Someone to Wed

“Respect?” he said. “Liking? A hope of affection? Those three weigh more heavily with me than fortune. I could probably limp along somehow at Brambledean with only my own resources and the hard work and innovative ideas of my steward. The farms would not thrive for a number of years, and the house would have to continue to fall into disrepair except for absolute necessities. But I could see to it that body and soul were held together for my workers and their families, and perhaps they would forgive me for a lack of real prosperity if they were to see that I was in it with them, living and working alongside them. I would not marry for fortune alone.”

“No,” she said, still gazing off into the distance, her chin held high, her hands clasped at her waist, “you always did say that. It is something I respect about you.”

He was gazing at her rather than at the view, at her right profile, proud, inscrutable, beautiful. But appealing? Attractive? Lady of mystery. Jessica had chosen the very best words to describe her, he thought. She was unknown and perhaps unknowable. It had bothered him back at Brambledean, and it made him uneasy now. But … he had glimpsed something tantalizingly fleeting behind the veil. Something … No, he could not find the word. But something that invited him to keep looking.

She turned her head toward him at last. “I wish you well with your courtship,” she said. “Shall we walk onward? I am grateful that you brought me here. I like it better than the more public area by the water. There is something very soothing about a woodland path.”

And there was something about her eyes. Sadness? Yearning? “Miss Heyden,” he said, “will you marry me?”

Her eyes stilled on his. “Oh,” she said, but if she had intended to say more she was prevented by the inopportune approach of other people—three of them, one man and two ladies, trying to walk abreast on a path that was narrow even for two. Miss Heyden turned sharply back to gaze out at the park.

“Riverdale,” the man said affably.

“Matthews.” Alexander nodded genially. “A lovely day for a stroll, is it not?” He smiled at the ladies. Fortunately he did not know any of them well enough to feel obliged to hold them in conversation. They continued on their way after agreeing that yes, indeed, it was a beautiful day.

Alexander offered his arm to Miss Heyden again and took her a few steps farther off the path among the trees. “I will not deny,” he said, “that your fortune would help serve my more pressing needs. You have seen Brambledean for yourself. But it is not your fortune alone that has prompted my offer. I beg you to believe me on that.”

“What has prompted you, then?” she asked without turning her head toward him. “Respect? Liking? A hope of affection? You cannot pretend to love me.”

“I will not pretend anything,” he said. “I try to be honest in all my dealings, but honesty with the woman I hope to marry is surely essential. No, I will not pretend to love you, Miss Heyden, if by love you mean the sort of grand passion that has produced some of our most memorable poetry and drama. But I believe I like you well enough to invite you to share my life. I would hope that liking would grow into affection. But respect is the strongest factor that has led me to speak today. I respect you as a businesswoman and as a person, though it is true I scarcely know you. I sense that you will be worth getting to know, however, and I hope you can feel the same about me. I hope you do not look at me and see only a mercenary man to whom things are more important than people. I beg your pardon. This is hardly the sort of speech a woman must hope to hear from the man who is proposing marriage to her. I have not dropped to one knee. I have not brought even one red rosebud with me.”

“No,” she said.

“No, it was not the sort of speech you hoped to hear?” he asked.

“No,” she said again. “I do not ask for roses or bended knee or the trappings of romance. They would be patently false and would arouse my distrust of everything else you have said. I know you would not marry me for my money alone. Liking and respect are perhaps a firm enough foundation upon which to base a marriage, and I both like and respect you. Thank you. I will tentatively agree to marry you.”

She was still gazing off into the distance, her eyes narrowed against the sunlight. He felt suddenly chilled. It was all very well to marry for practical reasons rather than for romantic ones. People did it all the time, and those marriages were often solid, even happy. He had resigned himself to the fact that he must do so too. But surely there ought to be more … warmth of feeling than this. He had just made her what was possibly the world’s worst ever proposal, and she had accepted, without looking at him and without conviction. Could he blame her?

“Tentatively?” he said.

“Your mother and your sister must give their unequivocal approval,” she said.

“It is I you would be marrying, Miss Heyden,” he said. “Our home would be Brambledean Court in Wiltshire. Theirs is Riddings Park in Kent. There is a goodly distance between the two.”

“You are a very close family, Lord Riverdale,” she said. “They love you dearly and want your happiness before all else. And you love them and do not wish to make them unhappy. Those are things not to be scoffed at.”

“You think they will disapprove, then?” he asked her. He expected that they would give their blessing, even if it came without any real joy. “Would your uncle and aunt disapprove if they were still alive? And would you refuse to marry me if they did?”

She thought about her answer. “I do not believe they would have disapproved,” she said.

“Even if they had known that I do not love you and you do not love me?” he asked her.

“They would see you as a good and honorable man,” she said. “They would want that for me. And they would trust my judgment even if they felt doubts.”

“Do you think my mother and Lizzie will not trust mine?” he asked.

“My aunt and uncle would have understood my motive as your family will understand yours,” she said. “They are very different motives, are they not? I want marriage, a husband and family, and you are a good choice, for you do have a sense of honor. I could feel confident that you would always treat me with courtesy and respect, that you would never abandon me or dishonor me. I could feel confident that you would be a good father to my children. You, on the other hand, want to be able to fulfill your obligations as Earl of Riverdale and master of Brambledean. You want a wife who can bring you sufficient funds to make that possible. And of course you want a wife who can bear you heirs. Our families would look from very different perspectives upon the prospect of our marrying.”

“Lizzie and my mother like you,” he said.

“Astonishingly, I believe they do,” she agreed. “But they may have reservations about my being your wife. I am not as other women are, Lord Riverdale—and I do not refer just to my birthmark. Were it not for my exposure to the glassworks, I would be a total recluse. I had a good upbringing and a good education, but all is theory and not practice with me. Just in the last couple of days, though I have mingled with no one except your mother and sister and cousin, I have seen and felt my differentness. I think of that young lady with whom you were walking here. Even in the brief glance I had of her, I was aware that in addition to her physical prettiness she was warm and charming and feminine and … vivacious.”