Chapter 8

Isaac clenched his jaw as if he could keep the words he'd already uttered from spilling forth. What had he been thinking?

That they were cornered. That this busybody woman was going to tell everyone that Isaac had hit someone in defense of Miss Penrose. Not to mention what she thought she saw before that—a tête-à-tête.

It hadn't been any such thing. They were two friends bidding one another farewell. While thinking about kissing. Probably that had only been him. If Brimble hadn't interrupted them, what would Mrs. Lawler have seen?

It didn't matter. They were already betrothed. Isaac could have kissed Miss Penrose senseless, and nothing would be different. Except that Isaac might be in a better mood.

Isaac noted that Miss Penrose did not respond to Mrs. Lawler. What was she to say to the woman? The busybody had butted her nose into this situation as she'd one with Bane and Miss Barclay a year ago. She could have walked away from what she'd seen then and preserved Miss Barclay's reputation, and she could have done the same tonight.

However, it wasn't just her, he realized. Others had come from the hotel, and now there were at least ten people gawking at Brimble sprawled on the patio bricks. Isaac ought to help him up, but he could not bring himself to do so. The blackguard had put his hands on Miss Penrose and meant to cart her away under the falsehood that she was his betrothed.

Mrs. Lawler blinked several times as she looked from Isaac to Miss Penrose and then cast a pitying glance toward Brimble who'd managed to push himself up to a sitting position. "As pleased as I am for your betrothal, Lord Droxford, I thought I heard this gentleman say Miss Penrose was his intended."

"You misheard him," Miss Penrose replied hastily.

"But why would Lord Droxford have hit him if not because of a quarrel over you?" Mrs. Lawler asked, sounding genuinely curious, though there could be nothing genuine about her.

"It was a misunderstanding," Brimble grumbled as he got to his feet. "I offer my sincere congratulations to Miss Penrose and his lordship."

Isaac speared Mrs. Lawler with his most damning glower. "Since you've secured the latest on-dit, perhaps you can go inside and do what you do best."

"What is that?" Mrs. Lawler asked.

"Spread gossip," Isaac responded coldly.

Mrs. Lawler sucked in a quiet breath as she managed to appear completely offended. "That is not what I do best," she hissed.

"You may be right," Miss Penrose said, surprising Isaac with her interjection. "I do believe that would be spying." She turned briskly and grabbed Isaac's arm before marching away from the unpleasant scene.

"Where are we going?" he asked evenly.

She stopped on one of the garden paths. "I don't know. I just needed to get away from that horrid woman."

"I understand." Isaac wanted to get away from her too, but then he was having a hard time not leaving the garden entirely. He'd just changed the course of a young woman's life without her consent—again.

Releasing his arm, she turned to face him. "Is your hand all right?" She took the hand he'd used to hit Brimble between hers and held it between them, stroking the back with one of her thumbs.

Her touch was incredibly distracting, and his body was completely at odds with his head, which was telling him to put distance between himself and this woman. But why? If they were to be married, it wouldn't matter if they stood at twenty paces or if he took her in his arms.

"It's fine. Brimble's middle is rather soft."

She stared at him in silence for a bare moment, then giggled. Letting go of his hand, she brought one of hers to her mouth and fell quiet. "I'm sorry this happened," she mumbled behind her fingers. Eyes wide, she appeared quite apprehensive. "But we don't really have to get married."

"She will tell everyone we are betrothed," Isaac said, fighting to keep calm in the face of his life completely changing in ways he didn't want. Never mind her future being ripped out from under her.

"Yes, but interest will wane. You're leaving tomorrow, and I'll be departing for Cornwall in another ten days or so. People will forget this happened."

While Isaac appreciated her optimism, he didn't think she could be more wrong. "You assume the gossip won't spread outside Weston. What happened last year traveled all the way to London. I am not surprised Bane hasn't shown his face there—everyone is aware of what he did to Miss Barclay." And Isaac was not Bane. He would marry the woman he'd ruined or was perceived to have ruined. Or almost ruined.

This was an absolute calamity. He shouldn't marry her, regardless of what had happened. He was precisely the sort of man she didn't want, and now he had forced her into marriage.

"No one is going to care about a nobody from Cornwall," she said with a gentle shrug.

"Perhaps not, but they will most certainly comment on my behavior. While I am not heir to a dukedom as Bane is, I am a baron and I have built a not insubstantial place for myself in the House of Lords. My not marrying a woman to whom I was believed—publicly—to be betrothed would reflect poorly on me and could affect my work." He couldn't help scowling. This was a disaster.

Miss Penrose blanched, and he wished he'd thought to speak more gently. He schooled his features to stop scowling at least. "I hadn't thought of that," she said quietly, her features strained with tension. "I don't want anyone to think poorly of you."

"They won't, because I am not Bane. I will not allow your reputation to be damaged by what happened. I should not have behaved as I did." He'd nearly kissed her and then he'd resorted to violence to protect her. He'd practically screamed his interest in her, and now he would pay the price for his lack of self-control. Just as he had more than a decade earlier. "We will wed."

She stared at him. "I could just cry off in a fortnight or so. Then you can walk away free of blame. Your reputation will be fine."

