C ymbeline wanted to say yes so badly.
The word was on the tip of her tongue. After all, she was fairly certain that Baxter was the only man alive at present who could suit her. But given the reaction of her father, her uncle, and even her cousins, she was questioning herself.
She was not accustomed to questioning herself, and so it felt quite strange.
Still, she had no desire to look back when she was an old lady to this moment and wonder: What if she’d acted with more measure? Now, granted, a Briarwood was not supposed to act with measure, but nor were they idiots or rash fools.
She would not throw her life away on what could be a whim, on a man she had met in the middle of the night!
Yes, her entire body crackled as if it had been brought to life, but what if she was mistaking lust for recognition of her soul mate because she’d been in quite odd circumstances?
After all, masquerading as a man wasn’t exactly her typical behavior.
Getting caught had put her in quite a state too!
What if she was mistaken and her family was correct? She had to be careful. Divorce was almost impossible, and she had no wish to be the first Briarwood in a loveless marriage.
Though she did feel it—the understanding that he was unlike anyone else—and her soul, her heart, her entire body longed to adore him. To be worshipped by him.
Even standing there in the room with her father and uncle, she recognized that she had entered an entirely new phase of her life, like the moon proceeding through the twenty-eight days of its cycle.
She was on the cusp of becoming whole.
If they didn’t cock it all up.
But what if he was mistaken? What if he did not actually want her? What if he was the one who was making a mistake? What if he was simply enamored by her seemingly bold behavior?
So, she lifted her chin and said into his rather expectant, extremely arrogant, but oh so beautiful face, “I will marry you, Your Grace, on one condition.”
He beamed. “I am so glad that you are going to…”
And then his voice trailed off as he truly took in her words. “I beg your pardon?”
Her father began to laugh softly. “You see, Your Grace, this is what it will be like to be married to my daughter. Are you truly sure it’s what you want? She will always do the unexpected.”
“Dukes are generally accustomed to getting what they want,” the Duke of Westleigh said.
“You might wish for a safer bet. For you see, when one marries a Briarwood, even a duke must become accustomed to not getting what they want. Even I had to with my darling wife, Mercy. She has provided me with the challenges that I need, which is really what a good wife should do. So, you’d best be certain you want a wife like Cymbeline.
We’ll allow you to take back the query. You can turn about now, leave, and we’ll pretend as if this never happened. ”
But instead of doing that, of turning tail and running, the young duke grew intrigued. She could see it in the spark in his eyes and the way he tilted his head to the side, contemplating her. “What is it then, my dear Miss Cymbeline, that you require for me to gain your acquiescence?”
Her heart began to hammer at her ribs, and she smoothed her hands down the skirts of her gown.
“You will come and live at Heron House, and we shall spend so much time together that anyone else would grow irritated with each other. My grandmother does have a saying—‘Fish and guests can go bad in a mere three days.’ You must last longer than that, but then I shall marry you.”
He stilled. “You wish me to come stay here for an undefinable amount of time?”
“Exactly,” she affirmed, praying he would accept, wishing she had not even had to say it.
But she had to. She needed to know that he would fight for them.
That he did not merely expect her to give in to whatever he wished, how he wished.
“And if you survive it, then I shall say yes immediately, and we shall be wed at the little chapel that is on my uncle’s estate.
Or we can have a great wedding at St. Paul’s.
Whichever you prefer. It matters not to me.
But I think we should find out now if I can keep up with you, or if I shall indeed lag behind. ”
“Oh, my dear Miss Cymbeline,” he rumbled, “I think you are already several steps ahead.”
“Your pretty compliment will not make me acquiesce sooner,” she said. “This is my condition. And if you think I am worth it, you will say yes.”
“You don’t understand,” he said softly, “what you are asking. I have so much to do. I am continually at work. I never rest, you see. I go from long before the sun comes up until long after it goes down.”
“We’ve heard rumors that you don’t sleep,” Westleigh stated.
“I need little,” Baxter said tightly.
She stared up into his handsome face and her heart sank. “It is quite alright, Your Grace. You have been given leave to retreat, though I confess I am disappointed.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw, and he shook his head. “If this is what is required to get a wife who I think will suit, I will happily do as required.”
He seemed so tense all of a sudden, and she knew she had made the right decision to wait to say yes, and yet she was dismayed.
Would he survive a few weeks with her? Surely, he would. Surely, a man like him was meant to live amongst the Briarwoods. Why was he so hesitant?
