Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

“ I am terribly sorry about the vase, and I hope you will allow me to replace it.”

Izzie watched Archibald, who was speaking to her mother, with dazed eyes. In retrospect, the thing that had shattered had been a gold and white porcelain vase that, up until a few minutes ago, had been adorning the console table running along the back of the sofa. It had apparently fallen victim to a flailing arm in the moment she found her ecstasy.

The sound of Messrs. Spode’s handiwork missing the Axminster carpet by several inches and breaking into pieces upon the hardwood floor had drawn not merely her mother but all her siblings, their spouses, and family friends, including the Duke of Trevissick, Samuel Branton, a barrister who worked closely with the Ladies’ Society and who was assisting with the search for whoever was trying to kill her, and Harrington’s particular friend, Peter Ferguson.

Izzie made a valiant and probably fruitless effort to compose her features and pretend that Archibald had not just shifted the earth upon its axis, that what had passed between them had been a routine proposal of marriage, and that nothing improper had taken place. She had been useless, unable to recover a scintilla of composure, ever since Archibald initiated her into the world of bliss. He had been the one to restore her garments to rights and sit her up on the sofa, all while calling out to her mother that he was “Coming” as she frantically banged on the door and shouted for someone to fetch the spare key.

In spite of Archibald’s best efforts, Lucy was giving her an arch look, a look that said I am expecting a full report , but that was different. Lucy was her twin. She had expected Lucy to be able to read her.

But the possibility that everyone could guess what they had been up to was slightly horrifying.

“Please,” her mother said, gesturing to the shards of porcelain scattered across the floor, “think nothing of it.” She turned to face Izzie. Like everyone else in the room, she seemed determined to ignore the considerable evidence that significant improprieties had taken place during Archibald’s ‘offer of marriage.’ “Have you accepted Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy’s proposal, Isabella?”

“I have,” Izzie said, her voice sounding dazed to her own ears. She cleared her throat, trying not to give the impression that she was swimming drunkenly through an ocean of pleasure. “I do believe that Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy and I will suit.”

“Hmmm…” Her mother narrowed her eyes, then turned to Archibald. “If you will excuse us for a moment, I would like to confer with my daughter.”

As her sisters flocked around Izzie, Archibald crossed to the far side of the room, where the men had gathered.

Izzie’s eldest brother, Edward, poured a round of drinks. “To my future brother-in-law,” he said, raising his glass.

A chorus of hear, hear s broke out.

Archibald could hear Izzie conversing with her mother across the room. “I know everything has happened very suddenly, but I am not displeased about the match. Quite the opposite.”

Beside him, Morsley said, “You’ll be good for Izzie. She wouldn’t do well with some high stickler.”

Her brother Harrington snorted. “Lord, is that the truth. If you were the type to throw a fit every time she bent one of society’s rules, you’d find yourself in a never-ending fit for the next fifty years.”

“Perfect,” Archibald said. “I’m scarcely aware of society’s rules. We’ll rub along splendidly.”

Across the room, he saw Izzie roll her eyes. “Yes, Mama. I know that I don’t have to marry him. It happens that I want to…”

“The challenge,” Harrington said, “will be getting Izzie safely inside your house. But I’ve got an idea how we can go about it.” He gestured to the circle of men. “I’ll need all of your help.”

“What do you have in mind?” Morsley asked.

While Harrington described his plan, the Duke of Trevissick sidled up to Archibald. Leaning in, he whispered, “I agree with your assessment that you and Lady Isabella will rub along splendidly. Indeed, it seems that you’re rubbing along splendidly already.”

Archibald gave him a disbelieving look.

Across the room, Izzie raised her voice. “I will not even consider marrying anyone other than Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy!”

The duke glanced Archibald up and down. “ Impressive ,” he stage-whispered.

“ Shut it ,” Archibald hissed.

Trevissick flicked his wrist toward the section of the room where a pair of maids were sweeping up the last few porcelain shards. “Don’t be so prickly,” he whispered. “I’m sure everyone observed that your proposal was rather explosive in nature.”

Archibald’s voice was tight. “I kissed her. Not that it’s any of your affair. But I am given to understand that sharing a kiss is considered to be acceptable after issuing a proposal of marriage.”

“Hmm.” The duke sounded baldly skeptical. “Where, exactly, did you kiss her?”

It was a good thing that Morsley was the one who happened to glance over just then. No one else in the room would’ve had a prayer of restraining Archibald as he lunged for the duke’s throat.

“Very well, then,” Lady Cheltenham said, rising from the sofa. “I suppose we will be having another wedding just as soon as it can be arranged.”

