Chapter Seventeen #2
As she walked back to the house, Erina anguished over her approaching wedding, which was to take place in the village church in a little over a week’s time.
Her father had wasted little time in bringing her home and organizing the vicar.
Harry’s special license was employed. After deciding that their marriage was the only way to avoid a terrible scandal, her father, in collaboration with Sir Ambrose, had posted their engagement in the Morning Post the day after she and Harry had left for Ireland.
After which, it was put about that Erina had come down with a horrid rash after falling from her horse into a patch of bishop’s weed and would see no one.
So, by some miracle, and the swift action of their fathers, their scandalous journey had remained a secret.
Aunt Abbie would arrive this afternoon to help in the wedding preparations. Harry, who was improving daily, had been taken home to Featherstone Court in Mayfair to be treated by his father’s London surgeon. They would not meet again until the day of the wedding.
Erina plucked a bay leaf as she passed the shrub, releasing a savory scent as she shredded it with her fingers.
She didn’t like how empty her days seemed without Harry.
Although she’d tried not to, she feared she’d fallen in love with him.
She’d been shocked at her own eager response to the touch of his lips.
Her mind constantly returned to the musk scent of his smooth skin, his broad shoulders and chest, and the intriguing shape of his body beneath the bedcovers.
She was a hopeless case. Would she become like her mother? Married to a man who didn’t love her?
Her father was in his study catching up on the news while his pipe smoke sucked the air from the room.
“Cathleen lives very simply.” Erina swooped up their tabby, Jasper, and sat on the sofa with him on her lap, stroking his soft fur. “Did Mama’s family lose their fortune?”
Her father peered at her over the top of the broadsheet. “What made you think your mother’s family was wealthy?”
“Didn’t Mama have a handsome dowry?”
“She did not.” Her father put down his paper and glared at her. “Do you believe that’s why I married her?”
“No, of course not.” Erina reddened.
“I loved your mother dearly.” His gaze softened.
“When we first danced at Almack’s, I knew there could never be another woman for me.
My father tried to prevent the match. Irish and very little dowry?
He was furious. It was expected of me to marry an heiress.
I dug my heels in and married your mother, anyway. And I never regretted it for a moment.”
Erina stared at him, suffering guilt for doubting him. “I didn’t know, Papa.”
“No, my dear. How could you? You were only a child when she died.” He puffed on his pipe, and the familiar spicy smell of tobacco spread through the room. “I supported her family for years. Profligates, most of them. I refuse to do it again.”
“But Cathleen is a very nice person. I’m sure you’d like her.”
“Perhaps I would. But I’m not going back to Ireland to meet her.”
“Mama was your choice. Why didn’t you allow me to choose my husband?”
His cheeks reddened. “I became concerned when you refused Lyndon Wainwright’s perfectly respectable offer last Season because you feared he would prevent you from living as you wished. I thought you would end up an old maid.”
She clamped her lips before she blurted out that Mr. Wainright was still tied to his mother’s apron strings. Lady Wainwright mollycoddled her son and gazed at Erina with a critical eye. She feared Lady Wainwright would have insisted Erina treat him in the same fashion.
“Mm. I wasn’t so enamored of Wainright myself, but I am confident you and Harold will rub along together very well.”
“Are you, Papa? What makes you so sure?”
“He’s a steady fellow with a good temperament, and”—he glanced at her—“while I wouldn’t call you flighty, for you have a good brain in your head, you do suffer from the delusion that a woman can live as freely as a man.
I’m afraid that is not so, my dear. I cannot see it ever being so.
I feared you would be hurt. If Harold weren’t such a gentleman, you well might have been.
” He raised an eyebrow. “Did you really believe traipsing off to Ireland with Harold would be a harmless frolic?”
“No, but I was so worried for Cathleen, I suppose I didn’t stop to think of the consequences. I expected her to come home with me, which would have made everything all right and proper.”
“It would not have, my girl! You were unchaperoned on the trip there.”
Erina chewed her bottom lip. “But I did try to show you her letter, Papa. I asked you to take me to Ireland, but you refused.”
“Well, it’s all in the past now. Your cousin has returned to her home. You should be pleased about that.”
“I am.” She gently tweaked Jasper’s ears and was rewarded with a loud purr. “But I wish I weren’t so nervous about marrying Mr. Feather.”
“It’s perfectly natural. Marriage is a big step. But I am confident you will be content, Erina.”
She wanted to confess her fears; how Harry hadn’t wanted her from the first, and while he considered her a friend and perhaps did like her a little, he didn’t love her.
Despite his warm assurances that their union was what he desired, she knew she wasn’t what he wanted in a wife.
He’d made it plain when they’d first met that he preferred a quiet girl like Miss Florence Beckworth.
Try as she might, she could never be like her.
But her father had returned to reading The Times. He wouldn’t understand.
She rose and put down Jasper, who mewed in protest. “I must go and see if the blue bedroom has been made ready for Aunt Abbie.”
Her father, busy refilling his pipe, murmured agreement as she left the room with the persistent rush of butterflies in her stomach.