Chapter Ten
Without a word spoken between them, he guided Miss Mason toward their awaiting carriage outside the church. As he reached for the door, her hand tightened upon his arm.
“My lord… would you mind awfully if we walked back? It is such a lovely day, and…”
He regarded her for a moment, considering the ordeal of a long walk filled with awkward silences against the merciful speed of a carriage ride.
“I, um,” she faltered, hurrying on before he could answer, “I’m afraid I do not think I am quite ready to face everyone just yet. I imagine we will be bombarded with questions, and I am not sure I can deflect them quite as effortlessly as you just did.”
Damn it. He could hardly bundle her up and throw her in the carriage like a parcel, even if his hands did itch to do so. Nor could he reasonably refuse such a request as many others were ambling back to the Hall on foot, so he simply held out his arm to lead the way.
Her returning shy smile instantly had him bracing.
“Umm, I was wondering, my lord?”
“Mm?”
“I was wondering,” she repeated, deliberately slow — making the muscles involuntarily tighten in his jaw — “if you would be so kind as to instruct me on a few elegant little setdowns, for my own use?”
“If I… I beg your pardon?” He half choked, then, to his own surprise, laughed. “Elegant little setdowns?”
Obviously delighted by his reaction, Sylvie beamed back at him. “Indeed! To be able to disarm such a barbed tongue so efficiently with only a smattering of carefully placed words. I have heard of your skill many times, but to be present, to hear for oneself, well, it was rather thrilling.”
Pulling them to a halt, he regarded her quizzically. “Thrilling?” he murmured.
Instantly blushing, Sylvie spluttered back, “Yes, I mean… well, if you do not wish to… um, but, thank you anyway.”
“Thank you?”
“Yes… for deflecting Cabbage-Leaf’s insinuations that we… we… well, you know.”
His eyebrow shot up even further. “Cabbage-Leaf?”
“Oh, pigs’ arse,” she muttered to herself, then clapped her hand over her mouth.
Caught entirely off guard, he barked a gruff laugh. “Cabbage leaf and pigs’ arse? Is this a particular dish to which you are fond, or do I detect a little hellion under this angelic facade?”
“Oh, my lord, forgive me,” she gasped, “I meant no offence, but… well… you see…”
“Mm?”
“Well, I… we… that is, Betsy and I… have been practising our cursing, and it seems I may have been practising a little too frequently for it just popped out.”
“Really? And why would you and this Betsy be practising your cursing?”
“Well, because, because,” she said frantically, “because of Theodore, Theo, my Pirate Captain. He is forever cursing, you see, and he must, you understand, to keep up his fearsome reputation. He cannot allow his crew to know his heart has softened since falling in love and…”
“Theodore?” His tone sharpened.
Sylvie flinched and blinked one too many times before she gasped, “Oh, no, no, my lord, he is…”
“Your loving Pirate?”
“Yes. No! He’s… in my novel. A character. The… the hero of the story.”
Angus rocked back on his heels, cursing his own stupidity. A pirate, for heaven’s sake! Where on god’s green earth would a girl like this have met a pirate? Was he already losing his senses? And now, god damn it, her eyes were shining with unshed tears again, and her hands were trembling.
“Oh, my lord, I am so sorry, I…”
He drew a deep breath. “No, I am sorry, I spoke… hastily.”
“No, no, it is my fault. Oh, my lord, I fear I am making such a blundering mess of things, and it’s all going horribly wrong. But if we are to be wed,” she rushed on, “I think there should at least be truth between us.”
His eyes narrowed. “Go on.”
“It is about my romance novels, my lord. You see, I do not wish to give them up, and as my husband, I would need your permission to continue. Of course, you may not wish me to do so. You may even wish to break from our engagement, now you know and… and… I would understand.”
“My permission?” he said dryly. “Miss Mason, I can promise you that I will never be a perfect husband, but an ogre I am not. You may read as many as you want. I will even buy you a dozen more if it pleases you. And a dozen more after that.”
“Oh, bother,” she mumbled to herself and, to his astonishment, stamped her little foot in frustration.
His brow lifted. “I’m sorry, did you wish me to refuse, so you can break with our agreement?”
“Good heavens, no!” she gasped, snapping her gaze to his momentarily before she shook her head. “Oh, dash it, you are making me terribly nervous. I did not think you would… being so kind and gallant… but you are, and I am muddling everything, and it is all coming out topsy-turvy.”
“I am making you nervous?”
“Well, of course, you are. You… you are Lord Westland. Standing there… tall and handsome and majestic… and… and I have to say a little bit intimidating if you must know.”
“Handsome?” he echoed before he could stop himself.
Blushing hotly, she lifted her chin in defiance. “Well, of course, you are handsome, my lord. Incredibly so if you must know. Why, a goodly portion of the girls go a little silly when even your name is mentioned.”
