an old maid, or married to some dissolute fellow with no background or breeding. I think a more purposeful strategy is needed."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm going to suggest to Ashton straight out that he marry Margaret."
"You're joking!"
"Not at all. Ashton's in need of money. We both know that. He's got the background to give Margaret respectability, which you know I want for her and her children. I also think he'd make Margaret an excellent husband. Certainly, he's the best candidate I've seen so far. At least he's willing to earn his living."
"You don't even know him."
"But I do agree with your assessment of him. I also know Margaret won't be able to walk all over him. And she's not indifferent to him. You saw her at breakfast this morning. I think it's the perfect solution all the way around."
"Really, Henry!" Edward frowned. "You can't move people around like stocks on the Exchange!"
"You needn't look so shocked. Arranged marriages happen all the time. I think Ashton would appreciate the soundness of the idea. He seems a practical man."
"I dare say," Edward acknowledged doubtfully, "but he is not a marrying man. Besides, I wasn't talking about Trevor. I don't think Margaret would care a fig for the practicality of it. And she certainly won't like having her marriage arranged for her as if it's a business venture."
Henry grinned. "You're probably right. But my daughter is too stubborn for her own good, and always convinced she's right."
"Quite so. She reminds me of her father."
Henry laughed, not at all perturbed by that comment.
While Henry was making attempts to arrange Margaret's matrimonial future, the subject of his schemes was comfortably ensconced beneath her favorite tree, a picnic basket beside her and a book in her hand.
It was quite a scandalous novel, and banned almost everywhere. It had taken her months to get her hands on a copy. She took a chocolate from the box beside her and nibbled it as she turned the page, her eyes widening with each word she read. The man was actually undressing the woman.
She devoured chocolates and chapters until her sweet tooth was satisfied and the story was finished. She closed the book, but the erotic scenes she'd read were still vivid in her imagination. She had no idea people actually did things like that, and felt that way while they were doing it. She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. "Oh, my," she whispered. "Oh, my."
Flustered, she set the book aside. Impossible, she thought, leaning back against the tree. Nobody would really do those things. They'd die of embarrassment first. Or die laughing.
And yet, no one could make up things like that, could they? She considered the possibility for quite some time, listening to the drone of bees and the rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. If he were the right man, she thought dreamily, a man who loved you, then perhaps.
She slowly closed her eyes. If you were in love with the man, it would be all right. It might even be wonderful. She drifted off to sleep, an image of one man's dark blue eyes in her mind.
Something woke her. It was a fly, buzzing quite close to her ear, and she brushed it away. Then she opened her eyes and found the intensely blue ones she'd been dreaming of staring back at her over the top of a book. Her book.
Lord Ashton was sitting only a few feet away. She stiffened, instantly awake and on the defensive. For the second time in as many days, this man had invaded her privacy and spied on her. He knew things about her she wouldn't tell her closest friends. Margaret didn't like the power that gave him.
"Your taste in literature intrigues me, Miss Van Alden," he said, popping one of her chocolates into his mouth. After swallowing it, he added, "And your father makes fabulous truffles."
She leaned forward to snatch the book from him. But he held the novel above his head, out of her reach. He gave her a smile that dared her to climb across his lap to retrieve her property, and she didn't know
"What do you mean?"
"I'm going to suggest to Ashton straight out that he marry Margaret."
"You're joking!"
"Not at all. Ashton's in need of money. We both know that. He's got the background to give Margaret respectability, which you know I want for her and her children. I also think he'd make Margaret an excellent husband. Certainly, he's the best candidate I've seen so far. At least he's willing to earn his living."
"You don't even know him."
"But I do agree with your assessment of him. I also know Margaret won't be able to walk all over him. And she's not indifferent to him. You saw her at breakfast this morning. I think it's the perfect solution all the way around."
"Really, Henry!" Edward frowned. "You can't move people around like stocks on the Exchange!"
"You needn't look so shocked. Arranged marriages happen all the time. I think Ashton would appreciate the soundness of the idea. He seems a practical man."
"I dare say," Edward acknowledged doubtfully, "but he is not a marrying man. Besides, I wasn't talking about Trevor. I don't think Margaret would care a fig for the practicality of it. And she certainly won't like having her marriage arranged for her as if it's a business venture."
Henry grinned. "You're probably right. But my daughter is too stubborn for her own good, and always convinced she's right."
"Quite so. She reminds me of her father."
Henry laughed, not at all perturbed by that comment.
While Henry was making attempts to arrange Margaret's matrimonial future, the subject of his schemes was comfortably ensconced beneath her favorite tree, a picnic basket beside her and a book in her hand.
It was quite a scandalous novel, and banned almost everywhere. It had taken her months to get her hands on a copy. She took a chocolate from the box beside her and nibbled it as she turned the page, her eyes widening with each word she read. The man was actually undressing the woman.
She devoured chocolates and chapters until her sweet tooth was satisfied and the story was finished. She closed the book, but the erotic scenes she'd read were still vivid in her imagination. She had no idea people actually did things like that, and felt that way while they were doing it. She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. "Oh, my," she whispered. "Oh, my."
Flustered, she set the book aside. Impossible, she thought, leaning back against the tree. Nobody would really do those things. They'd die of embarrassment first. Or die laughing.
And yet, no one could make up things like that, could they? She considered the possibility for quite some time, listening to the drone of bees and the rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. If he were the right man, she thought dreamily, a man who loved you, then perhaps.
She slowly closed her eyes. If you were in love with the man, it would be all right. It might even be wonderful. She drifted off to sleep, an image of one man's dark blue eyes in her mind.
Something woke her. It was a fly, buzzing quite close to her ear, and she brushed it away. Then she opened her eyes and found the intensely blue ones she'd been dreaming of staring back at her over the top of a book. Her book.
Lord Ashton was sitting only a few feet away. She stiffened, instantly awake and on the defensive. For the second time in as many days, this man had invaded her privacy and spied on her. He knew things about her she wouldn't tell her closest friends. Margaret didn't like the power that gave him.
"Your taste in literature intrigues me, Miss Van Alden," he said, popping one of her chocolates into his mouth. After swallowing it, he added, "And your father makes fabulous truffles."
She leaned forward to snatch the book from him. But he held the novel above his head, out of her reach. He gave her a smile that dared her to climb across his lap to retrieve her property, and she didn't know
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