Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

M outh dry and head pounding, Harrison sat in his bed the next morning, certain that if he repeated his nightly endeavors of drinking to excess, it would eventually kill him. Each evening he started out certain that he was fine, determined to carry on as if his heart did not ache with loneliness, and each morning he wandered back into his Mayfair townhome with drunken regret for what was about to come. The headache and nausea were nothing a strong cup of tea and hardy breakfast could not handle, but the notion of his behavior was the thing that tormented him, and last night was not any different.

Except for one thing.

Folded on his nightstand was Lady Phoebe Kent’s list of demands.

She had once again found him wallowing in his desolation, and once again, her intriguing conversation and smokey voice had given him a small relief from the agony he put himself through. The woman was an enigma, her unapologetically bold way of talking odd but captivating, her ways of thinking even more so. She had made him laugh and smile, an unfamiliar notion these days, and in truth, he found it very easy to be in her presence. With her departure from the Halliwell library, she had not seemed to realize that she had left her list of demands with him, and even now, the sheet of paper called his name, begging him to look at it again.

Her notions of marriage, while entertaining, seemed absolutely ridiculous. Yes, marriage was a contract, but for things like money and family lineage, not beekeeping and child rearing. And yet, were those not the things that made up every marriage? Harrison frowned at his cup of tea.

In the end, the decision to lead a contented marital life resided between the individuals who exchanged vows, so did it not make sense that both parties were in agreement as to what that would look like? And in turn, would not marrying someone with a mutual understanding be a much simpler endeavor than the courtship dance she so obviously hated?

Harrison shook his head, his pounding mind racing with thoughts and questions, and in their center was a woman with gray eyes and a husky laugh. It was her fault he was thinking so heavily in the morning, her fault he was contemplating how a marriage like the one she proposed would work. And her fault that he could not shake the idea that perhaps Lady Phoebe Kent was onto something.

Throwing back the covers, Harrison stood, pausing to let his stomach settle at the sudden jolt. Snatching up the paper from his nightstand, he opened it and scanned its contents. No children, one ball, and the ability to do whatever hobby she wished. Nothing demanding love, nothing demanding gifts of adoration, not even a note requiring fidelity. It was nothing at all like he had hoped marriage would be. It was simple. Could it be that simple?

Pursing his lips, Harrison folded and unfolded the paper. A marriage such as this would bind him to a stranger for eternity, removing any chance he may have at love. But as of late, he had begun to wonder if a love such as the ones he had read about were even possible for him. With Lady Phoebe’s proposition, at least it would guarantee that he would never be alone, even if his wife was someone he barely knew. And given her lack of interest in emotional and physical requirements, there were parameters in place that would keep him safe. Stop him from forming any sort of connection other than their business arrangement.

Ringing for his valet, Harrison waited for the man to arrive, pacing his room with even steps as he read the contract over and over again, his mind calculating the possibility that a marriage like this could even be successful, while his heart screamed at him, certain of his folly, unwilling to give up the idea of a love match. When Roger, his valet, arrived, Harrison had talked himself into and out of his plan so many times he was not certain what to do.

“My lord?” Roger said.

Raising his gaze from the paper, Harrison looked at Roger. With a breath and a final glance at the contract, he nodded. “Right. Help me to dress.”

Roger raised a brow, but set to work setting out a pair of buckskin breeches, a freshly starched cravat, along with a shirt, waistcoat, and jacket. After two hours of meddling, followed by a hearty breakfast, Harrison stood before the mirror of his bedroom put back together, his sandy locks styled artfully and his face clean of stubble. While his head still pounded and his stomach rolled, those ailments had little to do with the decision he had come to.

Calling for his carriage, Harrison set his driver toward James Street where Thomas Kent, the Earl of Youngly resided. While the footman delivered his calling card, Harrison sat inside his carriage, his leg bouncing with nervous energy, and when the footman returned stating that Lady Phoebe and her mother would see him, his breath caught. What the devil was he doing? But the contract burned his chest where it resided in his coat pocket.

Answers. He was simply looking for answers.

