usual, Chumley,” said the marquess, “you have read my mind. Put it down on the table. Miss Westerville shall serve us.”
“Very good, my lord.”
The marquess pulled himself upright and patted the sofa beside him. “Sit down, Miss Westerville.”
“I… I… I…”
“
Sit down!
”
“There is no need to bark at me,” mumbled Lucinda, gingerly sitting on the edge of the sofa. “I am not deaf.”
“Pour the coffee and tell me what you are doing here.”
Amazed that her hand did not shake, Lucinda poured him a cup of coffee, and then one for herself.
“I came here,” she said in a colorless voice, “to ask you to marry me.”
“Odso, why? No, no, don’t tell me. I think I know. You must escape the clutches of the horrible Ismene. You must provide for your father.” He raised a mocking eyebrow at her and quoted:
“Stern daughter of the voice of God!
O Duty! If that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring and reprove.”
He studied her face. The wide hazel eyes looked at him miserably.
“Well, I don’t see why not,” he said. “Pour me another cup of coffee.”
Lucinda did as she was bid. “It was bold of me to come here,” she said. “Perhaps I should return to my post as companion. Ismene means to send me packing, but I am sure I could flatter her into a good mood.”
“Not for long,” he said languidly. “You are a deuced sight too pretty.”
“Pretty? I?” Lucinda looked at him in surprise.
“Yes,” he said, amused. “You. Pretty.”
“You do not seem at all surprised by my proposal.”
“I shall be when my poor addled brain clears. Have you any conditions? I accept the care of your father.”
“Yes,” said Lucinda nervously, fiddling with the material of her gown. “I would like six months’ grace before we enter into the, er, intimate side of marriage.”
“In return for which…?”
“I shall not interfere with your life in any way, but if we can manage together tolerably well, then after six months I shall do my best to give you heirs.”
“And if we do not suit?”
“Then the marriage, not consummated, can be easily annulled.”
The marquess wondered whether to tell her that he had heard Chamfreys fulminating in the card room at Almack’s over the fact that one of his relatives should have to work and had sworn to go to Beechings and remove Mr. Westerville into his own care. But if he told her that, she would not marry him, and then he should have to go through all the dreary, boring business of courting someone.
“I accept your terms,” he said. “Now, hear mine. We will be married today—”
“No!”
“Why not? A little bribery and corruption and I can have a special license in my pocket within the hour. Either you marry me, or you don’t. I’ve accepted your terms, so it’s not as if I’m going to drag you to the marriage bed.”
Lucinda looked at him, trying to find some hint of compassion or concern behind those mocking green eyes. “Can’t we wait?” she asked feebly.
“No. Chumley!” he roared, making Lucinda jump.
When Chumley came in, the marquess said, “Take the required amount of money from my desk and go and get me a special license.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I am getting married today to Miss Westerville here. Think you can arrange that?”
“Yes, my lord, provided Miss Westerville is over twenty-one.”
“Oh, curse it all. Of course she’s not over twenty-one.”
“I am… just,” said Lucinda. “But—”
“There you are, Chumley. Your new mistress is over twenty-one. Hop to it.”
“Very good, my lord.”
When he had left, Lucinda said with a weak smile, “I suppose it is rather like going to the dentist. ‘If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly.’”
“Not an apt quotation. It is marriage you are supposed to be contemplating, not murder.”
“I had better return and inform Lady Ismene—”
“No, you may as well stay here. Think
“Very good, my lord.”
The marquess pulled himself upright and patted the sofa beside him. “Sit down, Miss Westerville.”
“I… I… I…”
“
Sit down!
”
“There is no need to bark at me,” mumbled Lucinda, gingerly sitting on the edge of the sofa. “I am not deaf.”
“Pour the coffee and tell me what you are doing here.”
Amazed that her hand did not shake, Lucinda poured him a cup of coffee, and then one for herself.
“I came here,” she said in a colorless voice, “to ask you to marry me.”
“Odso, why? No, no, don’t tell me. I think I know. You must escape the clutches of the horrible Ismene. You must provide for your father.” He raised a mocking eyebrow at her and quoted:
“Stern daughter of the voice of God!
O Duty! If that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring and reprove.”
He studied her face. The wide hazel eyes looked at him miserably.
“Well, I don’t see why not,” he said. “Pour me another cup of coffee.”
Lucinda did as she was bid. “It was bold of me to come here,” she said. “Perhaps I should return to my post as companion. Ismene means to send me packing, but I am sure I could flatter her into a good mood.”
“Not for long,” he said languidly. “You are a deuced sight too pretty.”
“Pretty? I?” Lucinda looked at him in surprise.
“Yes,” he said, amused. “You. Pretty.”
“You do not seem at all surprised by my proposal.”
“I shall be when my poor addled brain clears. Have you any conditions? I accept the care of your father.”
“Yes,” said Lucinda nervously, fiddling with the material of her gown. “I would like six months’ grace before we enter into the, er, intimate side of marriage.”
“In return for which…?”
“I shall not interfere with your life in any way, but if we can manage together tolerably well, then after six months I shall do my best to give you heirs.”
“And if we do not suit?”
“Then the marriage, not consummated, can be easily annulled.”
The marquess wondered whether to tell her that he had heard Chamfreys fulminating in the card room at Almack’s over the fact that one of his relatives should have to work and had sworn to go to Beechings and remove Mr. Westerville into his own care. But if he told her that, she would not marry him, and then he should have to go through all the dreary, boring business of courting someone.
“I accept your terms,” he said. “Now, hear mine. We will be married today—”
“No!”
“Why not? A little bribery and corruption and I can have a special license in my pocket within the hour. Either you marry me, or you don’t. I’ve accepted your terms, so it’s not as if I’m going to drag you to the marriage bed.”
Lucinda looked at him, trying to find some hint of compassion or concern behind those mocking green eyes. “Can’t we wait?” she asked feebly.
“No. Chumley!” he roared, making Lucinda jump.
When Chumley came in, the marquess said, “Take the required amount of money from my desk and go and get me a special license.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I am getting married today to Miss Westerville here. Think you can arrange that?”
“Yes, my lord, provided Miss Westerville is over twenty-one.”
“Oh, curse it all. Of course she’s not over twenty-one.”
“I am… just,” said Lucinda. “But—”
“There you are, Chumley. Your new mistress is over twenty-one. Hop to it.”
“Very good, my lord.”
When he had left, Lucinda said with a weak smile, “I suppose it is rather like going to the dentist. ‘If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly.’”
“Not an apt quotation. It is marriage you are supposed to be contemplating, not murder.”
“I had better return and inform Lady Ismene—”
“No, you may as well stay here. Think
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