"And yours will be ruined."

"Not in St. Austell it won't. No one will care. I can continue as I always have."

With no hope for marriage. But perhaps that had always been her plan. "It won't upset you to become a spinster?"

"I always considered that would be a possibility, if not a likelihood."

Isaac envisioned a future where she was alone. Would she still be as cheerful as she was now? Or would loneliness and despair overtake her as it had his father? "While your optimism is admirable, I think you are being shortsighted. This will affect you adversely, even where everyone knows you. You've seen what your friend, Miss Barclay, has gone through. Do you really want that for yourself? Please don't make me insist upon the marriage, but it must happen."

Deep furrows lined her brow. "I don't wish to be a burden. Do you even want to wed?"

He didn't want to answer that truthfully, for then she would know this was not his choice and she would continue to insist they needn't marry. Which led him to the obvious conclusion: she didn't want to marry him. "You are not a burden. While this may not be what either of us would have chosen, we must make the best of it."

"You don't have to," she whispered.

"Yes, I do. Let me do the right thing for you. Allow me to protect you from Mrs. Lawler's gossip. You deserve that."

She stared at him a long moment, and he had no idea what was going on behind her inscrutable gaze. "All right."

He took a deep breath and set his mind to what needed to happen next. Planning and execution were comforting activities as well as being the things he was best at. "I will depart for Wood End tomorrow and ready things for you there. I have some things to manage before I can come to St. Austell, but I will write to your father as well as to the rector to instruct him to read the banns. We will wed three weeks hence, probably closer to four weeks with the banns on three consecutive Sundays." He could purchase a license and wed her sooner, but he needed the time at Wood End. He also reasoned that reading the banns, then wedding in due course would make it appear as if this had been planned and wasn't a rush to avoid a scandal. "Is there a particular day you wish to have the ceremony?"

She blinked before answering, and he wondered what was going on in her mind. Probably as many things as were whirling in his. "The Tuesday after that third Sunday is acceptable."

"Then we are agreed."

"I suppose we are." Her expression was resigned.

Isaac pushed aside the horrid sensation that he was ruining another woman, albeit in a different way. With his thoughtless actions, he'd decided her future for her, and now she was stuck. If anyone was a burden, it was him. He'd ignored the warnings in his head and continued to put himself in her presence. Everything that had happened tonight was his fault. "Let's go inside and tell everyone, namely your grandmother."

He offered her his arm, and this time when she put her hand on his sleeve, he didn't feel a warmth or a desire to pull her closer. He tensed, knowing she likely felt as though she was marching to her doom.

* * *

Tamsin felt as if she were walking through wet sand. Up to her knees. That reminded her of the cockleshell, which she'd thrust into her pocket amidst the drama. Droxford giving her the shell now felt like another lifetime. She supposed it was—her life before she'd become betrothed.

She still couldn't quite believe this was happening, even while she understood why he'd done it. He'd leapt to Tamsin's aid, saving her from certain ruin—or so he believed.

He'd said this wasn't a choice either of them would have made, which made her think he didn't really want to marry her. But why would he? This had been a forced betrothal, a matter of propriety, a desperate attempt to save Tamsin's reputation. And, it seemed, his own. This wasn't the fairy-tale marriage she'd so recently become enamored with.

Tamsin didn't like the sense of uneasiness settling over her. This was dangerous territory where sadness lurked and threatened to drag her down.

It could be worse. She could be marrying Brimble. Droxford had asked her to let him protect her and told her she deserved that. His words had entranced her. He was doing this for her, to keep her safe from ruin.

A calming warmth pushed away her unease. This might not have been what they had chosen, but they would make the best of it, just as he'd said.

She glanced over at Droxford as they walked into the hotel. His expression was stoic, his attention fixed straight ahead. But he often looked like that, she reasoned. She mustn't read too much into his expression.

Tamsin scanned the parlor. "My grandmother is over near the hearth." She stood with Persephone and…was that Pandora? Her back was to them, but Tamsin was certain it was her.

Had Pandora seen Mrs. Lawler? Had she yet heard the news? Tamsin wished she'd told the harpy to keep their betrothal to herself for a while so that Tamsin could tell her grandmother first.

Grandmama saw them approach and immediately moved toward them. "Are you all right?" she asked, looking at Tamsin. It seemed she'd heard what had happened.

"I'm quite well," Tamsin said, not wanting to worry her grandmother. She also should have asked Droxford if they could pretend this was a happy occasion. Well, Tamsin would do that anyway, in part because she was determined to make it so. They were committed, so why not try to find the joy in it?

"I'm glad to hear it." Grandmama looked visibly relieved. "Mr. Brimble has left. He was clutching his middle." She transferred her attention to the baron. "Thank you for protecting my granddaughter."

Droxford said nothing, but inclined his head. His features were still impassive, his eyes stormy. He appeared every bit the brooding baron.

Persephone and Pandora moved to join them. Tamsin wanted to hug Pandora. This situation was likely summoning bad memories of Bane to the surface.

"I'm so sorry, Pandora," Tamsin said. "I hope you didn't have to see Mrs. Lawler."