That was probably the only sentence that could have made him forget his plans to strangle the Duke of Trevissick. Pure, unadulterated joy washed over Archibald. He was going to marry Izzie.

He couldn’t believe it. Two days ago, he’d been unsure if she even knew his name.

Now, through some miracle, she was going to be his bride .

“Tomorrow,” Archibald said, not wanting to give her time to change her mind. “I will secure a special license this afternoon.”

Everyone murmured their agreement.

Samuel Branton stepped forward. “You’ll need a marriage contract. If you’ll tell me the basic points you want included, I can draw something up tonight.”

“I would appreciate that,” Archibald said.

Lady Morsley ushered Mr. Branton over to the writing desk in the corner and set him up with paper and quill. Archibald rubbed his chin. He didn’t really know much about how these things worked. His grandfather’s will called for Nettlethorpe Iron to go directly to him, skipping over his father.

In other words, Archibald would soon officially be one of the richest men in all of England.

“Let’s see, Izzie will need… pin money.” Archibald screwed up his face. How much pin money did one give one’s wife? He had no idea. “Would ten thousand a year suffice?”

“ No ,” Lord Thetford groaned in the same breath that his wife cried, “ Yes !”

Archibald glanced around the room. “Is that not enough? If it’s not enough, how about—”

“It’s more than enough,” Mr. Branton reassured him. “In fact, it is rather excessive.”

“You’re making the rest of us look extremely bad,” Thetford explained.

Across the room, Izzie was peering at him, confused. “Archibald, are… are you rich?”

He told her his annual income.

The duke scowled. “That’s more than I made last year!”

Archibald couldn’t help it. He smirked.

Lady Cheltenham massaged her brow. “Izzie, how is it possible you did not know that Mr. Nettlethorpe-Ogilvy is one of the wealthiest men in Europe?”

She shrugged a negligent shoulder. “I thought he was some sort of blacksmith.”

“Blacksmiths aren’t usually invited to balls, dear,” Lady Thetford noted.

Izzie tilted her head as if this was occurring to her for the first time. “Oh! I suppose that’s true.”

Her mother cast her eyes toward the elaborate plasterwork scrolls adorning the ceiling. “I have long suspected that you do not listen to a word I say. This confirms it.”

Although Lady Cheltenham was shaking her head in despair, Archibald felt a warm glow in the center of his chest.

He had always expected that some young lady would marry him for his money, in spite of despising everything else about him.

But Izzie wasn’t even aware that he had a fortune.

He didn’t pretend that she was marrying him because she liked him . But she did like the way he kissed her and the pleasure he’d given her a few moments ago.

That was a far cry better than being married for his money.

And, considering he would get to have the young lady he would have chosen above all others as his bride, the situation was more than satisfactory.

Morsley clamped one of his huge hands on Archibald’s shoulder. “Branton also drew up my marriage contract with Anne, so he’ll have a copy on file. Why not follow our provisions on pin money and what not? You know I will have been extremely generous as far as that is concerned.”

Archibald knew Morsley to be head over heels in love with his wife. “That’s a good suggestion.” He turned back to Mr. Branton and listed off a handful of properties and assets to be transferred into Izzie’s name should anything happen to him.

“… and Trelystan Castle,” he concluded.

“You own a castle ?” Izzie asked, looking adorably befuddled.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Three of them, actually.” He stroked his chin, considering. “Of the three, I think you would like Trelystan the best. It’s a Welsh castle, like the one in your book. It’s been fully restored and is quite comfortable, but it’s”—he waved a hand, searching for the right word— “atmospheric.” He ducked his chin, realizing that everyone was staring at him. Rubbing the back of his head, he added, “Perhaps, when it’s safe, we could go there for a bridal trip.”

This was the first time Archibald had seen Izzie rendered speechless. Mr. Branton scratched out a few final notes. “Perfect. I’ll have something finished by the end of the day.”

“Thank you.” Archibald crossed the room to stand before Izzie. She rose from the sofa, and he took her hand.

How he wished they were alone so he could kiss her. His house was only half a mile to the north, but it would be a dangerous business, moving her there. He knew her family would take every conceivable precaution.

But still, he didn’t like it, and he would not be able to relax until she was safely ensconced in his family’s fortress-like townhouse.

“I’d better go and get the special license,” he said. “What time should I expect you?”

“Half three,” Harrington called.

Archibald nodded. “Half three it is.” He pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “I’ll be waiting by the door.” He dropped his voice to a murmur. “Don’t worry. I would never let anything happen to you.”

“I know that,” she whispered.

“Until this afternoon, then.”

He pressed her hand one last time, then forced himself to leave.