We could begin a new arrangement.”

She shook her head. “No, Frederick. Thank you, truly, but I could not ask you to go on pretending.”

Frederick stilled, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. Pretending. Yes, he was through with pretending, wasn’t he?

He wanted a new arrangement with Lily, but this time, he wanted it to be real. And permanent.

He knew he wasn’t worth much, but just being around this woman made him feel that he could be. That if he worked at it hard enough, if he could earn Lily’s love, maybe he might be worth something after all.

“What if we weren’t pretending, Lily?” The words were rasping, his heart in his throat. “What if we were betrothed for real?”

Lily was staring. She knew she was staring, even through the haze of shock and bewilderment, and Frederick was staring right back at her, awaiting her answer.

She half-expected him to take the words back, or at the very least, crack a smile to reveal he was only teasing.

But he did not smile, and he did not speak, even to take it back. He simply sat there, still holding her hands, his eyes impossibly blue and unflinchingly patient.

“Betrothed for real?” she parroted. “I told you already I am not in the mood for jokes.”

He shook his head. “You know I’m not joking.”

“Then you’re being impulsive. You haven’t thought this through, Frederick.”

“I assure you, I have.” His response was immediate, his voice so calm, so assured, it pricked at her already-frayed temper.

“When?” she demanded, surging to her feet. “Over the last two minutes? That is hardly a thorough consideration.” She stalked to the bed and picked up the now-wrinkled pillowcase, only to toss it back onto the bed. “Marrying me would mean running this inn with me, working and toiling, every day for the rest of your life.”