Chapter 23
Allegra was in great turmoil of mind. As soon as Lord Milton left the house, her sisters poured into the room, questions trembling on their lips, followed more sedately by her mother, who was just as curious but better at concealing it.
But something in her face must have warned them that she was in an uncertain mood; the girls were much less exuberant than they had been a half-hour previously, and even Mrs Constantine did not press her, for a wonder, after she said, ‘Yes, he has offered for me. This can be no surprise to any of you. I have not given him an answer, but instead asked for time to think, which he has granted me – I suppose he had no option. To insist on an immediate answer would have been uncivil, and I’d have said no if he had.
Now I honestly don’t know what I’m going to say to him, so there’s no point asking me.
’ She retreated to her chamber then, and nobody came after her.
It wasn’t her mother’s way to force such momentous decisions on her daughters.
But then Sabrina hadn’t needed to be compelled, and Viola, from what she recalled from four years ago, had agreed to His Grace of Winterflood’s very flattering offer without having to be pressed in the least. She’d known how precarious their futures were, and what a difference having a duke in the family would make to all of them.
Now, of course, matters were slightly easier, because of that sacrifice, but only slightly.
Leontina must believe with some justice that she could rely on cold, hard facts to do her work for her.
All the reasons why a young woman with no fortune of her own and no security in her life really should accept a man like Lord Milton remained as powerful as ever.
But… The success or failure of a marriage, if one could even use such terms, could never be predicted.
Viola’s existence did not stand on shaky foundations just because the Duke had married her for the heir he’d hoped she could give him – this was common enough, after all – but also, and more painfully, because he had not taken the trouble to be kind to her in those first crucial months of their relationship.
Lord Milton had promised honesty – but she was not sure anyone could promise kindness, or if one should trust them if they did.
And if a woman had to ask for gentle, considerate treatment, it was already too late.
Edward respected Viola more, she believed, now he’d got what he wanted, but something had been broken between them that seemed unmendable.
She might tell herself that she was fully aware, as Viola had not been, of the difficulties that would lie in her path if she took this man as her husband: his highly disagreeable mother, his lack of genuine interest in her.
Some such problems were predictable. His attitude to her was not – not entirely, despite all he’d said to her.
But there was also her own desperate need for more than he could ever give her.
She wasn’t sure that being prepared in advance for that sort of disappointment would make it any easier to bear for a whole life.
A life without passion, with a man who had a mild liking for her and no more.
And this thought led her, inevitably, back to Mr Severin.
He had said just a short while ago that he hadn’t even stopped to think about whether he liked her or not, but still they shared – there was no use denying it – a stronger, deeper and stranger connection than she could ever know with Lord Milton, if they lived together for forty years and had a quiverful of children.
She wanted to see him. Max. This wasn’t because another meeting with him would help her make up her mind, because it couldn’t. Her feelings for him should be entirely irrelevant to this dilemma. Maybe she just wanted another taste of passion. It might be her last.