Page 24 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

The sweetness of temptation, or dull propriety.

Stonehaven let out a breath of relief as he heard the knock at his bedroom door.

He wanted to get this over with before he changed his mind.

His guts were in a knot, his instincts howling the claim he was making a dreadful mistake, but as his every desire seemed to have descended to his nether parts, he did not trust them to make sensible decisions about his future.

“Come in.”

“Good evening, my lord. I hear you wished to speak with me?” Honeywell said, sounding as jovial as always.

“Yes, indeed. Thank you for coming.”

“No need to thank me. Your company is a pleasure, I assure you. I adore my lovely girls, but sometimes a bit of masculine company is required to put the world to rights in one’s mind.

I have always believed in being open and forthright, but there are some things one cannot discuss easily with unmarried ladies. ”

“Quite, quite,” Stonehaven said absently, only wanting to get the interview over with as quickly as possible, but then he heard the chink of glass upon glass and perked up. “What’s that you have there?”

“Aha! I see nothing escapes you, my lord. Well, it is not as fine as the Chateau Lafite, but I suspect this little beauty will not disappoint, all the same.”

“Bribing me with wine again?”

“Trying to,” the reverend agreed amiably. “I saw poor Mark Bevin today. He’s lost so much weight his clothes are hanging off him. Cried like a baby when he saw me, poor boy.”

“Damn it, Honeywell—” Stonehaven began, only for the reverend to interrupt him.

“No, no, you must call me Bertie. We’re old friends now. Here, take this and tell me what you think.”

Stonehaven snapped his mouth shut in frustration and accepted the glass he was given.

Unsettled by guilt he felt no inclination to investigate, he raised the glass to his nose.

His thoughts quieted as he inhaled the perfume of an entirely different wine to the one Honeywell had offered before.

Cautiously, he swirled the liquid, careful not to overdo it and spill the contents, and inhaled again, finding the scent had intensified.

He took a sip and smiled. Truly, the fellow had a knack for sniffing out an excellent vintage.

The smugglers must be remarkably fond of the old goat, not that Stonehaven could blame them.

Despite everything, he liked Honeywell very much, and respected him more, and there were few men of whom he could say that.

“Aromatic, floral, a touch of spice. Quite delicious and refreshing too. Alsace?”

“Ha! I knew it,” Honeywell exclaimed with obvious delight. “I knew you’d guess it, though wines from that region are quite distinctive, I’ll grant you. Good, though, eh?”

Stonehaven heard the soft ripple as the reverend poured his own glass.

“Excellent, as you well know. Now, I have something to say to you, if you’ll let me get a word in edgewise.”

“Certainly, certainly. You must simply tell me to hold my tongue else I will rattle on like a fiddlestick.”

“Well then, I shall speak before you have the chance to interrupt me again. I am getting married. Mrs Adamson has done me the goodness of accepting me as her husband. We would like you to call the banns and set the wedding day as the second of October.”

Stonehaven waited, expecting the man to leap to his feet and exclaim his delight, offering hearty congratulations. He did not. Instead, an uncomfortable silence filled the room. Increasingly ill at ease, and not a little aggravated, Stonehaven frowned.

“You disapprove?”

“Of Mrs Adamson? Good heavens, no. She is a remarkable woman, as lovely and kind-hearted as she is clever and capable.”

“Then you disapprove of me? You think I am taking advantage of her and saddling her with a man who cannot be a proper husband to her.”

“Goodness me, my lord, I will thank you not to put words in my mouth. I think no such thing, and as for not being a proper husband, I cannot understand your meaning.”

“Well, I can hardly escort her to balls and exhibitions, or ride beside her through Hyde Park.”

“Oh?” Honeywell sounded alarmed by this information. “Are those the qualities of a proper husband? I had no notion. I’m afraid my poor wife was much disappointed in me in that case, for apart from the local assemblies—”

“That is not what I mean, and you dashed well know it,” Stonehaven objected with some heat. “You’ve got something to say, by God. Spit it out.”

“If it is not what you mean, you ought to explain yourself more precisely,” the reverend replied with an indignant little sniff.

