Chapter Eight #2
Lord Moorfield’s eyes flamed, but he gestured for his wife to step out of the room, and he followed a few steps behind her. “Propriety hardly matters now, does it?” He muttered as he closed the door behind them.
Emilia wasn’t sure if she should be in awe of the man standing before her, or terrified of him. But the moment the sitting room door closed, the icy gaze that had been pointed at her guardians softened as the duke knelt in front of her chair.
“Are you alright?” He asked gently.
Emilia nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Are you certain?” He laid a hand on top of hers, and she felt the warmth from it spread all the way to her toes.
She forced a smile. “I understand your concern, considering my state last evening, but I assure you, I am usually not so delicate. I was simply overwhelmed.”
He nodded, but she could see the doubt in his eyes. “I understand. It was an overwhelming evening.”
The duke’s gaze lowered to the floor, and she felt a slight tremble run through the hand that still held hers so delicately. If Emilia had not just witnessed the way he so confidently challenged her uncle, she would have thought him to be nervous.
“Emilia, it has come to my attention that I may have overlooked something very important last night.” His voice was quiet, and Emilia’s stomach dropped to the floor. Surely he would not go back on his word now, not after everything he had said to her uncle.
“What is that, Your Grace?” She asked.
“There is a question I forgot to ask you.” He lifted his eyes back to hers, every line of his face softened with a tender vulnerability that nearly stole her breath.
“Will you honor me by becoming my wife?”
Emilia knew she did not truly have a choice, but something about being asked pulled at her heart. The duke looked at her as he waited for her answer, as if he needed to hear her say it as much as she had needed to hear him ask.
Emilia smiled, placing her other hand on top of the one that held hers.
“I will, Your Grace.”
∞∞∞
Nathaniel could still feel the weight of Emilia’s hand on his, even as he sat in Lord Moorfield’s study. The man had been delaying the process unnecessarily, and it was bothering Nathaniel that he couldn’t figure out why.
The situation surrounding the proposal was not ideal, but regardless of that, any man should be elated at the prospect of a young woman under his care marrying a duke—so why did Lord Moorfield seem as though he would rather give her to anyone else?
The man was reading over the marriage settlement Nathaniel’s solicitor had drafted that morning, his brow furrowed. It was not a very long contract, or very complicated. He was stalling, and after the scene that had played out in the sitting room, Nathaniel’s patience for the man had been spent.
“Are you having trouble with your eyes, Lord Moorfield?”
Lord Moorfield looked up with a start. “No, Your Grace,” he said with confusion.
“A headache then?”
“No, I feel perfectly fine,” the earl replied. “Why do you ask?”
“You have been staring at those articles for quite some time.” Nathaniel gestured towards the papers. “If you are having trouble comprehending them, I would be more than happy to explain them to you.”
Lord Moorfield took in a deep breath and swallowed hard before answering. “No trouble. I am just simply surprised.”
Nathaniel leaned back in his chair with a grin, crossing his arms across his chest. “I get the impression you are not fond of surprises.”
“I do prefer to be prepared.” Lord Moorfield set his attention back to the documents in his hand. “I was not prepared for Your Grace to arrive with a formal settlement already drawn.”
“I stopped at my solicitor’s chambers on the way here,” Nathaniel explained. “That is why I was late.”
Nathaniel had spent over an hour with Mr. Fawley as the solicitor reviewed the marriage settlement and filled him in on all he knew about Lord Moorfield and his ward.
Emilia’s mother, the earl’s sister, had died shortly after Emilia was born.
Her father, Lord Talbot of Wrenscroft Hall, succumbed to the same illness a few months later.
With no other living relations of age to claim her, and an estate so heavily indebted that it could offer little security for her future, she was raised by her uncle since infancy.
What Nathaniel could not understand was though Lord Moorfield had taken on all responsibility for her, he seemed unwilling to acknowledge her as his niece.
“You only want half of Emilia’s dowry? It is not a very large sum.” Lord Moorfield’s question interrupted Nathaniel’s thoughts.
“Truthfully, I do not want any of it,” Nathaniel replied. “But I did not wish to insult you.”
Irritation flashed in the earl’s eyes again, and Nathaniel had to suppress a smile. He should not have found enjoyment in goading the man, and typically he would not have, but something about the way he spoke of his niece made Nathaniel abandon all inclination toward civility.
“You also state here that it is to be set aside in a trust for her separate use?” Moorfield continued. “You decline to receive it at all?”
“I do,” Nathaniel replied.
“May I ask why?”
“I have no need for her money. Her portion will remain hers.”
Lord Moorfield scoffed. “There is no reason for a married woman to have an independent fortune. It seems an odd request.”
Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “It is not a request.”
He tapped a finger rhythmically on his arm.
Nathaniel was endeavoring to handle this situation with as much honor as possible, but the man was trying every reserve of patience he possessed.
Had he anticipated Lord Moorfield would prove to be so insufferable, he might have swept Emilia away the night before and married her at Gretna Green.
Nathaniel’s body went warm and his face flushed at the unexpected thought. Charlotte’s inclination toward extreme romanticism must have finally gone to his head.
“I see nothing wrong with the terms you have laid out, Your Grace.”
Nathaniel snapped to attention with a slight start.
Lord Moorfield continued, “My man can have a formal agreement drawn by the end of the day.”
Nathaniel cleared his throat. “If there is nothing wrong with this one, we might sign it now.”
Lord Moorfield raised a brow at Nathaniel, likely noticing the crack in his composure.
“I would like to have it looked over officially before we make it legally binding, Your Grace. I am sure you understand.” He leaned in across his desk.
“I must ask once more; are you sure you wish to marry Emilia? You do not know her well. She can be difficult.”
More heat rose in Nathanie’s chest, but this time in the form of anger. “So can I.”
His unwavering gaze locked with Lord Moorfields. “If you would like your solicitor to look over the settlement, I am more than happy to wait.”
“Do you not have more pressing matters to attend to, Your Grace?”
Nathaniel placed a perfectly polished boot on one knee as he settled deeper into his chair.
“No,” he replied. “I do not.”