Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

M ary strolled through the garden arm in arm with Daniel, determined to enjoy their final days together. Their farce was almost over, for Louisa would arrive in a few days. Grass grew between the flagstones of the narrow path that ambled between an overgrown lavender hedge and rosebushes that spread their blooms in reckless expanse. This prolific, wild growth made it her favorite area of the castle grounds. She moved closer to Daniel, keeping her skirts out of reach of thorns, her hip brushing then pressing against him. He held her arm tight beneath his. The gentle swish of her skirts harmonized with humming bees and birdsong. With chivalrous Daniel beside her, and among gnarled branches heavy with blossoms, Mary began listening to the garden whisper romantic tales, and she believed the fairy tales.

Daniel stopped walking, and he faced her. “There is something I must ask you.” He rubbed his chin and would not meet her eye. “I am fond of you, Mary.” His words came in a rush. “For some time, I have thought of you as…a dear friend. Your company is pleasant. You are capable and clever. I hoped you…” He took a deep breath. “I have made our situation awkward, asking you to pretend an engagement, but I want to make it real. Would you consent to be my wife?”

Mary’s breath came as fast. She pulled her hand from his and stepped away. Over the past few days, even during their journey together, Daniel showed signs that he cared for her, but his actions were calculated to charm her into accepting a make-believe proposal so he could regain his inheritance. Weren’t they? While painfully aware of her own infatuation, she thought there was a chance, even a small one, that his regard for her changed. Even a sliver of affection would have been enough for her. Though nothing about this proposal indicated he loved her. Pleasant company, clever and capable. Those were not the words of a man to his lover. Perhaps she loved enough for them both.

The pleasure of his companionship was a surprising gift that she had not known she wanted. It was like being wrapped in a blanket without knowing she’d been cold. It was eating a spoonful of jam after years of swearing off sweets.

Mary recalled herself, turning her back to him and stepping away. She was not a pathetic young lady, desperate for marriage. She’d been married before, had her romance, had loved, and was loved in return. Two marriages were too much for one lady, and she did not need a husband. Lord Allen had provided well for her. Daniel should marry a girl like Louisa, someone young, who did not have an illicit pastime, or the habits borne of living alone too long. Refusal was the only solution.

She walked several feet away from him, gathering her thoughts. When she turned to face him, his eyes were trained on his feet, lips moving, arms gesticulating, as if he was practicing a speech. He looked up, their eyes locked, and he froze. His face was heavy with a yearning that stole her breath. He wanted her, and the knowledge struck like lightning, terrifying and magnificent. His gaze flicking from hers to the ground and back again. He strode purposefully toward her.

Mary had never seen Daniel agitated. Even when expressing concern about his father, he was rational and articulate. The bones in her legs softened as she absorbed his vulnerability. He placed himself in front of her, his eyes dark and serious, inscrutable. It was possible he loved her. His look reflected as much, but he did not say it.

She leaned against the garden wall. His jaw worked, and she waited for him to speak. When he did not, she said, “I do not know. Give me time.” She didn’t want to give him false hope. “I think not, but I will consider.”

He took her hands in his and pulled her close. Perhaps he had not understood what she said. Her eyes met his again, and the protest on her tongue vanished.

He moistened his lips. “I have given you little reason to agree to this marriage, but I am sincere in my proposal, Mary. This is no longer a farce.” His eyes fell to her lips, his head bent a fraction closer to hers.

Golden beams of sunlight shone in Mary’s periphery, lighting him like an angel. He held both of her hands to his chest, and beneath her palms, his heart raced.

The temptation was great. Too great. Mary wanted his kiss, needed to feel desirable. She quieted her excuses and inched toward him, tilted her chin upward, granting permission. With gentle care, his lips brushed Mary’s, and the lightness of his touch sent a thrill through her whole being. His breath caught and he pulled away, looking at her with unblinking eyes. He placed a hand on her hip, and with the other, he ran his thumb down her jaw, from her ear to her chin. The sweetness was more than she could bear. She melted into him, clinging to the collar of his jacket to steady herself. He slid his hand to the small of her back and drew her closer, his mouth finding hers again. Mary thought she might collapse. But no. This was a moment she wanted to live and remember. Her eyes were closed, but she opened them, to see and feel and experience this kiss with each of her senses. His lashes lay thick over high cheekbones, his brow creased in delightful fervor. She touched his cheek, his neck, and pulled him nearer still.

When they broke away, she pushed her hand against her chest and found her locket. She must refuse him but not yet.

Daniel rested his forehead against hers. “Please accept my proposal.” His voice was low and gruff, and Mary wanted to bathe in the sound of it.

Even if he did not love her, he seemed to like her. Was it enough that she loved him so completely? Her arms wrapped around his, and she heard his heart beating beneath his cravat. If they married, she would be central to his life, important to a person as she had not been since Lord Allen’s death. Still, doubts prevented her acquiescence. But his body felt so good against her own. Surely this comfort was worth anything.

With her chin resting on his chest, she looked up at him, needing to measure his feelings, wondering if she alone soared above the garden. He looked down at her, and the strength of his focus brought a trembling wave of heat to her stomach. Embraced in the security of his arms and in the depths of his eyes, the words slipped from her tongue as wax drips from a candle’s flame. “I will marry you.”

His arms wound around her waist, and he lifted her off the ground and spun.

“Stop that, little brother,” she said, laughing.

