Page 3 of A Necessary Wife

He squinted at her. “You will not marry because you will not, cannot, trust another man with your heart.”

She took a step back from him because that was the answer she usually gave, and no one had ever wanted to hear it or believe her in earnest.

Chatham inhaled. “I have said I will not remarry for exactly the same reason. I do not trust women. You do not trust men.”

She scoffed. “What a pair we make, then.”

“That was my thought when I saw you out here digging away at your brother’s garden at dawn. We could be perfect for one another.”

She squinted at him. “Did you stare into the rising sun for a long time this morning, too, my lord?”

His lips quirked but then his expression instantly became serious. “I will not love a second wife,” he admitted. “I will not allow myself to be foolish or betrayed. Yet, a wife remains a necessity for a man in my position. I have friends to entertain, a household to be managed, a neglected garden to be tended, and two small children of an age that requires constant supervision.”

“Servants can be trusted with all of those tasks, my lord,” she reminded him with a careless shrug. Yet, for all the absurdity, it was the most interesting and honest conversation she’d ever had with a gentleman. She was almost flattered that he thought they might be compatible. Or desperate enough to accept his offer.

“Servants come and go. A wife is forever, usually,” he said, shrugging away the death of his first wife, Serena, as if it were of no great consequence to him now.

However, Amelia knew that Chatham’s profound grief continued to this day, years later. It was unsurprising that he had little faith in women or a desire to love another when he had been so thoroughly cuckolded.

“I understand your hesitation, but I know men, too, and they are fickle in their affections as well.”

“Some are, yes,” Chatham murmured. “Miss Reynolds, I adore my children, but they require a steady female presence guiding them to adulthood and to receive affection from. It is my hope that a second wife could love them. That is all I want from a second marriage.”

She glanced away, pained for the children and their likely loneliness at that moment. She’d missed her mother’s guidance since the scandal, and longed for gentle arms to wrap around her and tell her she was still worthy of love. “I’m sure anything is possible.”

“Countess when we marry, and one day a duchess,” he declared, throwing out a lure meant to entice her to agree.

“No.” Amelia shook her head at how ill-suited she was for those esteemed honors. Society would be horrified. No one would ever call her a diamond. No one in society would clamor for her favor if she were titled. His suggestion was preposterous. “I never aspired to make so grand a match, but many debutantes fresh to the marriage mart in London do. I wish you good hunting.”

“A debutant would imagine I could love her.” He frowned. “Priceless jewels to wear even while you garden, generous pin money each month, an army of servants and such to do your bidding. Would that sway you to accept?”

She gave him full marks for offering the greatest of his wealth, as he saw it so bluntly. “No, my lord.”

“Then there is but one thing left I can offer you.” He rubbed his jaw. “A babe of your own, then?”

She gasped in shock and her eyes flew to his, expecting disdain or worse. Yet he seemed as serious as he ever was. Even so, she must refuse. “No.”

He nodded. “You are still of childbearing age, judging by your brothers hints to explain your absence from the dinner table these past few nights.”

Amelia gasped again, and could not contain a blush of embarrassment that he knew that much about her bodily functions—and would speak of them out loud. It was hardly spoken of between women in the same family and was an unseemly topic between near strangers of the opposite sex.

Amelia was closer to thirty years than twenty, and in her determination to never let herself be hurt by the fickle affections of any man ever again she had given up on the dream of having any children.

But she longed for them still.

Chatham was proposing. Proposing never to love her, as well…but offering her one last chance for motherhood. He suggested a marriage of convenience that made an odd sort of sense from his point of view. And from hers, too.

This could be her last and only opportunity to choose her own path.

She gnawed on her bottom lip, thinking of why she should refuse. A marriage of convenience would be challenging, difficult, and awkward for certain. Yet it might be mutually beneficial, given the right assurances that she would have autonomy and credit for her efforts.

She met his gaze.

“We will marry then,” he said evenly, smiling as if she had agreed to his proposal. “I’ll speak to your brother when he returns and leave for London immediately to obtain a special license and come back to marry you.”

“I did not accept.” She took two steps back from him. “And I have heard that promise before and suffered the embarrassment of a runaway groom. Humiliation once was more than enough. No thank you, my lord.”

He studied her for a long time. “A special license will be required for the swift marriage I want. I cannot linger about here a whole month waiting for the banns to be called. So, we will say nothing of our plan to marry before I leave for London this morning. Your brother will not expect my return. I have discussed my plans to wed with you, and only with you.”