Chapter 9 The Most Inconvenient Proposal #2
Despite himself, Hereford’s mind flooded with unbidden images of Amelia at the last garden party, sunlight setting her hair ablaze with copper highlights, that maddening combination of competence and fire that simultaneously drew and unsettled him.
The way her eyes sparked emerald when she was truly angry.
The thought of watching that fire slowly die, of seeing her wilt under the weight of a loveless marriage…
He couldn’t bear it. Better to give her freedom after the railway venture established itself than watch her spirit break.
“She’ll never agree,” he said quietly, more to himself than the others.
“Leave Amelia to me,” Thornton replied. “Do we have an agreement?”
Hereford stared into the amber depths of his brandy, seeing another future crystallize. “One year.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“You cannot simply abandon her after a year,” Thornton’s voice turned sharp. “It would destroy any future prospects.”
“It may be your sister who wishes to leave,” Hereford countered, though the words tasted bitter. “She’s devoted to her newspaper. She may prefer freedom… to be with someone more suitable.” He forced himself to meet Steven’s gaze. “There needs to be an escape clause. One year. That’s my condition.”
The three men exchanged loaded glances. “You may separate only with her agreement at the one year mark,” Thornton said.
Hereford nodded. “Very well.”
“Welcome to the family, Hereford.”
After they shook hands, save one man who stormed out, his unexpected visitors departed.
Hereford stood alone in his study, watching the fire die to embers. He’d just agreed to marry, within days, a woman who thought him barely more worthwhile than the ink smudge on her fingers, all for the sake of business. Or at least that’s what he was trying to tell himself.
“Well done, old boy,” he muttered, reaching again for the brandy. “This can’t possibly go wrong.”
But as he raised the glass to his lips, his treacherous mind wandered to how Amelia might look in the morning light, her chestnut hair spilled across his pillows, her sharp tongue softened by sleep.
*
“Have you lost your mind?” Amelia exclaimed, watching Steven sip his tea with infuriating calm in her tiny parlor. “What of Lord Norwich? He’s shown interest in my work, supports reform, and actually respects women’s intelligence.”
Steven set down his cup with unusual force. “Absolutely not. I’ve heard concerning things about his conduct with women.”
“Rumors and gossip,” Amelia dismissed. “He’s been nothing but kind and supportive of my endeavors.”
“That’s what worries me.” Steven’s face hardened. “His support feels calculated, Amelia. Too perfect, too convenient. I don’t trust a man who never shows his flaws.”
“Unlike Lord Hereford, who shows his contempt quite openly?” Her laugh held no humor. “At least Lord Norwich values my work, understands the importance of reform.”
“And yet he’s never been transparent about his business holdings.” Steven leaned forward intently. “Think, Amelia. Have you ever seen him take action beyond pleasant words?”
“I haven’t known him long enough to answer that. Please, Steven. You’re sacrificing me to a marriage devoid of love and respect for greater wealth.” She stood, pacing the small room. “You already have too much and no one to spend it on. Abandon the railway, let others proceed with the plan.”
“It’s too late.” Steven’s voice held genuine regret. “My signature is on every document. Starting over would jeopardize all the carefully negotiated terms. And it’s not just about money. They need my contacts in India, my expertise in foreign investment.”
“But, Steven,” her voice softened with hurt, “you’re asking me to sacrifice my happiness, my independence.”
“Not necessarily. Hereford is a good man beneath his facade. He’ll make you a proper husband.”
“A good man?” She scoffed. “All he cares about is his bodily comfort and pleasure. He’ll forget his wife amid his mistresses. He’s supremely arrogant, impossibly condescending, and he’s repulsed by my injury.”
“I doubt that very much.” Steven’s eyes held something she couldn’t quite read. “You two are fond of each other but are too busy fighting to notice. Even if you were right, who better than you to prove him wrong? Show him who you truly are.”
“Fond? You are delusional. I’ll become his property upon marriage! The Metropolitan Review will belong to him. He could turn it into one of his erotic publications, undo everything Elisha and I have built.”
“We’ll protect your interests in the marriage contract.”
Amelia buried her face in her lap, her mind whirling with conflicting emotions.
The railway project could help so many women escape desperate situations.
She’d seen firsthand how vital quick, discreet transportation could be for Madame Tansley’s rescues.
And if she was being honest, she had fantasized about his impressive physique, but this was not the same as living with the man.
She pictured Hereford’s mocking smile, the way his eyes would slide past her at social gatherings as if she were merely part of the furniture.
He would no doubt parade sturdier women about at their shared home, if the marquess’ housekeeper could be believed.
Her fingers unconsciously traced the outline of her wooden leg through her skirts.
“I’d be more than willing to marry Viscount Norwich, Steven. Why—”
“Absolutely not, and you won’t change my mind about him.
There’s something about the man I don’t trust,” Steven said firmly, then softened his voice.
“Consider this. As Hereford’s wife, you’d have access to resources, connections that could further our reform efforts.
Your voice would carry the weight of a marchioness. ”
A marchioness with a limp and common blood. She could already hear the whispers, see the pitying glances. And Lord Hereford… would he parade her through Society like some curiosity? Or worse, hide her away in that grand house of his, ashamed of his mismatched bride?
But if she refused and the railway project collapsed, how many women would suffer? How many children would remain trapped in dangerous factories because she’d put her pride above their needs?
“I hate this,” she whispered, lifting her head. Steel entered her voice as she continued, “But I shall do what’s required. Just ensure my assets are protected, that I maintain ownership of the publishing house.”
Steven placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you. It shall be done.”
“How did you convince the marquess to agree to this? I’m certain he is just as averse to this as I am, if not more,” she said, looking up at her brother.
Steven hesitated before responding, “He’s asked to stipulate that you separate after one year.”
The words washed over her like ice water. Humiliation burned through her veins. “You mean to say you agreed to have me disgraced after a year? Abandoned by my husband?”
“Only upon your agreement. Should you choose to separate, you shall be a very wealthy woman,” Steven said.
“Regardless. He’s counting on me to be a temporary inconvenience.” A year of enduring his indifference. Her throat tightened at the thought. She couldn’t quite say why his rejection stung so sharply.
“Best case scenario, you realize you’re perfect for each other. Worst case scenario, you elevate your social status, gain wealth and freedom,” Steven said gently. “It needn’t be humiliating.”
“And what of children?” Her voice caught. “If I have them? If I don’t? What becomes of me then?”
Steven knelt before her, taking her cold hands in his. “If I didn’t believe Hereford could make you happy, I would never suggest this match. There’s more to him than you realize.”
“You’re a man. You can’t understand what it means to lie awake at night, wondering which woman’s bed your husband warms while you’re alone.”
“That is the fate of most wives of wealthy or handsome men. Hereford is both.” Steven’s matter-of-fact tone made her flinch. “Given his reputation, you should prepare yourself for—”
“Never!” The word burst from her. “The marriage contract must stipulate that any infidelity within the first year requires him to pay me five thousand pounds. Our union may lack love, but I will not be made a fool of.”
Steven nodded with a slight curve in the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see it done. Now, I must speak with the solicitor.” He squeezed her hands once before rising. “Pack your things. The wedding will be within days.”
Amelia stood on shaking legs, then collapsed back onto the divan as her strength deserted her.
She could already imagine Hereford’s barely concealed disgust as she limped down the aisle, his sighs of resignation as he resigned himself to a year with an invalid bride.
The wooden leg that had never felt particularly heavy before suddenly seemed to weigh as much as all her fears combined.