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‘I knew they had some such idea in their heads, and I had accepted it, I suppose—it seemed very logical with the land marching together and so on. But it would have been several years in the future and you were too young to talk about such things.’
‘Yes, I was, I suppose.’ Far too young and very innocent. And romantic without realising it. ‘But all that time, you never gave me any idea that you knew.’ And all the time that she had felt, in her bones, that Giles was meant for her, it had never occurred to her that he did not feel the same way about a match, that he saw it as simply a logical, practical thing to do.
The land marches together.
But if all he had been doing was dutifully falling in with his father’s dynastic plans, then that blew away the rosy glow of her long-cherished picture of them as meant for each other at some deep, primal way, far more fundamental, far purer than agreements over joining bloodlines and estates. It had a sweet pain to it, speaking of what might have been.
‘You are not too young now,’ Giles said, almost conversationally.
‘I—Whatever can you mean?’
He doesn’t mean that we should... Surely? Does he? No, of course not.
‘What is to stop us getting married now?’ Giles was watching her over the rim of his glass.
He does mean marriage, not a dalliance, not friendship.
For a moment the rosy glow flooded back and then she focused on what he had said, how he had said it.
It hardly seems the most passionate of proposals, she thought with a sudden shiver. Where is the man who kissed me in the labyrinth, the man who suggested doing wicked things out here in the shadows?
Laurel took a deep breath and found her smile, striving to look amused and sophisticated. ‘Why would you want to marry me?’ she responded, just as coolly as he had put the question. ‘Surely there are any number of younger women you could take to wife? It was you, after all, who reminded me how short a time a woman has to make a good match and bear a family.’
‘We know each other, we are old friends. You know Thorne Hall and its people and the neighbourhood. It is all familiar to you, whereas I have been away for years. It seems to me that you would be the perfect wife for me.’
‘We have been apart for nine years and are just beginning to repair the breach in our friendship. We knew each other as children, youngsters, not as...as lovers. The idea of asking me has just occurred to you and you cannot have thought it through. You certainly cannot pretend that you wish to marry me because you feel an emotional attachment to me.’
She was not going to use the word love, she knew what that did to men—threw them into a panic, and in a male emotional panic they were prone to utter the kind of home truths she had no desire to hear. It was bad enough being told she was perfect because she knew the neighbours.
‘Can I not? You think I do not feel fond of you, Laurel? I was so angry over that misunderstanding because it was you, my friend, who overheard and misjudged me, you who thought me a libertine. And did you not enjoy the kisses we shared in Sydney Gardens?’
Only then did Giles reach across the table, take her hand in his.
He should have been holding it, warm and secure in his grasp, all the time he was proposing, she thought, resisting the temptation to pull away, to flounce off, all offended pride and hurt feelings.
‘Laurel, we could make a good marriage, my father would welcome you with open arms, you would be home again.’ His fingers curled into her palm, an insistent pressure through the taut silk of her glove. ‘I came to Bath without the slightest notion I would see you here, without any intention of marrying you. But now I find that it is essential to me that we wed.’
Essential? What a very peculiar choice of word.
Yet strangely she could believe it, despite the absence of any protestations of love, or even of affection beyond old friendsh
ip. It did have the ring of truth, Giles really did want to marry her. She had always been able to sense, not so much when he lied, but when he was being absolutely sincere, and that sincerity was in his voice now, in his expression, in the grip of his fingers on hers.
Essential.
‘I have no idea what my dowry is,’ she protested, then realised just how far that comment took her past surprise, edging into acceptance.
Giles shrugged. She supposed that for the heir to a marquessate money was hardly important. But the land would be. She realised that she had no idea how her father had left the unentailed land that had once been her dowry. Presumably it had all gone to Cousin Anthony now.
‘We will find out about a dowry and all those tiresome questions later,’ Giles said, carrying on calmly while she was lost in a haze of confused emotions. ‘I will have to speak to the new Earl, I imagine—is he your trustee?’
If he is prepared to take me with no idea of my dowry that augurs well for his motives, Laurel supposed.
‘The old agreement between our fathers—’
‘My father wrote to me that the two of them burned it the next day—presumably in the absence of my sorry carcase to put on the bonfire. Father began to correspond with me, you know, after a few months when he realised I was not coming home. And I climbed down off my high horse and wrote back. I cannot say we are exactly close yet, but it is not as though there is a great breach between us. Our marriage would make him very happy, you need have no fear that you would be unwelcome because of our difficult past.’ He took her other hand and leaned towards her across the little table, the blue intensity of his gaze in the lantern light almost mesmerising. ‘Say yes, Laurel. Say you will marry me.’
Chapter Ten
