Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s a friend of my father’s. Just a family friend, like you. I don’t have any intention of marrying him. Anyway, you are as wealthy as him.”
But not as powerful or honorable. Marlow’s father, the Earl of Warren, was powerful indeed, active in the House of Lords, a politician and noted scion of English society. Daunted by the breadth of his father’s responsibilities—and encouraged by his profligate friends—Marlow had embarked on a notorious bachelorhood given to entertainment and pleasure instead. He’d imagined he could develop the needed couth and respect when his father was of a mind to retire, and then take over his many worthy activities. He’d never meant to marry, never imagined he’d feel such a pull to a woman, certainly not silly, young, pixie-shy Rosalind.
How dare she develop into this ravishing diamond when it was too late for him to redeem himself in time to marry her? His punishment was to watch her be given to someone else.
“I know Brittingham fairly well,” he said. “He will make a worthy husband. Ladies find him handsome. He seems steady and kind.”
“He seems boring.” Rosalind frowned. “You forget I know him as well. I can’t believe they’re considering him for my marriage when they know I love you. They let my sisters marry for love.”
“Yes, because they fell in love with reasonable prospects.”
“You must ask them.” She was near to tears again. “Have you ever asked for my hand in marriage?”
“No, sweeting.” And do not ask me to. Please.
“Can’t you call upon them and talk to them, and explain how much we care for one another? I will tell them too. Please, at least try. Don’t you regard me that much?”
“You know I do.” But I will be rejected.
“Please say you will call upon them tomorrow. Please. If you esteem me so, it makes no sense that you would not at least try—”
He put a finger upon her lips. “Enough. Fine. No more begging. I’ll do as you ask because I esteem you beyond words, but I warn you it will probably come to nothing. You mustn’t raise your hopes.”
“Nonsense. I will hope and pray and beg them. I believe love is the most important thing in the world. There is nothing I won’t do in pursuit of it.”
She was beautiful all the time, but he thought she was at her most beautiful then, when she was alive with intent. Pure, gorgeous Rosalind, her own species of flower, so showy but soft and lovely at the same time. He would go to her parents and press his suit then, prepared for mortification and defeat. He would do it for her.
Even after she married that lucky clod Brittingham, he would do anything for her.
Chapter Two
Born of Caring
Rosalind sat before her mirror, willing herself not to cry. Her audience with her parents had not gone to plan.
You are Lady Rosalind Lionel, she told herself, descended from ducal bloodlines. You have been good and kind and well-behaved all these many years. Why should you not ask to have your way?
Oh, they had listened to her and been generous in their affection, but at the end of it they had rejected her idea of marriage to Lord Marlow. Worse, they had made her feel silly for suggesting it, and jokingly threatened to take her poetic novels away. Without so many words, they had made it seem a childish whim when she was not a child. She was to come out in society this very season.
Although, why make her go through the motions of debuting and courtships when, according to Marlow, they’d already chosen her husband? The Marquess of Brittingham. Her friend Henrietta would be bereft, for she worshipped the man in all his boring glory. When Brittingham spoke to Rosalind in company at dinner, he was so earnest and proper. He didn’t have Marlow’s vitality or sparks of humor, or dashing stride. His dark eyes held none of the magic of Marlow’s pale blue gaze, none of the challenge or intensity that captured her each time their eyes met.
Now it would be up to Marlow to convince them. She stood from her mirror and began to pace, and tried to pray, though it seemed inapt to turn to God for something so worldly and romantic. She left off in her heightened state and went to the window instead, watching until she saw the carriage with Lord Marlow’s crest enter Lockridge Hall’s circular courtyard.
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He had come. She’d feared he wouldn’t since he didn’t imagine he had a right to her.
No, she’d known he would come. He seemed to believe he had no honor, no prospects, but he was a viscount and a gentleman and had always been the most respectful friend to her.