“Though you cannot expect me to turn away from the people who need me,” Baxter stated.
“Of course I don’t. That would be ludicrous.
I could not be so cruel as to expect you to simply come here, eat cake, swim in the river, ride horses, read books, and watch plays with me.
” She shook her head and assured, “Oh, no, no. You must continue to go to the House of Lords, take your meetings, and speak on the floor, and I shall admire you all of the time. I shall go in disguise to cheer you on.”
“You wish to go with me to the House of Lords?” he said softly.
“You will find that the women of this family are interested in all sorts of things,” she said.
“If that is what you wish, then, of course, it is what shall occur,” he said, his gaze easing. “And in the end, I am getting exactly what I said I wanted last night, so I can hear the gods and the Fates laughing at me.”
“And what is that?” she said.
“A trial,” he said. “Isn’t that what this is? I thought I would be seeing if you suited me last night… But actually, it is you who shall judge. And if I fail, you will no doubt have your pick of the Season.”
“You are most clever, Your Grace. You’re certain you’re game for it?”
“For you, I am game for anything,” he rumbled, taking her hand in his and squeezing it.
For a moment, she was certain he was going to twine their fingers.
“Even though you’re a great duke?”
Slowly, he lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed it, ignoring the throat clearing of her father and uncle.
“ Because I’m a great duke,” he said.
“You’re quite certain that we’ll still want each other at the end of this?” she teased, her body thrilling at the touch of his lips upon her hand.
Her father coughed.
“We’ll have to see,” Baxter replied softly, “but I will not be the one to change my mind.”
And with that, the Duke of Baxter slipped his hand from hers, then gave the three Briarwoods a bow.
“Now, I must tell my manservant, Shepard, to prepare a particularly large trunk and arrange for all my things to be brought here. Are you really certain you wish to have me as a guest, Westleigh?” he drawled.
“I’d like to point out that if I am staying here, spending a great deal of time in Cymbeline’s company, people will draw certain conclusions. ”
“We don’t care about the conclusions of others,” her uncle said merrily. “If you fall through, we’ll find her a rich American, and she can go about having adventures abroad.”
Baxter arched his brow. “You and my mother would get along splendidly. She said something similar.”
“Your mother is a very interesting woman. I admire her greatly. I’m not surprised that we think alike,” her uncle replied, clearly now enjoying this “You can bring her too if you want.”
“That’s quite all right,” Baxter said. “I think there are enough of us dukes and duchesses here, don’t you?”
The Duke of Westleigh laughed. “Oh, in this house, there are never enough, and there’s always room for more.”
The Duke of Baxter turned and strode out of the room.
Cymbeline stood looking at her father and her uncle, feeling slightly flummoxed. This was all far more complicated than she had thought it would be.
“Are you certain about this, my love?” her father asked, crossing to her.
“Yes, I am, Papa. I knew this moment was coming. I just didn’t think it would be so soon.
” She did not even know how to truly describe what was happening to her.
She felt as if she was falling towards something strong, like the undercurrent in the tides near their family home on the Isle of Wight. “And with someone so powerful.”
Her uncle crossed to her, gave her a strong hug, then said, “Oh, we did. You’re quite special, Cymbeline.
Of course, this whole thing about finding a husband before the Season even starts is quite a ludicrous way for the ladies to go.
First Portia. Now you. Do you really think that you want him ?
I think he is far more complicated than he seems.”
“You both act as if there’s something wrong with him. He seems splendid.”
“He seems so,” her uncle said softly, “but there’s something there.”
Ajax nodded. “Yes. I’ve always sensed it. There was something with his father too. I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s as if they have a restless spirit inside them, driving them on. Don’t you see?”
“But he seems so happy.”
“Perhaps he is,” her father said gently. “But I’ll tell you this right now. His father lived as his son does, and he died quite young. There’s many a rumor that said he died so abruptly because he lived so hard.”
“The Briarwoods all live hard,” she exclaimed, longing to argue against their comments.
“We live hard and we play hard and we rest hard,” her father said. “He doesn’t do all of those things, my dear. And so you must decide if that is truly the life that you are willing to join.”
She nodded, stunned to find that her path to love was not at all as quick or direct as she had assumed it would be. But surely, it didn’t matter that the Duke of Baxter was a complicated man, as her uncle suggested.
In her experience, and certainly with her own family, all the best men were.