Regency Marriages: A Compromised Lady / Lord Braybrook's Penniless Bride. Elizabeth Rolls

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       Share my life.

      Those simple heartfelt words tore at her like a twisting knife. Share his life … and what did she have to share in return? A sordid secret in her past? And the way things were developing, a sordid and far-from-secret scandal here in the present.

      ‘No,’ she said.

      Richard’s heart landed with a thump in his boots. Owing to the extravagant poke of Thea’s bonnet, gauging her expression was impossible, but a glance at her gloved hands showed them clenched together. No doubt the knuckles were stark white.

      That was it? No?

      He supposed it had the merit of being succinct. None of that nonsense about being honoured by his proposal, and—

      So much for being rational. There was a moment’s silence, in which he had an eternity to curse himself for the clumsiness of his address.

      ‘This is not because of those silly notes? You do not feel that you must offer for me because of that?’

      ‘Of course not! Lord, every mama in the ton would be sending anonymous letters in that case!’ He dragged in a breath. ‘Thea—I’m offering because I wish to marry you.’

      The quacking of the ducks fell into the well of silence that had opened up between them.

      ‘I am very sorry, Richard, but I cannot possibly marry you.’

      He held back all the things he wanted to say. All the far-from-rational things that were burning a hole deep inside him. Somehow, he realised, it had not really occurred to him that she might refuse.

      ‘Will you tell me why you cannot?’ He flicked a glance at her, but she was staring straight ahead, her face hidden again by the poke of her bonnet. ‘After all, we have always been good friends, you must know that I don’t give a damn about your fortune, and—’

      ‘Of course I know that!’ She turned to him in obvious surprise, and he saw the pain in her eyes. ‘It’s nothing to do with that. It’s just … just that I cannot … it never occurred to me that you could want to marry me!’

      He waited, but she fell silent and looked ahead again.

      ‘I frightened you this morning, did I not, Thea?’ he asked quietly.

      ‘No!’ She faced him again, her face absolutely white. ‘The truth is, Richard—’ She stopped. He saw the convulsive movement of her throat before she turned away again. Her voice came again, utterly devoid of expression, ‘Yes. I was frightened. But it was not because of you! Only because I did not realise that it was you.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘I know that sounds foolish and I … I cannot explain, but I do thank you for your offer. No one who knows you could possibly imagine you would offer because of my fortune.’

      ‘Don’t delude yourself, love.’ The endearment hung between them, alive and shimmering. Love. He had called women that before, of course. One did in bed. It had been a meaningless endearment. But when had he ever really heard himself say it? When had it ever rung like a bell?

      She looked up at him, soft lips curved in a trembling smile. ‘They do not know you then, do they?’ she said quietly. ‘I said anyone who knows you, Richard. Would your brother, or Lord Braybrook, make that mistake?’

      No. Not even if he lied. They would know. And apparently Thea knew …

      ‘Are you sure, Thea?’ he asked gently. ‘Ungentlemanly of me to press, I know, but—’

      ‘Quite sure,’ she whispered, looking straight ahead again. ‘It … it is not possible … if it were … that is …’ Her breath came raggedly, as though she breathed glass. Her voice when it came was utterly steady and expressionless. ‘I have no intention of marrying. Ever.’

      Had she loved the fellow so deeply? She had only been sixteen when they were betrothed; seventeen when Lallerton died, and he had always assumed the match had been arranged by Aberfield and Chasewater, but … perhaps it was time to resurrect his rational proposal.

      ‘Thea,’ he said carefully, ‘I quite understand how you must feel, but surely after seven years—’ He felt her stiffen beside him and altered tack slightly. ‘Have you considered that one may marry for friendship, as well as love? We have always been good friends. And this would solve your problem—I may not be a brilliant catch like Dunhaven in your father’s estimation, but I’m perfectly eligible.’ Only half-joking, he added, ‘You wouldn’t have to bother with toads like that any more, at least!’

      Thea swallowed hard. She knew he would protect her. And it was tempting, so tempting … No! She didn’t dare. To marry Richard, she would have to tell him the truth. ‘I cannot, Richard,’ she whispered. ‘Please, will you take me back now?’

      ‘Of course.’

      They walked back along the path in silence. In the silence of her mind she railed at fate that had brought her here to this moment and mocked her with his proposal.

      As they arrived back at the inn, he said quietly, ‘Thea, just because you have refused my offer of marriage does not mean that we cannot continue friends, does it?’

      She flinched, and, to her horror, tears sprang to her eyes. Forcing them back, she stared fixedly ahead, not trusting her voice. It would shake like her gloved hands, locked in front of her.

      ‘Thea?’

      ‘Friends—of course, Richard.’ Her voice did wobble. Despicably. Friends told each other the truth. Trusted each other. She hated that she was deceiving him so deeply.

       You could tell him the truth.

      No. She could not. Not to save her life could she tell him that. It would be worse than death to see the pitying contempt in his eyes. And what if he didn’t believe her? No one else ever had, save David. And perhaps David had believed her partly because he had disliked Nigel so much.

      She shut her eyes. It would be better if David had not believed her either. If he had not, he would not be in such danger now. It would also be better if she did not have to see Richard again. Especially now. Now when she wasn’t even sure that she knew the whole truth. Did they tell you that the child was dead?

      With Minchin up behind them during the drive back, any further private conversation was impossible. Thea did not know whether to be glad or sorry. Richard was very quiet, speaking only to point out landmarks, or comment on the state of the roads.

      Only when they reached Grosvenor Square and he escorted her up the front steps of Arnsworth House did he refer again to what lay between them.

      ‘Lallerton was a very lucky man for you to have loved him so deeply.’

      Not the slightest hint of bitterness. No anger. Just the kindest understanding of the lie that she and her family had cultivated to screen the truth. So easy simply to nod. To accept what he had said and agree. It stuck in her throat. Even if she dared not tell Richard the truth, she would not lie to him. Not in any way.

      She turned to face him fully. ‘I did not love Nigel Lallerton. Ever. Not then. Not now.’

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