Anne O'Brien – Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow (страница 20)

Sarah sat and simply looked at the two lists, one beside the other, measuring and discarding. It was the matter of her dependence—or lack of it—that was the thing, she decided. And the Countess of Wexford, of course. She would be foolish to deny that! She bared her teeth in a fair imitation of a snarl as she recalled the lady’s smug complacence when she placed her slender fingers on Joshua’s wrist, demanding all his attention, to the exclusion of all else. But perhaps there were ways around such obstacles if she really wished… A little smile curved her lips, a bubble of excitement erupted in her blood. She hugged herself. Perhaps after all… Then rose to her feet to consign both lists to the flames, watching as they disintegrated into ash.

Next day Mrs Russell duly requested an interview with Lord Faringdon and wasted no time.

‘I have thought of your proposal, my lord. I made a list.’

‘A list? I see.’ Or perhaps he didn’t. What an unexpectedly fascinating woman she was. ‘And your decision?’

‘I will accept. I will marry you if that is your wish.’

Lord Joshua tightened his muscles against the sudden and unexpected surge of satisfaction at her words. He had not, in all honesty, thought it a possible outcome.

‘But I would make a suggestion,’ his housekeeper continued before he could reply.

‘Ah…’ Now what on earth…?

‘I think we should consider a contract before we make our final decision.’

‘Well, if you wish it…’ He tried not to allow the puzzlement to appear on his face, in his voice. ‘Do you not trust me to deal with you fairly as my wife? Of course there will be a legal contract, a binding settlement to ensure the future of yourself and John.’

‘No—I did not mean that… I know that you will do everything that is right in way of a settlement. I meant something in the way of a more personal contract—what we expect from each other and from our marriage to each other—if you take my meaning,’ It was suddenly very difficult to explain. She looked at him with anxiety, praying for understanding.

Lord Faringdon experienced a sharp tug of amusement, but he would not dare to laugh while faced with this most serious lady. ‘If that is what you wish,’ he agreed, a little warily. ‘But why?’

‘You may not wish to marry me when you see what I would hope for.’

‘I see.’ Again he didn’t, but he would allow her to have her own way.

‘Then I will write a list of… of my terms—and you should do likewise—of what you wish from me as your wife.’ Colour rose to tint her cheeks deliciously, instantly captivating him.

‘And if our two lists are acceptable?’ His expression remained remarkably solemn. ‘Compatible?’

‘Then I will accept your kind offer, my lord.’

It was hardly a romantic basis for a marriage, but he inclined his head in stern agreement. He would not smile! ‘Thank you, Mrs Russell. And how long do you envisage for this writing of compatible lists?’

‘I would like a week in which to consider it, my lord. If that is to your liking.’

‘Very well. You shall have a week to decide on my fitness to be your husband.’

Ignoring this deliberate provocation, suspecting his amusement at her expense, Sarah immediately turned to go, the business completed, but he stopped her, his voice gentle yet still commanding. ‘Will you allow me to do one thing, madam? To seal our agreement?’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘I would like to kiss your fingers.’ Her lips, he decided, with some degree of disappointment, were clearly beyond bounds here.

‘Why…yes…if you wish it, sir.’

Never had he approached so reluctant a lady. But nothing deterred, he bowed with due and solemn courtesy before her and, when she placed her hand in his, he raised it to his lips in the most formal of gestures. Her skin was cool and soft beneath the warmth of his mouth. ‘You are very practical, Mrs Russell. It would not do to embark on a liaison that stood little chance of success. I shall pray for compatibility.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ He was laughing at her! Her brows twitched together in suspicion.

He really would have to stop her inclination to use such formality — but perhaps not yet. ‘Perhaps we shall deal well together, madam.’ He took the opportunity to capture her other hand, to kiss those fingers as well.

‘It would be my wish, my lord. I would not desire you to be dissatisfied with the results of your most generous offer.’ The colour deepened with her reply. If she had but realised, he thought, it was a very sad little comment on her experience of life. He found himself reluctant to release her hands after all.