Inside Lord Youngly’s drawing room, Lady Youngly and her daughter both stood to greet him, Lady Phoebe’s mouth forming a small circle before she glanced at her mother, her eyebrows raised.

“Lord Everly, it is such an honor to have you grace us this beautiful morning,” Lady Youngly said, her voice soft.

Lady Phoebe stood with her hands clasped before her, her mouth flat as she inspected him, as if ascertaining what his presence meant. Her blonde hair was pinned in a simple coiffeur, nothing at all like the tightly rolled styles that had become popular as of late, and she wore a modest yellow day dress that appeared to have been made of linen with not a ruffle or flounce in sight as it curved and caressed the lines of her body. She was even more beautiful in the sunlight, a smattering of freckles skipping along her cheeks and nose and her gray eyes lined with dark lashes.

“Lady Youngly,” he said with a bow. “Lady Phoebe. You both look stunning.”

Lady Youngly motioned to the yellow sofa where Lady Phoebe stood. “Please, sit. I’ve rung for some tea and cakes.”

“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” he said, taking the seat beside Lady Phoebe.

Harrison’s leg resumed its bouncing. “Did you attend the Halliwell ball last night, my lord?” Lady Youngly asked.

“I did. It was a lovely evening with very diverting conversation,” he said, with a quick glance at Lady Phoebe, who sat uncharacteristically silent, her gaze unmoving from the hands in her lap. Christ, how did one make small talk when they had such important questions to answer?

“It was a lovely evening,” she said, glancing at Lady Phoebe. “It is a shame we had to leave early.”

“I hope everything was all right?” he asked, avoiding glancing at Lady Phoebe again, certain the motion would give him away.

Lady Youngly smiled, her gaze taking in her daughter. “Oh yes, everything was fine. I simply became tired and unfortunately my daughter was forced to come home with me.”

“Ah, yes,” Harrison said, peaking at Lady Phoebe who looked at her hands as she linked and unlinked her fingers together.

A knock sounded before a maid entered the room pushing a tea cart. Once the dishes were set out and the tea poured, the maid hurried away, the click of the door closing piercing like a gavel.

Lady Youngly poured everyone tea before picking up her own cup and taking a sip. “What lovely weather we’re having,” she said.

Harrison’s teacup rattled in its saucer as he set it down on the table before him. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but would it be possible that I speak to Lady Phoebe alone?”

Lady Youngly paused, her teacup halfway to her opened mouth, frozen as if he had stunned her into silence.

“May we have fifteen minutes and then you can return?” Lady Phoebe asked, her voice quiet.

Lady Youngly nodded, a bright smile taking over as she set her teacup down on the table. “Of course. Why not make it twenty? No use in hurrying through this wonderful visit.” She glanced at Harrison. “My lord?”

Harrison nodded, hoping the smile on his lips was reassuring. When she left and only they remained in the room, Harrison turned to Lady Phoebe, removing her contract from his coat pocket.

Taking in the piece of paper before her, she asked, “What is that?”

“The contract. Your contract,” he said, the words pushed from his lips on a breath of air.

Lady Phoebe shook her head and stood. “Are you returning it to me or do you have something more nefarious in mind? You wouldn’t be attempting to blackmail me, my lord?”

“What?” Harrison said. “No. God, no. I wanted to ask you something.”

Lady Phoebe stared at him, her fingers opening and closing around each other. “Go on.”

“Is this truly all you want in a marriage?”

Lady Phoebe rolled her eyes. “I told you as much the night before. I’m not certain what the point of this is—”

“I’ll do it,” he said, standing from his seat. Lady Phoebe froze like prey before a lion as his words reverberated around the room. “I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.”

“Why on earth would do you do that?” she asked, her gaze focused on him.

“Because it’s just as you said. I’m looking for a wife and you’re looking for a husband. Your terms seem reasonable, I don’t dislike being in your company, and it would give us both what we’re looking for.”

Her wide eyes scanned the room, her hands fluttering in a panic. “I don’t want children, my lord.”

Harrison stepped forward. “That’s fine. I’m not too interested in having them myself.”

Her head swiveled to look at him. “You’re the earl. You’re supposed to carry on the line. You’re supposed to have children.”

