Chapter 23
Rowan
“Icannot marry your daughter.” I sat rigidly in my seat across from Mr. Delafield, bracing myself for his reaction. The desk between us felt too small to hold the man back should he desire to kill me. I braved a few words of explanation. “She deserves to choose a husband for herself.”
I had given up everything. My father’s approval, Mr. Delafield’s trust, the bet with my friends, and even my precious Folio. I had done it all for Arabella, and knowing so made me sit a little taller. Even if I lost her, this much I had to do.
Even if it meant my own demise.
Mr. Delafield rubbed his jaw and then leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other.
I braced myself for his anger—for the bloodcurdling tone he had used the night Arabella had announced her supposed engagement to Mr. Clodwick.
Mr. Delafield’s expression, however, remained remarkably stoic.
“This is exactly what I hoped would happen.”
I blinked, then blinked again. “Y-you did?” I could feel a bead of sweat forming at my hairline from the stress of my confession. There was no way I had heard him right.
“I had hoped you would begin to care for Arabella and desire her happiness above all else.”
“I don’t understand. Why did you want us to marry each other then? If it was love you wanted, then why promise her to me?”
“You have a lot in common. Even when you were young and fought like a pair of angry pups, I saw the similarities.
You both possess good hearts and care for those around you.
You both love the human story and the connections you find to it in morals and themes in the books you read.
You both are passionate and fight for what you want in life.
Son, with loving hearts such as yours, you have a chance of having what my wife and I have.
“The best matches are not between two perfect people but two intentionally good people trying and working toward their happiness. I cannot guarantee your future together anymore now than I could when you were children, but I’ve tried hard to provide the opportunity.”
My arms erupted in gooseflesh, his words taking root in my chest. “Thank you, sir, for wanting the best for me.”
“I still do, Rowan. There’s hope yet.”
I shook my head. “I have already told her that I would release her from any expectation of marrying me.”
Mr. Delafield grinned. “Yes, but I did not release her from it.”
I frowned. “Then you will force us to wed? I cannot let that happen.”
“Not at all.” He batted his hand and sat forward. “You can choose it for yourselves. In good time, I am sure all will be taken care of.”
I chewed on my bottom lip. I did not see how to make it work between us. Mr. Delafield spoke again before I could reach any conclusion that did not equate to me being alone and miserable.
“Lady Farthington has asked me to escort her to London. My back has been bothering me, and since you insist on leaving, I wonder if you could take her in my place. You would depart at dawn.”
“I would be happy to help.”
He stood and moved to his library shelf. “I have a few remarkable books you should read on the way. I have no doubt you will find them quite enlightening.”
“Oh?” I stood and stepped to the side of the desk with interest. If Mr. Delafield had a book recommendation for me, I would not refuse it. He had excellent taste.
I stretched out my hand, and just as I gripped the spines, he paused before relinquishing them. “There is only one condition. This is the only copy of these books in the world, and you must return them on your way back from London before returning to Ashworth Hall.
“Elmhurst is not exactly on the way to Ashworth Hall,” I hedged. “Besides, Arabella would not like it.”
“Trust me when I say that these books will change your life.”
My brow furrowed. Were they religious texts? They appeared more like cheap diaries rather than anything of worth.
“Trust me,” he added.
I sighed and took the books. “If I promise to return in a few days, what am I to tell Arabella?”
Mr. Delafield shrugged and motioned me to the door. “That will be entirely up to you. Write a poem. Buy her a meaningful trinket. Get on one knee and profess your love. Whatever it takes.” He opened the door.
“But—”
“You’re a smart man. You’ll figure it out.” He pushed me out and closed the door in my face.
I groaned and stepped back until I hit the wall of the corridor.
I slumped against it, falling until I was squatting on my knees.
Arabella was going to kill me if I came back.
I leaned forward and rested my head against the books.
Was this a second chance with Arabella? Or should I say a third or fourth?
Or was I setting my heart on a cutting board for it to be thoroughly mashed and beaten?