Chapter 27 #2
Her righteous anger fizzled, as if she’d been suddenly doused with a bucket of icy water. “I . . . hadn’t thought—”
“People of your station never think about consequences. They just take and take, never mind who they hurt,” he spat.
“I am not like that.” Another tear slipped free as she stepped back. She wrapped her arms around herself, shaking her head. “I never wanted to hurt him or cause him pain. Neither do I seek to abandon him. I want to help him. Only help. Please, believe me, Warren.”
If she thought he might thaw at her admittance, she was wrong. He was as surly as ever, glaring down at her. The cut in his brow made him look menacing, like a pirate.
“I need help too,” she went on, setting the remains of her broken pride aside.
“It has not been easy for me, sir. For the last three years, I have been out, and my mother has guaranteed that my every waking moment is consumed with finding a husband. I have failed, Mr. Warren. Over and over again, I fail. For I am awkward and-and fumbling . . . and I don’t like cards or parlor games.
I don’t like making a spectacle of myself.
And I really don’t like having men talk at me about insurance cost increases or the training status of their latest racing fillies. ”
“And that is all they ever do is talk at a lady,” she added. “They’re never actually talking to me. In fact, I often wonder if they even see me at all. All the men of my sphere see when they look at me is my father’s influence and my dowry of twenty thousand pounds. I don’t exist.”
When Warren made no comment, she went on.
“So, I went to Mr. Bray. I went to him because he is the kind of man who sees a lady when she talks. What is more, he listens. He is good and kind. I think he may be my friend, and I don’t have many of those, Mr. Warren.
I’m in a dire situation, and I swear it to you now, I didn’t ask him to do him harm. I need his help.”
He stomped away to the other side of the gazebo, showing her his back. After a moment he muttered, “I believe you.”
He was clearly in turmoil, though she couldn’t understand why.
Who was Charles Bray to Warren that he would be so ready to fight his corner?
And it sat at odds with the start of their encounter, where Warren pulled Charles back in a fury, threatening to expose him to the duke for kissing her. She couldn’t make sense of it.
“How long will you give him to decide?” Warren asked.
“I . . . I don’t have much time,” she admitted, mulling over her options.
If Charles denied her, what would she do?
Was it possible Rosalie or Burke would know of someone else?
Someone better suited to such a plan than Charles?
The idea terrified her. Now that he was standing before her as a candidate, the thought of marrying some stranger felt abhorrent, no matter if he was vouched for by Mr. Burke.
“I . . . I really must know as soon as possible. I could perhaps wait a fortnight. But no longer,” she added quickly.
“His uncle probably won’t last that long,” said Warren, his tone thoughtful. “Selby is already one foot in the grave. It will take Charles exceptionally hard to lose him. Both his parents are long dead. His brother is in India. Selby is all the family he has left.”
“You know him well,” she murmured.
He didn’t bother replying. “If Burke’s suspicions are correct, the duke will be offering him his uncle’s position here in Finchley,” he added. “Charles met with the duke this morning. Perhaps the offer is already on the table.”
“Curate of Finchley? But his current offer is for a post as vicar, is it not?”
Warren shrugged. “The duke can fix that easily, so Burke says.”
Her eyes widened. When she saw Burke emerge from the trees with Warren, she assumed they were merely hunting together. Apparently, they were more. They were friends. “You know all the gentlemen well, sir.”
His frown deepened. “And I suppose that surprises you? Because I am a lowly gamekeeper, I can’t be friends with the duke’s steward?”
“I never said that,” she replied, refusing to rise once more to his baiting.
He used anger as a weapon, preferring to lure it out of others.
In fencing, it was a clever strategy. Baiting others into making foolhardy parries was an easy way to earn points.
She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. At least not again.
Instead, she mirrored his behavior and gave him a shrug.
“Horatio Burke is a friend to all. I do not doubt that he was drawn to your intelligence and stamina. I’m sure you make him a fine friend.
” And because she couldn’t help herself, she added, “It must gall him to no end that you are more handsome. He likes to be the center of attention.”
She had to control her smile at the confused look of surprise he gave her. He wanted her to fight back, to parry him blow for blow. But this was exceptionally more fun. Heavens, was that a blush she spied, or merely the cold?
“He may enjoy your friendship, but it’s clear you think very little of me, sir. So I ask you—what would you have me do?” She gazed into his dark eyes.
“He’s going to agree,” he replied, voice low.
“Charles has always had a soft spot for charity cases. His uncle needs all the charity he can get right now. The poor villagers of Carrington afflicted by the fire, the beleaguered duke, desperate for assistance as the holiday draws near . . . and now there’s you.
He will agree, even though it won’t be what he wants.
He’ll agree because it’s the right thing to do, the gentlemanly thing, the Christian thing. ”
Madeline didn’t like being listed amongst Charles’s charity cases. Would marrying her be one more act of service? “What would you have me do, Mr. Warren?”
He held her gaze. “Don’t let him say yes.”
She sucked in a breath, surprised by his words, by the sincerity in his voice.
“Unless you mean to give him a real chance . . . unless you will let him be your husband in fact, I’m asking you to let him go. Choose someone else. He doesn’t have much heart left to break, Madeline. Make him whole in the way only a wife can . . . or leave him be.”