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Finally, she shook her head slowly and said, “I can’t say. I really can’t. But I can say that I know the true nature of Lady Henrietta and she will have spread her story of witnessing our … compromising moment … far and wide.”
Marion sighed impatiently. Simon could tell she had no patience for gossipy women, and smiled. It was exactly how he felt, too.
“So you feel that it might be the best course of action for both of us?” Simon queried, reining his horse to a stop. It was important to him that she agreed; he would not like her to feel like she was forced into the situation.
“I do,” she said meekly. “We both have to think about the future. You need a wife and heir, and the truth is that I have no future unless I can avoid this scandal.”
“So you would be happy to proceed under these terms?”
“I would.”
It was not a romantic moment, but it was a relieving one. They looked at one another briefly, a flutter of understanding passing between them. He was grateful to talk to her so openly and honestly, for the two of them to genuinely be on the same page. It was reassuring, and it gave him the confidence to do what was required of him now that everything had been confirmed between them.
He reached inside the pocket of his jacket, pulling a ring out. He didn’t have a box for it—it was a ring that was part of his inheritance from his grandmother. Most of the jewellery had gone to his wife, but not all of it. He hadn’t felt right giving away one of his wife’s old rings.
“This is an engagement ring for you,” he offered it to her awkwardly. It didn’t feel right to kneel, even though he had for his first engagement. Then, he had been honoured to kneel before Stella, to supplicate before her as an act of love. He didn’t feel like Marion would appreciate it—especially if the romantic gesture wasn’t truly coming from the heart.
“It’s only a simple band,” he said quietly as Marion took it and held it in her hand, looking at it with an unreadable expression. It was gold, inlaid with a row of emerald and diamond shards. He had not seriously sought out a ring for her, he had not had the time, but of the few his grandmother had left him, this was the least ostentatious. It reminded him the most of Marion.
“Will…will you be comfortable wearing it?” He was surprised by how nervous he felt. How he watched her long fingers twist the ring slowly, watched her gently bite her bottom lip, as he was coming to see she did when she was thinking intently.
“I think I will.” Marion slipped the ring slowly onto her engagement finger, seemingly unable to stop herself from performing the classic gesture of all recently engaged brides; she lifted her hand to the level of her eye and stretched it out to admire the way it looked on her finger.
“Will it suit?” she asked simply, her eyes looking up at him, dark as mahogany. Simon understood the deeper question underneath her words:Will I suit you?
“It looks delightful,” Simon smiled gently, reaching out to twist the ring so the shards sat perfectly central. “It will suit very well.”
Simon couldn’t help the fluttering of desire he felt in his chest as his hand touched her fingers, couldn’t hold back his instinct to gently take her hand and squeeze it reassuringly. It felt good to be out in the sunshine with her, to know that he could help keep her safe from scandal and gossip.
“I will always provide you with a secure future, Marion,” he said simply. “I hope you will be happy.”
Marion looked up at him and he felt a surge of surprising contentment that she was by his side.
“I hope you will be happy, too,” she said softly, and squeezed his hand back.
Chapter Seven
“Is it normal to be this nervous?” Simon muttered to himself, fumbling with his stock as he looked at himself in the mirror, his green wedding waistcoat laid out on the chair beside him.
“I was a jittery wreck on the morning of my wedding,” Nathan’s voice came from behind him. In the mirror, Simon could see Nathan lounging in the doorway of his bedchamber, already dressed in the appropriate attire for a best man. “But you should surely know if it’s normal. You have much more experience than I.”
“I got married eight years ago.” Simon undid his stock, frustrated that he was unable to get it right. “Nearly a decade ago! If I have more experience, I don’t feel it in this moment.”
Sighing, Nathan entered the room, taking his best friends stock away from him and deftly putting it to rights.
“It’s very normal to be nervous on your wedding day,” Nathan said, clapping Simon’s upper arm cheerfully.
“Even if you are not in love with the bride?” Simon snapped, annoyed at Nathan’s buoyancy. Nathan looked at him with eyebrows raised as he slouched, perfectly at ease, into a chair in the corner.
“My, my, you are possibly the grimmest groom I’ve ever seen,” he declared, reaching for the light breakfast sandwiches that had been brought up to the room for Simon to snack on by the caring Cook. Simon had no stomach for it. In fact his stomach was in knots, but Nathan set to munching down ham and egg quite merrily.
“I am not grim, I am only…” Simon searched for the word as he looked at himself in the mirror. What word could sum up this turbulence of emotion going on inside of him? “Melancholy.”
“Well, pull yourself together, man,” Nathan said through a mouthful of sandwich. “Your bride is intelligent and kind and will help you get the heir you so desire. There is nothing to be melancholy about.”
“Is there not?” Simon couldn’t contain his anger. “What of vows already made? What of loyalty to one’s first love? Is the denial of these things not cause for extreme melancholy?”
Nathan stopped eating and looked at his friend carefully. Simon wasn’t aware of how keenly Nathan saw and understood him; Nathan could see that whilst Simon still longed for and loved Stella, he was also not numb to Marion’s allure. This was the real heart of his discontent on this day; he was not just melancholy, he was also nervous. Part of him really wanted to be married again, and for that he felt guilty.
