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“Yes. That.”
“That’s what we want them to think.”
“You ought not have said that last night. About us being…”
“In love?”
“Yes. That. You should have given a rational reason. My property, your title.”
“If I gave a rational reason, people would feel entitled to ask rational questions and demand rational answers. If we say we are in love, no one will expect us to be rational ever again.”
She couldn’t help but laugh, but that made him regard her oddly again.
“You laugh now,” he said. “You smile. I do not think I have ever seen you laugh or smile before.”
She pressed her fingers into the table. “At any rate, it’s ridiculous. The very notion of us being…”
“In love?”
“Yes. That. No one will ever believe it.”
“They will if we pretend.”
“How on earth do we do that?”
“It’s easy. For example, every now and then I shall comment loudly on how pretty your eyes are and how sweet you smell.”
“How Ismell?”
“Yes. It’s very romantic. You try.”
“You smell like horse.”
This time it was he who laughed. She liked the way his laugh rumbled through him and danced over her skin, the way his eyes lit up and deep furrows formed alongside his mouth.
“Do you mean to say that you have never been in love?” he asked.
There had been those giddy feelings last night, when Guy had gifted her with hope, then tangled his fingers with hers and led her to Papa. The fluttering in her chest that she’d carried to her bed like a souvenir. But that was merely…what? Gratitude, no doubt. Relief.
“I have liked some gentlemen, but they think that…” She shrugged. “You will agree that I am not that kind of lady.”
“Do you mean never to marry?”
“I have always hoped to marry. Married women have more freedom, and I would like a family. When I made my come-out, I imagined marrying a man who…”
No. She would not confess that childish, long-buried daydream of a love match. If he knew, he would always be able to hurt her. Weeks or months or years from now, when they were married to other people, he would know her deepest desires and dreams, and she could not bear to be in the same room with anyone who knew such things as that.
“When a woman marries, she gives everything to her husband—her property, her body, her very safety. If I must give so much power to a man, I should prefer one who will not abuse it. Who respects me for who I am and takes me as an equal partner.”
“He would need to be brave, too.”
She shot him a look. “True. Terrifying men is one of my more notable talents.”
“Maybe you should not try so hard to terrify them.”
“I do not try at all. I achieve it with the greatest ease.”
Idly, she adjusted an illustration of a parrot. A pandemonium of parrots. The morning before, the long-awaited letter from Hadrian Bell had arrived; yes, he had written, he would indeed be interested in discussing marriage when he returned to England in the new year. Now was the perfect moment to mention that to Guy.
