Chapter Six #5
“I have… well, it is quite embarrassing to admit it, but I have women that follow me about,” he said seriously, although he wasn’t serious in the least. “Do you have any idea what a prize I would be to any woman? Not only am I a de Wolfe, but I have earned a reputation for myself as a warrior above men. I have some wealth, of course, but every father with an eligible daughter from Newcastle to Hastings is clamoring after me, demanding I wed their daughters. And what daughters! Fat, short, skinny, tall, in all varieties and shapes. The Earl of Dorcester, for instance, has two daughters and has demanded I pick one. The man has promised me half of Dorset if I do but in order to obtain such wealth, I have to choose between a woman with a mustache and her sister with no neck and a bald spot on her head. What am I to do?”
Isobeau forgot about baby-stealing nuns and was grinning at Atticus’ distress.
He was, in fact, pretending to be quite upset, but Isobeau sensed that he was mostly acting for her benefit.
It was quite humorous, actually, because she had no idea that the man had such a personality.
She had only seen him serious or angry, or both, so this comical side was unexpected.
It was also attractive. She clucked sadly.
“That is truly a shame, Sir Atticus,” she said with feigned concern. “I would think in such a case, you may want to take the woman with the mustache. She can always shave it off. Mayhap she would not be so bad if she did.”
Atticus rolled his eyes, leaning his head against Titus’ coffin in mock misery.
He hoped his brother was hearing him because they had shared many a laugh over the same subjects, mostly Titus teasing him about the women that really did follow him around.
With his striking dark looks and chiseled features, Atticus had more than his share of female admirers.
“Mayhap,” he said, his voice muffled because he was leaning against his arm. “She is not unattractive in a way. If only her eyes focused in the same direction, she would be nearly pleasant to look at.”
Isobeau put a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. “She is cross-eyed?”
“That is putting it kindly.”
Isobeau couldn’t help the laughter now. She put a hand on the coffin lid and leaned into it. “Titus?” she asked. “Do you hear your brother? He is attempting to coerce me into marriage with tales of cross-eyed maids!”
Atticus’ grin broke through and he put his mouth against the coffin lid.
“You will confirm whatever I tell her, do you hear?” he told his brother.
“Tell her it is true! Tell her of the daughter of the Lord Mayor of Manchester and how the woman sent me gifts for three solid months. Tell her how I had to hide when the woman and her father showed up at Alnwick seeking to negotiate a marriage contract. Tell her how Percy had to entertain them for the night and then he tried to beat me afterwards because they were both terrible creatures with terrible manners. He blamed me for them setting foot in his beloved Alnwick.”
Isobeau was giggling uncontrollably. “Lord Henry did not beat you.”
Atticus nodded firmly. “He most certainly tried,” he said. “He even threw a chicken bone at me. He was furious that I had brought those obnoxious people down upon him.”
Isobeau was laughing so much that she was struggling to catch her breath. “It was not your fault,” she said. “It was not as if you invited them.”
Atticus pointed a finger at her. “I did not,” he agreed, “but if you do not agree to marry me, I can only look forward to more of the same humiliation. Until and unless I have a wife, these ravenous females will never stop in their quest to acquire me as a prized husband. Therefore, my lady, I beg you… please consider my marriage proposal. It would make Titus happy and it would save me from a lifetime of shame.”
For the past several moments, Isobeau had been swept up in Atticus’ charm.
She had no idea the man possessed such charisma, for he was a gifted and animated storyteller when he put his mind to it.
If only this man, this charming and witty man, could be the man she saw from now on and not the bitter and nasty one.
It was enough to give her hope that perhaps they could settle into a comfortable relationship with pleasant conversation such as they were having now.
She was still torn, still indecisive, but that resistance was barely holding on.
Her gaze lingered on the top of the coffin, thinking of the man inside, knowing that she, indeed, wanted to make him happy. And Atticus had a pledge to fulfill.
With a sigh, one of resignation, she finally nodded her head.
“Very well,” she said. “If that is truly your wish, I will consent. I suppose you need someone to beat all of those women away from you.”
Atticus smiled, one of genuine joy. “You are most gracious, my lady,” he said. “But please know that your role in the marriage would be one of honor. I would never expect you to chase foolish women away. I would put you upon a pedestal whilst you watch me do it.”
It was a kind thing to say, as if he meant she simply wouldn’t be an excuse or a bit of baggage he happened to be tied to.
But along with her consent, Isobeau was coming to feel as if a part of her life unfulfilled were slipping away from her, something she wasn’t ready to let go.
She put her hand on the coffin lid again, realizing she was fighting off tears.
Visions of Titus and the last time she saw him alive filled her head.
“You do not need to put me on a pedestal,” she said softly, stroking the coffin lid.
“Sweet Jesus, this is all happening so quickly. The past few months of my life have been like a dream, so fast and fleeting. I married Titus and came to adore the man and just as quickly he was gone. Now I find myself pledged to you… Atticus, I do not want to forget Titus. I do not want to look back on this time of my life and think I only imagined it. Titus is worth remembering.”
The smile was gone from Atticus’ face. He, too, put his hand on the coffin lid, feeling the pangs of grief clutch at him. All humor aside, it was a horrible thing that had united them.