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“Yes. We would have a real marriage, of course, but could we not…”
Her face flamed red, and her gaze centered squarely on his chest. She pulled her glove back on.
She bit her lip. “That is, could we take our…relationship…slowly?”
She was asking for a reprieve on their wedding night. He understood that she was a virgin, and some delicacy on his part was required. But the longer she withheld her affections, the greater the risk that their marriage would fail. He could not allow that. He would have to think of a solution that would satisfy them both.
“I understand and accept your terms, Miss Shelby. You will marry me?” He posed it as a question, instead of the statement of fact they both knew it to be.
Her gaze never left his, and her words, though softly spoken, were firm with intent. “Yes, my lord. And I thank you.”
He wanted to tell her not to thank him yet, not until she’d met his father and seen his disorganized household, but the reality of that could wait for another day.
“I’ll have the banns read,” he said. “The wedding will take place a month from today. You will have time to have a gown made. Does this meet with your approval?”
“My lord, I am not quite out of mourning yet, so my gown will be?—”
“I request that you not wear black, Miss Shelby. I’m sure that your father would understand and wish you to celebrate our marriage.”
“But my lord?—”
“Humor me in this, I beg you. Mourning attire is not something I would wish for my wedding day.”
She studied him. “Do men have dreams of their wedding day?”
He was startled. Dreams of a weddingnightmight be more accurate, but he could hardly say that, not after her recent request.
“Perhaps I didn’t have dreams, Miss Shelby, but I know a wedding day only comes once to a couple, and it should mean something.”
There was a wry twist to her lips, but he did not remark on it. Theirs would not be a normal marriage, he knew.
“Go to your mother now, Miss Shelby. Please send Mrs. Wayneflete to discuss the wedding details with my steward.”
He bowed over her hand again, but this time did not kiss it. He hoped she regretted the omission.
Victoria stared at the receding back of Lord Thurlow, running her fingers absently over her hand, the one he’d kissed just a little while before. It still felt…burned, not as if he’d hurt her, but as if he had marked her in some way as his.
His.She would be that now, under the care of a man she truly didn’t know. Did he have a music room? Would he care about her dreams beyond their wedding day?
Or their wedding night. She shivered and tried to make sense of what she’d felt as he’d pressed his lips against her skin so intimately. When he’d opened his mouth and touched her—she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling uncomfortable and hot and confused. He wanted a baby. And she had some sense of how one achieved that. Yet he had agreed to take his time.
Victoria walked into the hall. “Mrs. Wayneflete!” She came up short as she found the housekeeper leading her mother back toward the drawing room.
The housekeeper threw up her hands. “I am so sorry, Miss Victoria! Mrs. Shelby was helping me prepare tea, and then she was gone?—”
“Your worry is all for naught, Mrs. Wayneflete,” Victoria said. “Lord Thurlow did not mind Mama’s interruption.”
Her mother peeked into the drawing room. “Did he leave? I’m sorry I didn’t get much of chance to speak with him.”
That sounded more like the mother she knew. “You’ll have plenty of opportunity to get to know him, Mama. The viscount has asked me to marry him.”
Victoria had not expected great rejoicing, but Mrs. Wayneflete’s obvious trepidation was a little frightening. Even her mother frowned. Didn’t she understand what Victoria was doing to save the family?
She regretted her selfish thoughts. She turned to her mother. “You never allowed me to hear of the scandal surrounding the Earl of Banstead. Perhaps I should hear it now, even though it’s too late.”
Mrs. Wayneflete and her mother exchanged a glance, but it was the housekeeper who spoke.
“I don’t know the details, Miss Victoria. Though servants gossip, even the Banstead maids seemed embarrassed by their master’s behavior. There were parties at Banstead House, miss, the kind no one of good society would go to. And they started within a month of the countess’s death.”