But Sarah drew away. ‘If you will excuse me, sir, Beth will be waiting for me for her lesson.’

‘And what is it to be today?’ He tried to lighten the tension between them.

‘French, my lord.’

‘Of course. Then I should say “Merci et au revoir, Madame Russell”.’

At some time during the following week Lord Faringdon sat down at his desk with a sheet of blank paper before him. For some inexplicable female reason, Sarah Russell wanted a contract between them. He supposed that he must give it some thought before the eleventh hour. What on earth would she expect from him? She had said that they should write what they hoped for from the match.

Be practical! That was what she would expect. Mrs Russell was a very practical lady. With his black brows drawn into a forbidding line, his lordship selected a pen and without a heading to the sheet wrote for a minute in forceful black script.

To undertake and oversee the running of my houses in London, Richmond and Yorkshire. Also my rented property in Paris.

He looked at it. That was good. Then:

To care for and be a mother to my daughter Celestine.

Fine! He had spoken to her about these two issues after all.

Now what? He could think of nothing more and, in a similar frustrated fashion to that experienced by his beleaguered housekeeper, threw down the pen with disgust. It read like the dry and formal words of a lawyer rather than the tender desires of a prospective husband! Lord Faringdon poured a glass of port and sipped it, contemplating the blank space on the page, selecting and discarding ideas. To allay some of the scandal in my life by providing me with a new bride? A flippant comment, he decided, and an empty hope. Marriage would not necessarily still wagging tongues. So no point in adding it. To warm my bed at night? As his wife, she would, of course. He had no intention of entering into a marriage that was in name only. So why include it?

He looked at the sheet, an accusatory stare. A poor attempt, but he could do no better. He finished the port and abandoned the attempt with a sigh of relief. After all, he still had two more days before he must enter into negotiations with Mrs Russell. Perhaps he would think of something before then.

One week from their previous discussion they met as arranged, for Lord Faringdon at an unacceptably early hour in the morning. Mrs Russell presented herself in the library, all business, to discuss the matter of the proposed personal contract. He would not guess at the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath the discreetly high neck of her gown.

‘Well, Mrs Russell. Our contract.’ He glanced down at the sheet of paper tucked beneath the blotter on his desk, the content of which had given him so much difficulty. There was little to be seen to reflect all the mental effort. He had added nothing since his original attempt.

‘Yes, my lord.’ Sarah unfolded the sheet that she carried.

His lordship stared at it with horror. Even from a distance he could see that the single sheet was covered from top to bottom with her neat writing. And numbered points, no less, unless he was much mistaken. There must be at least eight or nine there! What on earth had the woman found to write about? He cast another surreptitious glance down at his own, hoping that it was out of sight of the lady who clearly required much from him. Two sentences only! His brain scrambled furiously as he grew aware of the silence that was beginning to stretch between them. Would she be insulted if he had only two requests or hopes from their proposed marriage? Of course she would!

When he raised his eyes again to the lady, who waited so patiently for his reply, he thought he detected a hint of uncertainty in her clear gaze. She would surely think that he was about to renege on his offer. He must put her mind at rest. So he coughed to hide the astonished amusement that had threatened to rob him of words and managed a smile.

‘Forgive me, Mrs Russell. I need another few hours—for so momentous an event, you understand. Perhaps you would take tea with me this afternoon—as a guest, of course—and we can discuss the issues.’

‘Very well. This afternoon, my lord. At three o’clock would be acceptable.’

She left the room, taking her list with her.

Lord Faringdon sat down at his desk and retrieved the paltry document from beneath the blotter. He picked up a pen and gave his mind to some serious thought! A desperate remedy was required—and quickly.

He allowed his mind to drift over what he knew of Mrs Russell. A quiet composed lady it would seem on first impression. Yet not so. Under the surface—who knew what tides and eddies surged? She was not unattractive, he acknowledged. If she would relax, smile a little more, and if she had time and money to consider her wardrobe and indulge herself a little, he believed that she would be more than passably pretty. Too often she was pale and strained. Life had not been kind to her.