"She kept her back to that vile woman," Persephone responded.

Pandora glanced toward her sister. "Only because you told me she was coming, for which I am grateful." She looked at Tamsin with deep sympathy. "I'm so sorry this happened to you."

Tamsin brought forth a smile. "It is not a tragedy. Lord Droxford has sprung to my defense, and now we will be married." No one said anything for a long moment, and Tamsin hated the discomfort. "Did you not hear me? This is a happy occasion!"

Grandmama gave Tamsin and Droxford an encouraging smile. "Indeed it is. My marriage to Tamsin's grandfather was arranged, and we were very happy together. I loved him deeply."

"We will wed in St. Austell," Droxford said, his tone clipped. "I'll be leaving for Wood End first thing tomorrow."

Tamsin had noted he was quite thorough in his mental preparations. "We will wed after the banns are read. I do hope everyone will come."

Grandmama patted Tamsin's arm. "You know I will. We'll leave for St. Austell in a few days."

"We'll all be there," Pandora said to Tamsin.

"Please excuse me, then," Droxford said.

Tamsin realized she was still clutching his arm and released him with alacrity. "I wish you safe travels."

He inclined his head. "I wish you the same." How formal they'd become.

Sliding her hand into her pocket, Tamsin stroked the cockleshell and yearned for the way they'd been before. Marriage would be much easier if they were at least friends, wouldn't it?

"You are a good man," Grandmama said to the baron. "I'm proud to welcome you as my grandson-in-law."

Droxford gave her a succinct nod. "Good evening to all of you." He bowed, then took his leave.

The next time she saw him, they would be wed. Or nearly so.

Just a week ago, she hadn't seriously considered marriage. She'd never had to. Then her father's letter had arrived, and she'd surprisingly warmed to the idea. How she'd hoped her father's chosen suitor was the groom she'd dreamed of! Alas, he hadn't been, and now she was betrothed to the man she'd come to know and like. A man who'd made her feel special, even as he told her he would not have chosen marriage. She realized suddenly that he'd never actually answered her question as to whether he wanted to wed.

She felt confident she knew the answer, and it was no.

"Do you want to leave?" Grandmama asked softly, drawing Tamsin from the tumble of thoughts running rampant through her mind.

"I think so, yes."

Persephone touched Tamsin's arm. "We'll call on you tomorrow."

"I would like that." Tamsin smiled at her friends—she didn't want them to worry either—and turned to go with her grandmother.

They were silent until they were settled in Tamsin's grandmother's coach. They sat together on the forward-facing seat. Grandmama didn't wait for the coach to move before she angled her upper body toward Tamsin.

"My sweet Tamsin, I can't tell if you're upset, because you are always so cheerful."

"I'm just surprised by the events of the evening. I didn't expect to meet my father's intended suitor, and I certainly didn't think I'd become betrothed." She laughed softly, but Grandmama was still watching her with a stern, concerned expression.

"You don't have to pretend to be happy with me," Grandmama said softly. "Though, you could do much worse than Lord Droxford. He strikes me as a man of integrity."

Tamsin would agree. She'd already decided he wasn't a rogue. "We were enjoying a lovely walk." She placed her hand over her pocket and felt the faint ridges of the cockleshell through her gown. "Then Mr. Brimble came outside and insisted I walk with him. He tried to grab me, and Droxford warned him not to, but he did it a second time, and that was when Droxford hit him in the belly."

"Good for Droxford. You see, I told you he was jealous."

"Do jealous men resort to violence?" Tamsin asked.

"They do if they think the woman that they care about is under attack. I believe he did." Grandmama's lips pursed. "And this is when Mrs. Loose-Lips interrupted?"

Tamsin giggled at her grandmother's nickname for the woman. "Yes."

Grandmama relaxed against the squab. "You're going to be the wife of a baron. How proud your grandfather would be. I do wonder what your father will say, particularly when he learns his choice of suitor was felled by your betrothed."

"Should we bother writing to him or just arrive in St. Austell to inform him of the news?" Tamsin asked.

"I expect Brimble will write to him immediately, so we should do the same."

"I'll do that when we get home."

Would he be angry? Disappointed? Tamsin wasn't sure, in large part because she didn't really know why he'd wanted her to wed in the first place. When she arrived at Penrose House, she would learn the truth of things.

Hopefully, her father would be happy for her. Though, Tamsin wasn't sure that happiness was an emotion she'd ever seen him feel. Perhaps this would be the thing that provoked it in him. Yes, that sounded right to Tamsin. He would be thrilled that his daughter was marrying—and a hardworking baron to boot. Indeed, she could see them having much in common, at least with regard to their work ethic.

Grandmama patted Tamsin's knee. "I hope Lord Droxford realizes how fortunate he is. Probably, since he seems to already hold affection for you, if his jealousy is any indication. By the time I visit you to plan his new garden, you'll be smitten as can be. Mark my words."

Tamsin wasn't sure she agreed, but it was certainly something to aspire to. In the meantime, she looked forward to getting to know the man who made her heart race, who swept her into his arms, who gave her cockleshells, and who told her she deserved to be protected. Could there be any greater hero than that?