He shook his head. “I have a cousin with three young boys of his own who I’m sure would be more than happy to take over the title,” he said, taking another step closer. “You were right, Lady Phoebe. This is our life and we should have a choice in the way it goes.” Taking one of her hands, he squeezed it gently, noting the faint tremor in her delicate fingers. The soft warmth of her pale skin was soothing beneath his touch and she emitted a soft gasp as his thumb swept over her knuckles. “If you’ve changed your mind, I understand.”

Lady Phoebe shook her head. “No.” She looked at their clasped hands, her brow furrowed in confusion. “No, I haven’t changed my mind,” she said, gently removing her hand from his.

“Then marry me?” he asked, the words more a plea than a question.

She bit her lip as she stared at the white carpet that covered the floor of the drawing room. “What are your conditions?”

Harrison smiled. “I’m glad you asked.” Removing a pencil from his coat pocket, he retook his seat at the yellow sofa and bent over the table, his pencil raised over her list. Looking at Lady Phoebe, who had not moved from her spot, Harrison motioned to the sofa on the other side of the table, and waited for her to take a seat. “I’m amendable to all of this. I would, however, like to add a few things for myself.”

“Go on,” she said.

“At the balls you do attend, you must dance both waltzes with me.” Lady Phoebe wrung her hands, her gaze focused on the contract. “Will that be a problem?” he asked.

“No,” she said, her focus never wavering. “Anything else?”

“Yes.” Harrison paused, uncertain of how to put the item into words. “Each night.” He cleared his throat. “That is, each night, you are to play a card game with me before we go to bed.” It was the one requirement he knew would make her pause. The one addendum that could change her whole mind on the contract, but he could not fathom another night alone with only his thoughts to entertain him.

Lady Phoebe looked at him then, her mouth open in protest. “Each night? And what of the nights that you’re out? Am I supposed to wait up for your return like a dutiful wife?”

One corner of his lips tugged into a smile and he looked at the paper to hide it. “I shall be home every night at a reasonable hour for our card game.”

“Do you plan for us to remain in London indefinitely?”

Harrison thought on her question. “If that is amendable to you? I feel more at ease in the city, but if you’d like, we can follow the ton and only remain during the season?”

“No, London is fine.” She took a deep breath, then looked at her hands once more. “And what about intimate matters?” she asked, her fingers opening and closing about each other.

“Oh. Well…”

“I ask because it seemed to be a pertinent part in our discussion last night.”

Harrison paused, allowing himself to focus on the notion of an intimate relationship with any woman who was not Meg. His throat tightened, and a pang coursed its way through the area where his heart supposedly resided. Given that he required a connection to have any interest in physical intimacy, it would appear that his future was one of celibacy, the same as Lady Phoebe. “Intimate matters will not be required.”

“Very well. And how are we to announce our marriage? Not a single soul has seen us interact, and in truth, I’m not sure I can do with a whole courtship fa?ade.”

Harrison frowned, mulling over the problem. “If I were to ask for your hand right this moment, do you think your father would be amiable?”

A corner of Lady Phoebe’s mouth rose in a smile. “Yes. I’ve had offers from the usual fortune hunters and social climbers, but I’ve always dissuaded him from accepting. If he knows that this marriage has my approval, I’m certain he’ll get down on his hands and knees and thank you profusely.”

With a nod, Harrison added his articles to the list, then signed his name at the bottom of the contract before standing and handing the pencil over to Lady Phoebe. Her penmanship was concise, tight and neat as she scrawled her name beside his and it did something odd to Harrison’s stomach. The rolling emptiness that resided there settled, as if given a soothing tonic. Yes, this was most certainly a good decision for both of them. A marriage of convenience that would give them each the life they wanted without the nonsensical requirements of society. It was brilliant, really, and Lady Phoebe, his future wife, had been the mechanism for the whole thing.

Once her signature was finished, Lady Phoebe set the pencil down beside the paper that had started it all, wiped her hand against her skirt, then stuck it out to him. “We have an agreement, Lord Everly,” she said.

Taking her hand in his, Harrison shook her hand, a sense of calm overtaking him. “Indeed, we do, Lady Phoebe. Indeed, we do.”