A Most Improper Proposal. Molly Wishlade Ann

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      So why then had he found it so difficult to put her from his mind? It was a palpable struggle to marry Lady Castlereagh’s history of the girl with what he had seen of her so far. She had seemed to be reserved, demure and aloof – not the wanton hussy of last evening’s tale. Yet at the same time there was something about her that aroused his masculine cravings and made him desire some time alone with her. Was that what had attracted other men to her? Was she physically irresistible?

      And would his aunt really employ a lady with a questionable background and face being the scandal of London? He knew that Lady Watson was unconventional but he couldn’t believe that she would deliberately fuel the fires of the gossips of the ton; show blatant disregard for her family name.

      Unless, mayhap, she were trying to make amends for a previous error.

      He turned back to Lady Watson.

      ‘Aunt Lydia…’ he leant forwards, resting his elbows upon his knees. ‘Where to begin?’

      The wise old eyes watched him, owl-like with their patience and experience.

      ‘At the beginning,’ he answered himself. ‘Yes, at the beginning.’

      He swallowed against the lump that seemed to be lodged in his throat and spread out his long fingers over his knees, gazing at them as if hoping to find the story there.

      ‘Six years ago, Aunt Lydia, I seemed to have everything that a man could desire. Although I had lost my parents some time ago, and missed them deeply at times, I was a grown man with a beautiful young wife and a large estate. I lived comfortably, as you know, and I was happy. At least, I told myself that I was happy.’

      He found himself yearning to look over in the direction of the window seat again. He wanted to see if Isabella was watching him but he fought the urge to turn. He must deal with matters here, between himself and his aunt.

      ‘Go on, James,’ Lady Watson urged, her own hands clasped together beneath her chin.

      As he inhaled, preparing to continue, his head turned involuntarily and he found his eyes drawn straight to Isabella’s face. She was watching Miss Pembrey sketching, not him. But at that moment, as if sensing his eyes upon her, she glanced up and held his gaze. This time her cheeks did not flush with colour. Instead, she appeared calm and inquisitive. It unnerved and aroused him in spite of his current turmoil.

      ‘James?’

      ‘My apologies, Aunt Lydia. This isn’t easy.’

      ‘Of course not, my dear,’ she replied gently.

      ‘I thought I was happy, especially when Genevieve told me that she was with child. After all, isn’t that what every man wants? To have an heir to his name and fortune.’

      ‘One would think so, James.’

      ‘But as her belly grew, so did the distance between us. It was ironic that as the babe began to fill her body, we both realised exactly how empty our lives were. Pregnancy disagreed with her and she grew crotchety and unkind. I am ashamed to admit it now but, in return, I became intolerant of her. What had endeared us to one another in the beginning ‒ when we stepped cautiously around each other with the shyness of newlyweds ‒ became irritating and I realised’ ‒ he raised a trembling hand to his brow ‒ ‘I realised finally and with startling clarity, that I did not love her. In fact… I never had.’

      He wondered if his aunt thought him an awful man for his confession but all he found in her eyes was compassion.

      ‘Oh my dear boy. You have nothing to feel guilty about. You are not the first man to marry, then regret your choice. Do not berate yourself.’

      ‘But I should, and do, feel guilty.’

      The old lady took a shaky breath and James seized the opportunity to sneak a glance at Miss Adams again. What would she think of him if she knew what he was about to divulge to his Aunt Lydia? Would she be shocked at his ungallant actions? Were his crimes worse than hers? Not that he really thought she had committed any crimes. What he had gathered from the story relayed by Lady Castlereagh suggested that Isabella been an innocent debutante taken advantage of by a complete rogue. It did happen, though the upper echelons of society would prefer to bury their heads in the filth and mire and pretend that it did not. How could a young woman be blamed for succumbing to the seduction of a seasoned rake?

      ‘Oh, my dear James.’ Lady Watson sagged in her chair, her face suddenly haggard.

      James continued. ‘After a particularly ferocious exchange of words, I stormed out of our house and fled to London. I could not bear to be under the same roof as Genevieve. I had to escape, to think. She had confessed to me that she had never loved me. She had been forced into the marriage, under the threat of being disowned and becoming a social outcast, but she loved another and always had.’

      ‘Oh James, I am sorry.’

      ‘I was shocked, of course I was, but I did not know what to do. I did not feel jealous because I did not love her in that way but I felt that I should be jealous. It made me feel inadequate in some way, that I was lacking as a man. After all, she was carrying my child and every day that child was growing bigger, its date of expected arrival getting closer. Yet it seemed that this knowledge, which for so many is filled with excitement and eager anticipation, was placing an unbearable pressure upon us.’ His stomach rolled over at the memory. ‘Then, in what must have been a placatory attempt to stem the damage, Genevieve sent a letter to me in London, claiming that she had not seen her beloved since our wedding day, when he had begged her to elope with him.’

      ‘And why didn’t she?’ the old lady whispered.

      James tried to swallow but his mouth was bone dry and his tongue felt swollen, too big for his mouth. The memories were still so painful. He muttered, ‘She could not face the scandal.’

      ‘So she married you and kept silent.’ The old lady looked down at her hands.

      ‘Yes aunt, as you well know.’ His words were laced with venom that he had not placed there deliberately. Lady Watson recoiled but then quickly regained her self-composure, restoring her concerned expression.

      ‘Many women do, James. In our society few women expect to marry for love ‒ though it does happen occasionally for the very lucky.’

      ‘But not for poor Genevieve, Aunt Lydia,’ he spat out the words, unable to conceal his anger any longer. ‘You could have saved us both from much heartache.’

      He glared at the frail old lady, years of anger and resentment welling up and filling him with fury. Then he noted her trembling and the tears in her eyes and he felt his heart soften, his anger melt away.

      ‘I am so sorry, James. I meant well, my dear, I really did. But I made a mistake when I pushed the girl into marrying you. It was wrong of me and I realised it soon after but it was too late then. I had so hoped that you would be happy with her. I really only ever wanted your happiness.’

      ‘I know that, Aunt, I know.’ He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. ‘I know that you meant well but when she came to you and asked for help…’

      ‘I should have helped her, not turned her away.’

      ‘I have often wondered about it,’ he said. ‘What it was about СКАЧАТЬ