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Chapter One

Sebastian

“ D id you hear me, Miss Fernside?” Sebastian Drake stared at the back of Miss Fernside’s straw bonnet in mixed aggravation and disbelief until she finally—and reluctantly—turned toward him.

“Hmm?” she asked, even as her gaze flitted back to the trees.

Sebastian had managed to guide her away from her uncle long enough—and far enough—to ask his burning question, but their privacy would not last. It was Hyde Park, after all, not the Dark Walk at Vauxhall Gardens.

“Did you hear me?” he repeated, more to prove a point than due to any doubt about the answer to the question.

Her pale brows rose, making it evident she had not, in fact, heard a word he had said.

“Did you say something? You must forgive me”—she turned again and stretched her neck from side to side, craning to see something in the distance—“I am nearly certain I saw a yellow-throated wood warbler.” After a moment, she seemed to accept that she had not, in fact, witnessed the desired miracle, and she returned her gaze to him, all polite interest. “What did you say?”

Sebastian forced his smile to remain intact even as his teeth gritted against each other. To be obliged to repeat himself was not only humiliating; it was annoying. But it was necessary.

“I asked,” he said with every bit of sunny patience he could muster, “whether you would do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

Miss Fernside’s pleasant expression hovered on her face as though frozen, her eyes unblinking. The only evidence she was not a statue was a slight flaring of her nostrils.

She was still smiling, but Sebastian knew an impulse to draw back, for there was a forbidding look about her.

The Miss Fernside he had come to know over the past seven days was well-mannered and pretty and amiable.

While she did have an odd preoccupation with birds—which was proving aggravating at the moment—it was nothing compared to her most important attribute.

Miss Fernside was eye-wateringly wealthy.

Repeating his offer of marriage because she was too busy admiring sprinkle-crested twig garblers was a price he was willing to pay to gain access to that wealth. He would be able to pay any price once they were married.

Quite suddenly, her head tipped back, and she began to laugh. It was not the musical laugh of delight from a woman who has just received the offer of marriage she wishes for, but rather an almost mad sound. A few nearby sparrows took flight as it continued.

Sebastian considered following their example, for the eyes of Miss Fernside’s uncle, Mr. Haskett, swept to them from his place in conversation on the nearby path.

But Sebastian had to see this through. Everything depended upon it.

He waited for Miss Fernside’s amusement to expend itself, at which time she gave a little sigh as her focus returned to him. She silently surveyed him for a moment, then opened the ever-present notebook she carried and began to sketch with maddening calm.

Sebastian watched for a moment, battling consternation and incredulity, then opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted.

“I heard you this time, Mr. Drake,” Miss Fernside said. “Or rather, I heard the question you meant to ask me.”

Sebastian’s brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

She continued to sketch, her head tilting to the side as she did so—no doubt adding detail to the feathers of the butter-chested borbler she wished she had seen. “Your true question was whether, after but a week of knowing you, I would give my fortune into your greedy hands.”

“Miss Fernside,” Sebastian began awkwardly, “that was not?—”

“Spare yourself, Mr. Drake.” She closed the notebook and regarded him frankly, her eyes colder than he had thought possible. “The answer to both questions is the same.” After a short pause, she spun on her heel and left to rejoin her aunt and uncle.

She took her eye-watering wealth along with her.