“You’re not the first to remark it,” Stonehaven muttered. “However, it is clear you have an opinion, an unfavourable one, so I beg you will share it with me.”

“I do indeed, though not as a reflection upon either you or dear Anne. You are both wonderful people who deserve to be happy, which is why I would strongly suggest you reconsider marrying in haste, for you’ll repent at your leisure, my lord, that much I am certain of.”

“Well, it must be nice to have such a clear view of the future,” Stonehaven replied, his tone even as he tamped down his desire to rage against the man’s words.

It wasn’t the reverend he was angry with but fate, and it wasn’t even the man’s opinion he resented, but the knowledge that he was probably right.

The trouble was, Stonehaven felt he was all out of options.

As he’d told Sally, living for today was all well and good, but tomorrow always came, and usually bit you in the arse for not considering that fact more closely.

“It is not a view of the future, only an understanding of human nature, and a wealth of experience from watching people make the same mistakes repeatedly. I will do as you ask, of course, and would be honoured to marry two people I hold in such high esteem, but I beg you will consider my words, for you and Anne both deserve better.”

“Better than each other,” Stonehaven replied with a caustic bark of laughter, amused by the idea. His fingers snagged on a loose thread on the heavy tapestry fabric that covered his chair, and he began worrying at it, tugging and twisting as he strove to keep his temper in check.

“Better than a hasty marriage contrived to give you both peace of mind, yes. Because it won’t work. You both deserve happiness, and love, and lives that you can look back on knowing that every day was special in its own way, and one you’d give everything to live again.”

“I’m sure but seeing as we do not live between the pages of a romance novel, common sense will have to prevail,” Stonehaven replied testily.

He felt increasingly ill at ease and Honeywell’s surprising reaction only provoked his intense desire to call the entire thing off.

A fantasy danced behind his eyes in which he persuaded Sally to run away with him to Italy and live in a villa where they might spend their days just as they pleased and damn the rest of the world.

The reverend’s disapproval of his sensible solution was only making him progressively more bloody minded and willing to throw caution to the wind.

“As you say,” the reverend replied, apparently unperturbed by Stonehaven’s determination to ignore his advice. “Well, in that case, I shall offer you my congratulations. Your very good health, my lord.”

Stonehaven raised his own glass, downing the delicious wine in one large swallow he hardly tasted nor appreciated. It was done. His decision was made, and that was that.

Bea looked up from the pile of mending she was sorting as her father came back into the room. He held a half empty bottle of wine and a glass and set them down, filling the glass before taking it to his usual chair.

“Is something amiss, Papa?”

He nodded, his brows tugged together in a frown. “Yes, though I do not know what I can do about it.”

“Sleep on it,” Bea suggested with a smile. “You’ve had a long day, what with having to ride over to Rye this morning. I expect you are too tired to think clearly.”

Her father nodded, giving her a grateful smile.

“Wise words, pet. I don’t doubt you are correct, but I worry all the same.

Lord Stonehaven is about to make a grave mistake.

I don’t know why I am so certain about that, for Anne is a lovely woman, and I suppose on the face of it they are well suited, only…

it just does not feel right to me. I think because they are doing it for all the wrong reasons. If they loved each other—”

“P-Papa?” Bea stammered, the mending falling from her hands to form a little pile on the floor at her feet. “Whatever do you mean? If—If they loved each other?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon, Bea. You must think I am talking nonsense. Stonehaven and Anne Adamson are getting married. Of course, it’s a practical solution, and Anne no doubt thinks it will soothe her guilt over the accident, for she thinks it is her fault, you see.

But I cannot believe a marriage based on such a footing can prosper. ”

“N-No. I….” Bea cast around for something to say, anything that would not give her father cause to suspect her emotions were in disarray, but words slid from her grasp, as slippery as eels in dark water. Instead, she got to her feet, moving before she consciously realised what she was doing.

“Bea?”

Panic rose in her throat. “I forgot… I must… Mrs Adie, tomorrow’s menu.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” her father said, too distracted by his own concerns for Stonehaven to pay her too much mind. “Run along before she goes to bed. She’s an early to bed early to rise sort and won’t be up much longer, I reckon. Best catch her now.”