they will sort out their differences.”
“Oh, do you think so?” she asked, looking up at him hopefully.
“Yes, I do,” he said. “No, you keep the handkerchief, Soph. It looks rather soggy. You certainly are not one of those females who can keep their eyes from turning red after a few tears, are you?”
“Oh,” she said. “The word ‘compliment’ is not in your vocabulary, is it, Francis? I am sorry in my heart that you have to escort me about in all my ugliness. Perhaps you should resurrect one of your old tricks. You always used to be able to get rid of me, usually by stranding me somewhere.”
“The island I always thought was the best one,” he said. “How many hours were you there, Soph? And you would have been there longer if I had not eventually whispered your whereabouts to Claude.”
“It was most cruel of you to row back to shore before I could get down from the tree,” she said, “knowing that I could not swim and that the water was just too deep to be waded.”
“I never confided another secret to Claude after that,” he said. “He almost broke a leg in his haste to take the glad tidings to our father. I believe I was too sore to sit down for the rest of that day.”
“There was not a great deal of it left,” she said tartly.
He grinned.
“Do you really think there is still hope?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Your father has taken himself off from the bowling green already,” he said. “Perhaps they are talking even now.”
“Do you think so?” she asked. She looked back to the bowling green to verify the fact that her father had indeed disappeared. “You will do it then, Francis?”
“Do what?” he asked suspiciously.
“Allow the banns to be read if they will consent to our betrothal,” she said. “Will you?”
“And allow the ceremony to take place, too?” he asked. “And the wedding trip in the hope that she will remain here to greet our homecoming? And our first child to begin his nine-month wait for birth in the belief that she will stay for the happy event and for the christening to follow? Perhaps we can have ten children in a row, Soph. Or an even dozen. Perhaps at the end of that time your mother will think it not worth returning to Rushton. Our eldest will be coming up to marriageable age.”
“You are making a joke of my feelings,” she said, “as usual. It will not get as far as that, Francis. Of course it will not. I shall break off the betrothal before the wedding, whatever happens. You have my word on it.”
“Good Lord, Soph,” he said. “Do you have any idea of the scandal there will be?”
“I do not care about scandal,” she said.
“You will,” he said. “No one will want to touch you with a thirty-foot pole after you have jilted a duke’s son almost at the altar.”
“That will suit me,” she said. “I have already told you that I have no intention of marrying anyone. I don’t want to be touched with a pole or anything else.”
“I am not talking only of suitors,” he said. “No one will want to invite you anywhere, Soph. You will be an outcast, a pariah.”
“Nonsense,” she said.
“Well,” he said, “never say that I did not warn you. But go ahead and do it if you must. As long as I have your word on it that you will do the jilting, that is. I will certainly not be able to do it.”
“Oh, Francis,” she said, looking up at him with bright eyes, “how kind you are. I did not think I would be able to persuade you to agree. You are wonderful.”
“Soph,” he said, frowning, “a little less enthusiastic with the
kinds
and the
wonderfuls
, if you please. They make me distinctly nervous coming from you. I think we had better hope that your papa says no and sends me on my way. We had better hope quite fervently, in fact.”
“A wedding in the village church,” she said, her eyes dreamy. “With the bells ringing and the choir singing and the rector decked out in his grandest vestments. And the organ playing.
“Oh, do you think so?” she asked, looking up at him hopefully.
“Yes, I do,” he said. “No, you keep the handkerchief, Soph. It looks rather soggy. You certainly are not one of those females who can keep their eyes from turning red after a few tears, are you?”
“Oh,” she said. “The word ‘compliment’ is not in your vocabulary, is it, Francis? I am sorry in my heart that you have to escort me about in all my ugliness. Perhaps you should resurrect one of your old tricks. You always used to be able to get rid of me, usually by stranding me somewhere.”
“The island I always thought was the best one,” he said. “How many hours were you there, Soph? And you would have been there longer if I had not eventually whispered your whereabouts to Claude.”
“It was most cruel of you to row back to shore before I could get down from the tree,” she said, “knowing that I could not swim and that the water was just too deep to be waded.”
“I never confided another secret to Claude after that,” he said. “He almost broke a leg in his haste to take the glad tidings to our father. I believe I was too sore to sit down for the rest of that day.”
“There was not a great deal of it left,” she said tartly.
He grinned.
“Do you really think there is still hope?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Your father has taken himself off from the bowling green already,” he said. “Perhaps they are talking even now.”
“Do you think so?” she asked. She looked back to the bowling green to verify the fact that her father had indeed disappeared. “You will do it then, Francis?”
“Do what?” he asked suspiciously.
“Allow the banns to be read if they will consent to our betrothal,” she said. “Will you?”
“And allow the ceremony to take place, too?” he asked. “And the wedding trip in the hope that she will remain here to greet our homecoming? And our first child to begin his nine-month wait for birth in the belief that she will stay for the happy event and for the christening to follow? Perhaps we can have ten children in a row, Soph. Or an even dozen. Perhaps at the end of that time your mother will think it not worth returning to Rushton. Our eldest will be coming up to marriageable age.”
“You are making a joke of my feelings,” she said, “as usual. It will not get as far as that, Francis. Of course it will not. I shall break off the betrothal before the wedding, whatever happens. You have my word on it.”
“Good Lord, Soph,” he said. “Do you have any idea of the scandal there will be?”
“I do not care about scandal,” she said.
“You will,” he said. “No one will want to touch you with a thirty-foot pole after you have jilted a duke’s son almost at the altar.”
“That will suit me,” she said. “I have already told you that I have no intention of marrying anyone. I don’t want to be touched with a pole or anything else.”
“I am not talking only of suitors,” he said. “No one will want to invite you anywhere, Soph. You will be an outcast, a pariah.”
“Nonsense,” she said.
“Well,” he said, “never say that I did not warn you. But go ahead and do it if you must. As long as I have your word on it that you will do the jilting, that is. I will certainly not be able to do it.”
“Oh, Francis,” she said, looking up at him with bright eyes, “how kind you are. I did not think I would be able to persuade you to agree. You are wonderful.”
“Soph,” he said, frowning, “a little less enthusiastic with the
kinds
and the
wonderfuls
, if you please. They make me distinctly nervous coming from you. I think we had better hope that your papa says no and sends me on my way. We had better hope quite fervently, in fact.”
“A wedding in the village church,” she said, her eyes dreamy. “With the bells ringing and the choir singing and the rector decked out in his grandest vestments. And the organ playing.
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