Page 27 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

A gasp behind her caused her to look over her shoulder. Primrose was staring at her in consternation.

‘Oh no,’ Primrose said. ‘You didn’t sacrifice yourself to that grumpy man for us? You couldn’t have.’

Grumpy man; he wasn’t grumpy, merely of a serious turn of mind. And there was nothing wrong with that. ‘Sacrifice? Certainly not. He and I agreed we shall suit admirably.’

Father put down the pen he clutched in ink-stained fingers. ‘If I have no say in the matter, then why is he coming to see me?’

‘It is a courtesy,’ she said firmly. ‘And you know that it was Mama’s last wish that all her daughters would marry well. And you promised her to do your best.’

Her father made a choking sound. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I heard you.’

He huffed out a breath. ‘You say he will return the land to its rightful owner?’

‘It will be part of the settlement.’

‘Not admitting that his family stole it, I suppose,’ he said with a sour note in his voice.

‘Whatever happened in the past is lost to history. But, if you want that field, this is the only way you will get it.’

‘Very well,’ he growled.

Florence became aware of tears streaming down Primrose’s face. ‘What is the matter? Why are you crying?’

‘I don’t want to go to London for a Season.’

‘Nonsense. Of course you do,’ Florence said. ‘You will see, it will be fun. And I need your help as I get established in Society.’

Primrose looked far from convinced. ‘I won’t marry just anyone,’ she mumbled with a sniff. She fumbled around for a handkerchief. ‘I will choose who I marry.’

She had never heard Primrose sound so defiant. ‘Yes, you will. And I am sure, with my help, you will make an excellent choice.’

Primrose looked at her with the sparkle of tears hanging from her long eyelashes. She looked so very beautiful and rather tragic. She was going to be the most sought-after girl on the marriage mart. And, yes; she would choose from the most eligible of bachelors.

Florence suddenly realised that she was really looking forward to watching her sister’s success in fashionable society. And perhaps marriage to Lord Blackdown would turn out to be pleasant also.

She would do her best to make it work. For them both.

His wedding had turned into a larger event than Graydon had initially envisioned—or desired. Rather than a small ceremony, he now stood at the altar of the local church before a large congregation. How word of their marriage had spread in the few weeks since he had received the agreement of Florence’s father, he was not quite sure.

He glanced at his watch. His heart picked up speed. She should be here by now. Surely, she would not renege at this late stage? It wasn’t that he mistrusted her word once given. But, after his experience with Eloise, he could not help feeling a little bit of worried, and he had seen the uncertainty in her eyes, the anxiety. As if she wasn’t quite sure she had made the right decision.

To be truthful, he wasn’t quite sure himself. But what was done was done and he would make the best of it. He’d taken a step towards restoring his family’s reputation and gained a bride whom he barely knew. But it was his duty to make it work and he would. No matter his personal feelings.

The church bells began to peal, and relief flooded through him as she appeared in the doorway, walking down the aisle on her father’s arm, her sisters and another young woman, Mrs Fairclough, trailing behind Florence.

Of all of them, Mrs Fairclough had been the one who’d given him the most critical glances, as if inspecting a new bull recently purchased. He was glad that Florence had agreed they should go to London for their honeymoon. He had the feeling that Mrs Fairclough might stir up trouble for him with his bride.

His bride. He liked the sound of it. And this morning she looked quite lovely in a dress of ivory silk embroidered with forget-me-nots and pearls. She had told him that it was her mother’s wedding gown, altered to be more in fashion. He had vowed when they were married she would have the best wardrobe money could buy, but until she was his wife he had no say in the matter. Still, he had to admit, the suited her very well.

Unfortunately, her back was as stiff, as if an iron bar had been inserted between her shoulder blades, like a martyr on the way to her pyre.

Irritation tightened his chest. It was not his fault that this marriage was their only option. She should blame the man at her side, her very grim-looking father. He had been most begrudging with his approval, and had made it clear the only reason he was agreeing was because he could not afford a battle in court.

Today, the old man’s resentment was showing. And did Florence resent giving up her freedom for the sake of her sisters? Had a few weeks of reflection since she had agreed to his proposal given her second thoughts?

Well, it was too late now. For them both.