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‘Yes. I just wish I knew what it is he is not telling me.’ Laurel slid off the end of the bed and began to pace around the room, the skirts of her robe swishing around her ankles, the cup clasped in her hands. ‘I believe Giles sincerely wants to marry me, but he is hiding something, I am sure of it.’
‘If he had acquired a disastrous gambling habit in Portugal, or drinks too much, I am sure we would have heard rumours of such things.’
‘More likely a mistress and a brood of handsome dark-eyed Portuguese children,’ Laurel said darkly. ‘I will ask him.’
‘Laurel!’
‘If I cannot talk to Giles frankly, then how can I marry him?’
‘All men have their secrets, dear. It does not do to insist on total frankness—one might hear things one does not wish to. Men are different from ladies and we have to learn to turn a blind eye sometimes. We must get up and get dressed.’ Phoebe threw back the covers and reached for the bell pull again. ‘Is Lord Revesby calling today to hear your decision?’
‘He is coming this afternoon and taking me to walk in Sydney Gardens where he says we may be assured of some privacy.’ Phoebe’s expression made her laugh, despite her worries. ‘To talk, Phoebe, not to do whatever it is that is making you frown so. I do not think that I can accept him, you know. I have this strong conviction that there is something I do not understand, something behind this proposal. It is so sudden. And yet he does seem quite genuine in his desire to marry me.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Phoebe hesitated, one foot out from between the covers. ‘Ah, well, we must get on with the day. I have just recalled some letters I must write this morning.’
* * *
‘Yes, I must admit to appalling tactics,’ Giles said, not at all happy about having to discuss his failed attempt at a proposal with his father. ‘In fact, no tactics at all, but impulse. I had not thought through what I intended to say to Laurel, I simply took the opportunity of finding her at the Duchess’s affair last night and put the question because she seemed quite receptive. I could have sworn she was glad to see me, but I made a mull of it.’
The Marquess opened his mouth to speak, but Giles pressed on. ‘She obviously considers me a most unsatisfactory suitor and I cannot blame her. You have no need to share your opinion of my cow-handedness, Father, and there is no need to lecture me with advice on courtship either. I am taking her out walking this afternoon and I hope I will make a better fist of it this time.’
‘The chit is being coy, I have no doubt. She means to accept you—she would be all about in the head to turn you down, Giles, and she might have been a sad romp as a girl, but she was not lacking in wits.’
‘That is all very flattering, sir, but—’
‘What time are you going to the gardens?’
‘About four, I thought. It is rather cloudy now, but it seems set to improve later.’
‘Hmm. Well, good fortune, Giles—and send in my man on your way out, will you?’
* * *
Later, as he sat in his room, working out just how he was going to word that afternoon’s proposal, Giles realised he still had no idea what he could say to convince Laurel to accept. He had laid out all the practical reasons for her, but the problem was that he feared he knew exactly why she had hesitated—she had expected him to say he loved her.
It was a perfectly reasonable expectation, because otherwise why propose to her and not to anyone else—she had been quite clear that there must be any number of other suitable ladies out there if all he wanted was an eligible bride. But how could he make declarations of a love he did not feel to Laurel? He refused to lie to her—it was bad enough that he was having to deceive her about his motives—but he did not want to hurt her either. Or give her cause to refuse.
Making love to Laurel was another matter. He could do that with pleasure—it was a delight and she was an attractive woman—but he could imagine what she would say, and feel, if she realised that he was quite capable of making love to her while not feeling any deeper emotion than liking combined with sexual attraction.
How much did she understand about men, about sex and desire? Not a great deal, he imagined, not if the sum total of her social life was neighbourhood society and an occasional local assembly. Not that a sophisticated understanding about the capacity of men to separate desire and love would make it any less painful if she realised how he felt.
What if he told her the truth about the financial position, about the debt and her dowry? What if he put it to her almost as a business proposition rather than a romantic one? Giles rocked back in his chair and chewed the end of his quill as he tried to shape such a proposal into something that might be acceptable. Could he present it as an opportunity for Laurel? She would gain the title, a fine estate, security, the chance to have a family. Many women would leap at the offer.
The front legs of his chair hit the carpet with a thud. But not Laurel. She appeared to have the independence she was seeking now and he sensed that the strange, romantic, free-spirited girl he had known would want more of marriage. Much more. Laurel, he very much feared, would want love, an emotional partnership. If he laid out the facts, then she would ask him directly if he would have even thought of marrying her if it had not been for the land and the debt, and the honest answer to that question was no. And he could not lie to her, not about that.
* * *
‘I told Phoebe that I am going to discuss this very frankly with you.’ Laurel sidestepped an enthusiastic small boy chasing a hoop along the path. The garden was rather more crowded this afternoon and there were several couples and groups taking advantage of the brightening weather.
‘Excellent.’
She looked up at Giles, walking by her side, and was unable to resist a wry smile. ‘You said that with almost adequate enthusiasm.’
‘I am out of practice for frank discussions with ladies.’
‘I am glad to hear it.’
‘At least you could tell I am not in the habit of making proposals. I made a sorry fist of it, did I not?’
