Coach and Four: Allisandra's Tale by Linore Rose Burkard

to raise tonnage or poundage, or create a new tax. And all it will cost him—is you—and that only temporarily. A matchless match.”
     
She turned her head away, trying to disbelieve it all, but could not. The matter tore at her heart. In her mind's eye she could see the smiling countenance of the king—and suddenly, it did seem that there was more in his eye than just the fond affection of a guardian, she thought. The King was known for his many mistresses. Allisandra blinked back tears.
     
But she forced herself to keep her wits about her. Could there not be another explanation? Could it be that the duchess had been misinformed, as Allisandra was now? Perhaps Dorchester had invented the whole terrible falsehood. But why would he do so? And Elizabeth, her own dear Elizabeth, was nobody's fool. She had wondered on what account the king had intended to visit Langley. Now it made sense.
     
But then something inside her rebelled at the thought.
     
“There is more to this matter! What are you not telling me? Elizabeth would never have given me to /you/! To become your newest conquest! My heart tells me that she would rather have seen me Countess to an old lecher than to be ruined by a young one!”
     
Once again the earl's unruffled composure surprised her, as he received her insult in stride. In that low but firm tone he admitted, “Indeed, madam. How very right you are. I failed to mention that we must wed. It was the promise I gave her Grace and which I intend to fulfill. I am prepared to marry you. 'Countess' you will be, but to me, not to de Puillon.”
     
In response, Allisandra just stared at him.
     
“Marry me? You?”
     
He tried not to grimace at her tone, and replied, “Yes.” He actually averted his eyes and looked ahead, at nothing, the opposite wall of the coach. Allisandra stared. Lord Dorchester was behaving as though out of his element. The unflappable, unfeeling reprobate, the man infamous for seductions and liaisons—could it be he had feelings for her? But that made no sense. How and why would such feelings develop?
     
She continued to stare at him and her eyes narrowed. “Why? Why are you willing to marry, and why marry me? My properties are not great; indeed, quite small in comparison to your own, and--”
     
“Are you so unfit to be the wife of an earl that you question me?” he shot in, reflecting a question back at her instead of answering hers.
     
“No, my lord!” she said, defensively. She did not notice that her answer contained two words she had not previously used when addressing him: “My lord.” But Dorchester noticed, and swore silently at himself for being inordinately pleased by it. It was the first small moving of her heart in his direction, and though he could not have put it into words as such, he instinctively felt it.
     
“Are you so unattractive in your own estimation that you cannot conceive of my wanting you?” Again she answered stiffly, “No, my lord!” Then she became the questioner.
     
“Are you proceeding in this manner as a way of getting at the King? Do you seek a quarrel with him? Or revenge?”
     
He chose his words. “My actions, I hope you can credit, are for myself and for you alone. I expect they shall raise Charles's ire, in which case we can go abroad if we must. But I am not using you as a means of power against the King or anyone else. I give you my— word.”
     
She was still unsatisfied and sat there, trying to frame a further question, when he asked, “Are you uncertain of whether you are 'worthy' of my name or my attentions?”
     
“No, it is not that.”
     
“Then what makes it impossible to you?”
     
“Not to me, but to—to— you
     
.” He felt a surge of hope. “I have professed it not to be so. I say again, Lady Allisandra, that I intend upon marriage. To you. Anything less would leave you vulnerable to the King's plan.”
     
It still failed to make sense to her. “And you care about that,