Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Disposed to?” The duchess tsked, then looked at August. “What we are saying is, would you consider asking Elizabeth to marry you? We want her to be happy, and she’s always seemed comfortable and content in your company. We know you would respect her and treat her kindly.”
He could hear her parents’ pain beneath their stilted request, hear it in each word they spoke, their inability to protect her from gossip, and the careless behavior of the lofty men who courted her.
August was not lofty. A mere earl. He had money, yes, but little political power. Were they asking him, truly, to marry her? He flushed hot, thinking of their private games together, their secret, illicit spanking encounters. The Duke and Duchess of Arlington wanted him to marry their daughter. It was a shock.
“I—I hardly know what to say.” Truly, he could not find words. “Have you consulted her about this idea?”
“Not yet,” said the duke. “I won’t, if you aren’t of a mind to marry her.”
All four pairs of eyes looked at him in consternation.
“Of course, I’d be honored…to… I…” Pull yourself together, August. “I would be happy to offer myself for Elizabeth’s consideration.” He thought back to their fireside conversation, about her worthiness. “I only worry she wouldn’t have me. As you pointed out, she only knows me as a friend.”
“She adores you as a friend,” said his mother, squeezing his arm. “She could be convinced.”
“Indeed,” said the duchess. “Especially now that her fourth engagement has ended. My poor child.” Again, she entreated him. “I don’t mean to speak of marriage in such a businesslike fashion, dear August, but you know how the world is. I’ve cried for hours over this. We should like to see her safe and married to someone we trust.”
“Above all, to someone we trust,” said the duke. “And to someone who accepts her as she is and does not mean to change her or save her from ‘devilry,’ or some other nonsense.” He ran a hand through his lengthy gold hair, looking aged for the first time August could remember. “I won’t have her heart broken again. I won’t have her become this thing of ridicule, living out a lonely life.”
“No, sir. Of course not. That cannot happen.”
August fell silent, his mind working. God, he needed to walk, to consider, to stride through the forests. He thought, this is something I can do. It would not be that difficult.
But they were not romantically inclined. How could they be? He was a decade older. Before he’d started giving her piano lessons, he’d rarely spent time with her. He’d been out in London, behaving as a perverse bachelor, preoccupied with women like his mistress and the girls at Pearl’s Emporium. If he’d thought of Elizabeth at all, it had been as his friend Wescott’s baby sister.
Since piano lessons, their relationship had changed, for he’d spanked her a dozen or more times, the last instance with the switch beneath his bed. But those activities had been brotherly too. He’d guarded against sexual titillation in the act, for how was he to reconcile carnal feelings with sweet, trusting Elizabeth?
Though some deeper part of him understood he guarded against sexual titillation because it had been there, buried too close to the surface.
“I admire Elizabeth, and I’m fascinated by her rare qualities,” he said to the duke. “I would be honored to become her husband, if you could convince her to have me.”
And I’m not sure she ought to have me. I’m a pervert and a rake.
His mother took his hand. “She can at least be invited to consider a match. If her mother and father spoke to her, and assured her of your suitability, would you marry the dear girl?”
“We must give him some time to consider,” said his father.
“I don’t need time to consider.”
Now that the shock had worn off, his practical side took over. A marriage of convenience—between friends—would solve problems for both of them. And if it could make her feel better after the wrenching humiliation she’d endured today, he must do it. There was nothing else but to do it.
“I’m happy to propose marriage to Elizabeth,” he continued. “But before I do, Your Grace, may we have a private word?”
His parents rose to depart, looking exceedingly pleased. His mother stopped and hugged him. “I’ve long been anxious to see you wed, and now you will be, to such a lovely girl!”
“If she accepts me.”
“We shall hope for the best,” said the duchess, hugging him too.
The best? The best marriage for Elizabeth would have been a duke’s son, or a king’s son, perhaps even a foreign dignitary like Felicity’s Prince Carlo. If she were not such an unusual and untraditional prospect, she would have had that long before now, and he’d not be sitting in this monk’s room wondering if he was making the right choice.