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Without appearing wholly insensitive and heartless, he had no way of refusing this compromise. With a look that promised he would have something to say about it when they were alone, Alex surrendered gracefully.
‘That would be very satisfactory, ma’am, if you are agreeable?’ Aunt Emily nodded, somewhat dazed. She had experienced none of these problems when dealing with Sir Frederick’s entirely proper proposal to Grace! ‘It will allow me time to have Hebe’s rooms made ready for her: the suite of the lady of the house has not been occupied for many years. I will return to Tasborough Hall, then; we can finalise arrangements by letter, I imagine.’
Aunt Emily was having some difficulty reconciling this cool approach to the violently suppressed passion that she had to assume lay behind the urgency of his proposal. ‘Yes, indeed, I am sure, with such a very quiet affair, it can be organised by letter. We can hold the wedding breakfast here—how many guests would you intend to invite my lord?’
‘Just Major Gregory, a friend of mine who fortunately is home on furlough. I will ask him to be my groomsman.’
He appeared to be making ready to leave without as much as kissing Hebe’s hand. Aunt Emily said hastily, ‘Please, on such a happy occasion, I am sure there is not the slightest objection to you bidding Hebe farewell by…er…’
Hebe got to her feet, her eyes on Alex’s face as he turned to her. Not to kiss her would cause her aunt to doubt that this really was a love match. She read the question in his eyes and nodded slightly, extending both her hands to him. He took them and she was shocked at how cold his were. He stooped and pressed his lips to her cheek: they were warm, gentle and lingered a moment. How long was it since he had touched her?
She racked her brains and remembered that formal handshake on the balcony in Gibraltar. Alex freed her hands and stepped back. Hebe looked at him and saw again the tiredness that shadowed his eyes. Without thinking she put up one tentative hand and touched the taut skin over his right cheekbone. His skin was losing its deep tan, and with it one of the ways he could disguise fatigue from her. ‘You will not travel back today, surely?’ she asked softly. ‘You will exhaust yourself.’
He stepped back abruptly, leaving her with her hand raised. ‘There is much to do, I must go. I will write: take care of yourself, my dear.’ He bowed to Mrs Fulgrave and Anna, and was gone.
‘Well!’ Aunt Emily said, dropping back into her chair. ‘What a very determined young man—and so intense. Hebe, my dear, if you are not sure about this, now is the time to say so. He is undoubtedly highly eligible, but are you sure you want to marry a man who is quite so forceful?’ She watched Hebe’s averted face. ‘Do you love him, dear?’
‘Oh, yes, indeed I do, Aunt.’ The warmth of her niece’s instant response reassured her.
‘I suppose you are both very shy of each other: on top of strong feeling that can make anyone act strangely.’ She broke off as both Grace and Joanna put their heads around the door.
‘May we come in, Mama?’ Grace rushed over and took Hebe’s hands. ‘I couldn’t bear to go out, so I went up to Joanna’s room. Oh, Hebe, he is so handsome, and he looks so masterful. Why, if I were not in love with dear Frederick, I declare I would be swooning over him myself.’
‘He is the most beautiful man in London,’ Joanna declared. At seventeen she was taking a lively interest in young men and her mama had a sinking feeling she would prove to be both a flirt and a handful when she came out.
‘Joanna!’ she reproved.
‘Well,’ Hebe said with a smile, ‘he was certainly the most handsome man on Malta, although he would not thank you for saying so. My maid told me he looked like a “beautiful, fierce saint” and I made the mistake of repeating it to him.’
Grace giggled. ‘What did he say?’
‘He professed himself mortified,’ Hebe said. ‘We were in a boat in the Grand Harbour at the time and it literally took the wind out of his sails.’
‘It is good that he is not set up in a high opinion of himself,’ Aunt Emily said thoughtfully. ‘He is indeed a handsome man, although, until he smiles, I find him quite severe.’
‘Yes,’ Hebe agreed. It was wonderful to be able to talk about Alex like this, to enjoy a little feminine gossip. Indulgent, but wonderful. ‘When I first saw him I took an instant dislike to him, for he looked so severe and priestlike. And when he senses danger he resembles a fierce bird of prey.’
‘Ooh!’ Joanna regarded her with saucer eyes. ‘You were shipwrecked with him, were you not? It must have been a wonderful adventure. Did the Earl have to protect you from many dangerous Frenchmen?’
That was far too near the knuckle for comfort. Anna intervened. ‘Fortunately the Major—I cannot think of Major Alex as my lord yet—was soon able to get Hebe to my village.’
Grace was far less interested in exotic adventure, and much more concerned with romance. ‘But when did you decide you did not dislike him?’
‘When I realised that he was not severe at all, merely exhausted, for he had just returned from a long and dangerous mission. He does not like showing weakness: few men do, I should imagine. However, I saw through his pretence and we soon became friends.’
‘Just friends?’ Grace questioned.
‘At first. We shared a mutual interest in Greek mythology.’ Hebe ignored Anna, who had cast up her eyes in mingled amusement and disapproval.
‘Goodness.’ Grace was obviously finding it difficult to reconcile the Earl’s good looks, his dashing military background and an interest in mythology. ‘So, when will the wedding be announced? And when can we go shopping for your bride clothes? You will not have to wear mourning if it has not been announced, will you?’
‘The wedding will be in three weeks’ time,’ her mother told her, managing to conceal her own feelings on the matter. ‘Because of the family bereavement it will not be announced beforehand and will just be a simple ceremony at St George’s. Which means,’ she added with a sigh, ‘we have a great deal of shopping to be done in a very short time. And a considerable amount of mourning-wear to obtain.’
‘Hebe will not have to be married in black, surely, Mama?’
Aunt Emily pondered. ‘No, I do not think so, as it is a private, family affair. Nothing too light, of course—perhaps a dusky rose pink? That would suit you, dear. But immediately after the wedding breakfast you will need to change into blacks: it would not do to arrive at your new home in colours.
‘I think you should go back to bed and rest for the remainder of the day, Hebe, while Grace and I make lists. We can consult tomorrow morning and then, if you feel well enough, we will go shopping. We will take the barouche, and Peter, so we will have to do no walking or carrying parcels. Now, up you go, dear.’