“Is that so?” His lips twitched. “And do you number amongst this portion of silly girls?”
“I… of course, I… oh!” she huffed. “Go silly, not are silly, and what I’m trying to tell you is — I write them!”
“I, I beg your pardon?”
“The stories. The romance novels. I do not only read them, my lord — I write them. I am an author, authoress.”
He stood a moment, shaking his head and cursing his luck.
All he had wanted this morning was a bit of solitude away from the hustle and bustle of the house so he could read the latest findings in the quarterly farming journal and take a quiet nap under a tree.
And now look! Now he had a future bride who was not only a pretty, innocent little thing but was brimming fit to burst with romantic notions of swashbuckling pirates and happily-ever-afters.
Gods! He nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of it.
Watching her clutch her hands, blue eyes wide with hope, searching his face for an answer, he finally succumbed.
“I see. Then it appears my quarterly account for paper and ink is to increase.”
Her relief burst out in a whoosh. “Truly? Oh, thank you, my lord. I understand most would look very unfavourably upon their wife earning a living, and of course, I can purchase the paper and ink myself. But I can assure you my identity is a secret. I write under a male nom de plume. Publishers are reluctant to print novels written by females, especially ones as young as I, which I find quite ridiculous since my audience is in fact female, but that is the way of it, I suppose.”
“You… you sell them? These stories?”
“Well, only one so far,” she admitted, “but I’m hoping… Would it alter your mind on the matter if I were to earn money from their sales?”
He studied her with mild astonishment. Clearly, she was passionate about this little hobby, and although the idea of his wife earning money was something he had never considered, mainly because the notion of actually having a wife had only been thrust upon him hours earlier, he could not see any real issue.
What harm would it cause if she made a little pin money from a few pamphlets?
And if it kept her occupied, then all the better.
He shrugged his shoulders. “No, I do not believe it does. And… your nom de plume?”
Relief lit her face, and she giggled. “Is a secret, my lord.”
“And if I insist.”
“Why ever would you?”
“I may wish to read your story.”
They had resumed walking, and she darted a sidelong glance at him, her mouth quirking impishly.
“I understand, my lord, you are a very well-educated gentleman and heard it said you spend many an hour devouring reference books on all manner of subjects, though I very much doubt such matter would stretch to romance.”
“Indeed? And what else have you heard about me, Miss Mason?”
Her gaze skittered away at once. “Well, umm… nothing really. Just the usual.”
“And the usual would be?”
“Oh, that you are an excellent horseman,” she said brightly.
“Mm, and?”
She glanced at the hedgerow, the trees, the clouds — anywhere but his face. Her voice rose a fraction too high. “And, umm… no, no, nothing else that comes to mind.”
“I see.” Comprehending too late that pressing her was making her uncomfortable, he softened his tone. “If it is rumours of my vile temper that concerns you, let me assure you — while I do indeed possess one when highly provoked — it will never be directed at you.”
Her gaze flew back to his, wide and sincere, and she gave a startled little laugh. “Vile temper? You?” she half giggled, “I’ve never heard such a thing, and even if I had, I would not be concerned by so silly a rumour.”
“Oh?” he asked, thoroughly puzzled. “Then what frightful thing is it you have heard that concerns you?”
“Gosh, it is not frightful, nor is it a concern… it is just…” she faltered.
Now even more determined to find out what tales she believed, he pressed a little more firmly. “I thought there was to be truth between us, Miss Mason, if we are to be married?”
Worrying her bottom lip as she contemplated his words for a moment, she finally gave a reluctant nod. He strained to hear the whispered words, her gaze still avoiding his. Taking her gently by the shoulders, he turned her to face him. “I am… what? Forgive me, I did not hear the last part.”
She whispered again, so faintly he would have missed it again had he not been studying her lips — and for the second time that day, Angus rocked back on his heels, stunned.
At that very same moment, a carriage rolled to a stop beside them, and a jolly voice called out, “Westland, old chap, care for a ride? It seems you are dawdling well behind the pack, and at the pace you are going, the festivities will long be over before you reach the Hall!”
Sylvie dared not look to Westland, fearing she could feel a thrum of displeasure radiating through his coat. Why had she said it? What madness had possessed her? And yet… was it truly such a bad thing?”
Without hesitation, his hand closed firmly over hers, tucking it back through his arm as he addressed the caller with perfect civility. “Captain McGarry, most kind. May I introduce Miss Mason?”
“Indeed, indeed,” the captain replied heartily. “We are already acquainted, are we not, Miss Mason? Always a pleasure, and as you know, I am well acquainted with your father, an excellent gentleman indeed.”
The two men chatted amiably on the journey back to the Hall, McGarry filling the air with genial chatter while Westland confined himself to nods and the occasional murmur of agreement. Between the newly betrothed, however, not another word was spoken.