want to marry me, my lord?I, an American with merely workaday red blood in my veins?”
“The answer to that question should be obvious to anyone with eyes,” he returned, faintly smiling. She said nothing, merely watched his face. After a moment, the Duke went on, “What is really bothering you, Tracy?”
It was the first time he had ever used her name. Tracy looked at him directly, her eyes dark with an unreadable expression, and said, “Money.”
“Ah.” He did not look at all discomposed. “Do you think I wish to marry you because your father is rich?”
It was Tracy who betrayed restlessness. She rose to her feet and walked to the beautiful Adam chimney piece. Once there, she turned to face him, the width of the room between them. “Do you?” she asked baldly.
“No.” He was not smiling now. “I do not deny the fact that I could not marry a woman who had no money. My father was not so clever as yours; he wasted a fortune instead of winning one. But if money were my object, there are plenty of English girls who have money. I am not asking any of them to be my wife.”
He came across the room until he stood before her. “I am asking you because you are everything that is lovely and real and vital. Because you are like fresh air and sunshine. Because your eyes have the most fascinating way of changing color. Did you know, for instance, that right now they are almost gold?”
His voice had taken on a deep, caressing note that stirred her profoundly. She realized that he was trying to charm her, with his own sovereign personal power, into accepting him. “How can an American girl possibly become an English duchess?” she asked faintly, knowing she was now on the defensive.
“With the Stars and Stripes waving proudly around her,” he answered, and she laughed unsteadily. “Tracy,” he said, and his arm went about her waist. “Say yes.”
He had always thought her wide, passionate mouth was meant to be kissed. and was pleased to discover that he had been right. She was inexperienced, that was clear, but after a moment she responded to him, and the Duke thought that the future looked promising indeed. He raised his head. “Now they are green,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Baffling.”
His own eyes had turned an even darker blue, but Tracy, although she noticed, did not mention that interesting fact. “My lord,” she breathed, shaken to the core by that kiss.
“Adrian,” he corrected
“Adrian,” she said, and in so saying, she gave him his answer.
* * * *
The family and guests at Steyning Castle were all delighted with their news. It was a marriage that satisfied everyone, a joining of birth and position to beauty and money. Mr. Bodmin looked forward to a line of future Dukes of Hastings with his blood running in their veins. Lady Mary and Lord Harry looked forward to filling some of those empty stalls in the stables. Lady Bridgewater looked forward to seeing the House of Deincourt, of which she still considered herself a member, restored to its rightful eminence in wealth as well as prestige.
Of all the people gathered together under the roof of Steyning Castle, the only one who had serious doubts about the felicity of the coming marriage was the prospective bride. If Adrian were an American, she thought she could then put her hand into his with a fearless heart. But in accepting him she was accepting so much more; she was accepting a way of life whose complexities and distinctions were as foreign to her as those at the court of Suleiman the Magnificent. Her husband would be one of the most highly placed members of the highest aristocracy in Europe. And Tracy did not approve of aristocracy!
She would not have done it were it not for her father. She told herself, as she watched the air of triumph with which he went about the castle, that she had done the right thing. Whatever the outcome of such a marriage for her, the engagement had made her father happy.
There was one person
“The answer to that question should be obvious to anyone with eyes,” he returned, faintly smiling. She said nothing, merely watched his face. After a moment, the Duke went on, “What is really bothering you, Tracy?”
It was the first time he had ever used her name. Tracy looked at him directly, her eyes dark with an unreadable expression, and said, “Money.”
“Ah.” He did not look at all discomposed. “Do you think I wish to marry you because your father is rich?”
It was Tracy who betrayed restlessness. She rose to her feet and walked to the beautiful Adam chimney piece. Once there, she turned to face him, the width of the room between them. “Do you?” she asked baldly.
“No.” He was not smiling now. “I do not deny the fact that I could not marry a woman who had no money. My father was not so clever as yours; he wasted a fortune instead of winning one. But if money were my object, there are plenty of English girls who have money. I am not asking any of them to be my wife.”
He came across the room until he stood before her. “I am asking you because you are everything that is lovely and real and vital. Because you are like fresh air and sunshine. Because your eyes have the most fascinating way of changing color. Did you know, for instance, that right now they are almost gold?”
His voice had taken on a deep, caressing note that stirred her profoundly. She realized that he was trying to charm her, with his own sovereign personal power, into accepting him. “How can an American girl possibly become an English duchess?” she asked faintly, knowing she was now on the defensive.
“With the Stars and Stripes waving proudly around her,” he answered, and she laughed unsteadily. “Tracy,” he said, and his arm went about her waist. “Say yes.”
He had always thought her wide, passionate mouth was meant to be kissed. and was pleased to discover that he had been right. She was inexperienced, that was clear, but after a moment she responded to him, and the Duke thought that the future looked promising indeed. He raised his head. “Now they are green,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Baffling.”
His own eyes had turned an even darker blue, but Tracy, although she noticed, did not mention that interesting fact. “My lord,” she breathed, shaken to the core by that kiss.
“Adrian,” he corrected
“Adrian,” she said, and in so saying, she gave him his answer.
* * * *
The family and guests at Steyning Castle were all delighted with their news. It was a marriage that satisfied everyone, a joining of birth and position to beauty and money. Mr. Bodmin looked forward to a line of future Dukes of Hastings with his blood running in their veins. Lady Mary and Lord Harry looked forward to filling some of those empty stalls in the stables. Lady Bridgewater looked forward to seeing the House of Deincourt, of which she still considered herself a member, restored to its rightful eminence in wealth as well as prestige.
Of all the people gathered together under the roof of Steyning Castle, the only one who had serious doubts about the felicity of the coming marriage was the prospective bride. If Adrian were an American, she thought she could then put her hand into his with a fearless heart. But in accepting him she was accepting so much more; she was accepting a way of life whose complexities and distinctions were as foreign to her as those at the court of Suleiman the Magnificent. Her husband would be one of the most highly placed members of the highest aristocracy in Europe. And Tracy did not approve of aristocracy!
She would not have done it were it not for her father. She told herself, as she watched the air of triumph with which he went about the castle, that she had done the right thing. Whatever the outcome of such a marriage for her, the engagement had made her father happy.
There was one person
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