Page 33 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)
“I can understand that,” Clementine said, finding in this at least, something she could comprehend. “Losing Mama nearly destroyed him. All of us, actually.”
“I am not brave enough for such heartbreak,” he admitted.
“But all the same, I should like my wife to be my friend, to be someone I like and might share a home with, might raise children with. But she would need to be a rare sort of person. For a start, she would need to be cleverer than me, and sharp-witted, so she might keep me in line when I am getting too top-lofty. It happens, you know,” he added with a wry smile.
“When you have a title and everyone agrees with everything you say.”
“You don’t say,” she managed, which made him laugh. Oh, and that laugh, deep and rumbling… it resonated inside her, and the little rushes of sensation seemed to light fires that burned away reason and all her good intentions.
“She must also be interesting, and out of the ordinary, with a mind that will keep fascinating me and keep me on my toes.”
She quirked an eyebrow, but he carried on.
“A managing sort of female, who can entrap murderers, and stave off toadies, and keep my household in order. And me too, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” she replied, sipping her brandy and wondering why his words, rather than the contents of her glass, seemed to be making her feel intoxicated.
He shifted closer, lowering his voice. His brandy-scented breath fluttered against her neck, making her shiver. “She must be beautiful, for I am a vain peacock, you know, and I could not wed a woman I did not desire.”
Clementine swallowed and closed her eyes against the tears that prickled there.
It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t playing fair. No one had ever said such lovely things to her, things she had not realised how much she craved hearing.
She was a sensible girl, not the kind to be swayed by romantic nonsense and sentimental words, and he knew that, so he had demolished any argument she might make before she could make it.
And oh, how she wanted to say yes, but if she said yes, she would be married to a man who would not love her, and who she very much feared would consume her heart as her mother had done her father’s. Then what?
“I’ve just begun our ladies' club,” she said, her voice quavering.
She felt his gaze on her face, his attention absolute.
“Which is important to you.”
“It is. My sisters are perfectly capable of running it with Mrs Adamson, I know. I am not indispensable, yet—”
“You are indispensable to me,” he said, and she turned to stare at him, surprised by the sincerity of his words.
“As the Countess of Beaumarsh, you will have far more power to change things for women than you do as Miss Honeywell, you know. The club will do wonderful things in Little Valentine, and you can still be a patron, still be a part of their plans, and donate as much money as you desire to their causes. I will give you a generous allowance and I will not question what use you put it to. That will be your own affair. I will also see to Caspar’s education and settle a dowry on both Daisy and your sisters.
You’ll be able to give Beatrice the splendid season you so want for her. Izzy too, if she wishes for it.”
Clementine gasped. She had not even considered what this would mean for her family, let alone the town. How selfish she was! “That’s a dirty trick,” she observed, realising now that he would not give her any reason to refuse him.
He laughed. “It is, and I shall use every weapon in my arsenal, my dear, for I do not wish for you to turn me down. I give you my solemn promise, however, that I will do everything in my power to ensure you never have cause to regret it. I have many more arguments lined up if you would like to hear them.”
She already knew what she would say, for she could not refuse him.
No matter her regret over the club, no matter her fear over how much he might come to mean to her, she could not run away, not when her marriage would bring such good fortune to everyone she loved.
Clementine Honeywell was many things, but she was not a coward.
She turned her head, her heart thudding in her ears.
“Ask me, then,” she said, her voice sounding strange and far off.
He gazed at her, searching her eyes for a long moment before setting down his glass and taking hers too.
He slid from the settee in a smooth move that took him to one knee and, as he took her hand in hers, he was smiling.
Clementine wondered how many times he would break her heart in the years to come but knew there would be compensations.
Her family would be secure, no matter what.
They would send Caspar to an excellent school and fund his education, and Beatrice would have her chance to shine.
There would be a fine home and all the challenges that would bring.
She would have security and, if she were lucky, there would be children to love.
She had never allowed herself to mourn the fact that she would be childless, but now that she was to be given the chance of having them, she realised she wanted that chance.
She wanted it badly enough to risk her heart by putting it in this man’s keeping.
Her father said he was a good man, she reminded herself, and her father was the best judge of character she had ever known.
“Clementine Honeywell, would you do me the very great honour of becoming my wife?”
Clementine stared at him, felt her heart give an agitated thud in her chest, and took a deep breath. “I will.”