He set her down, sobered. “You must not call me that.”

“Are you uncomfortable with my age?” She had to know. Her insides closed, flinching even before hearing his response.

He looked skyward and groaned. “I beg you to stop this talk of your age. I am delighted with everything about you. But my feelings for you are not brotherly.”

That was something. He did not love her like a sister.

“Are you ready to return to the house?” he asked.

She was not. Her heart kicked, and every sparkling delight that burned inside her two minutes ago evaporated. She wiped her hands on her skirt. What had she agreed to? “To tell your parents?”

“We are already engaged, as far as my parents know. I hoped you would allow me to make the announcement to my sister.”

“When?” She felt dizzy.

“Right away? Tomorrow if possible.”

He smiled, warm and sincere. It lit his eyes, softened his face, and made her want to kiss him again. And again. But her breath came in short gasps, and doubt took hold of her heart and squeezed. The intoxicating pleasure of being desired hit against a hollow in her gut. Muddled with his nearness, her mind failed to recall what was missing. She acknowledged he may never love her as she loved him, but there was something else.

“Perhaps we should wait until Louisa arrives?” she asked. With Louisa, Agnes would come, and with her friend’s perspective, she would see it clearly.

He shifted his weight. “I would much rather tell them now.”

Why? What was so urgent?

“I fear I am not ready.” Her body cooled and thoughts sharpened. Writing. If she married, she would either have to stop writing or hide it from her husband, an option she loathed. Also, the idea that all that was hers would transfer to him did not sit well. This in itself did not preclude her from accepting, but she wanted to know what he would do with her property.

But marriage to Daniel! To awake in his arms each morning, stroll with him through the gardens, help with tenants, run the household together. She would read to him in the evenings, and he would play and sing for her. She wanted to be the center of his thoughtful care, as she had been during their travels, and to show him the same consideration. Marriage to Daniel would mean the companionship she had missed for twenty years.

But at what cost? From his perspective, their marriage would allot him this castle and surrounding lands as well as her estate in Ireland. And she would gain the company of a younger man who may never love her the way she wished. Was she merely an available woman to him? The most convenient path to his castle?

An aching swell pinched her throat. She swallowed and said, “In fact…I cannot accept your offer.”

W hat failed?

Daniel asked himself this question all afternoon and through dinner. Afterward, in the drawing room, as Mary disappeared through the door, quick to excuse herself, he questioned himself again. He was on the edge of victory. For those few moments, when he had her promise, all was within his grasp. She was his. The castle was his. Selfish though it may be, he was on the cusp of obtaining all he wished for.

His body still thrilled at her touch, though she was gone. His heart, liquid in his chest, pooled into disappointment. When he kissed her, his passion and adoration emerged with more clarity than he anticipated. And her response. His hands clenched the arms of the chair in which he sat, and everything in him screamed to follow her. She answered his affection. The proposal that stuttered off his tongue did not reflect his love, but the kiss told the truth that burned so hot and genuine, he could not articulate it. He was running out of time and had to try again.

But first, he must speak with his parents. The mass of bitterness he cultivated against them must be expelled before he would be free to explain his feelings to Mary. While their treatment of him was not fair, and he would never trust them, he believed they had done their best. Holding a grudge did no good to anyone. His resentment of Miss Jensen kept him from finding happiness in marriage, a joy the woman herself had presumably found while Daniel punished himself by insisting on loneliness. It was time to put his hurt aside.

At eleven o’clock in the night, Daniel’s father would wake to take medicine before going to sleep. At quarter to eleven, he slipped into his father’s room.

“Good evening,” he said to his mother, who sprawled at the edge of her husband’s bed, clasping his hand. “I wish to speak with you.” The words were stuck. He cleared his throat. “I… You are good parents. I want you to know that. And I am…sorry that I stayed away so long.” The words washed through him, cleansing him, lifting him.

His mother held her hand out, and he stepped forward to take hold of it. Her face softened as she squeezed his fingers.

His father was drawn and grey, though his eyes still held the same vivacity Daniel remembered from his childhood. If he could find as much joy as his father did, he would be a happy man. He wanted to tell this to his father, to thank him for taking the time to teach him. Most of all, for showing him how to love. In time, the words would come, and Daniel hoped to use them to build a new relationship.

He cleared his throat. “Some things are difficult to express.” He rubbed his jaw. “I’ve not been fair. While I do not regret my time at the bank, I apologize for my attitude. I nursed my resentment too long.” He pushed past the ache in his throat. “I remember everything. The fishing and hunting. Digging in the mud. You showed me the world, the sky. You loved me, my sister, and Mother. Thank you.” The expression was insufficient for Daniel’s depth of gratitude, and he wished to say more but couldn’t find the words. His father’s eyes closed, and a tear slipped down his cheek. His mother squeezed Daniel’s hand, and his father nodded.

He waited for his parents to take some of the blame, but they merely smiled at him, as if proud their son finally recognized his error. His heart twisted. A panicked rush of anger grasped him, trying to reclaim his resentment, reminding him of the many wrongs they’d done him. But he would not allow it to take hold. They loved him, in their way. They did their best. He would do his best.

“I will leave you. Sleep well.” He left the room content. Now, he had only to maintain his courage and speak to Mary.

Though it was past midnight when Daniel stood behind Mary’s closed door, a glow on the floor outside her room told him she was yet awake. He hesitated, unsure which version of Mary he would find when he walked in. If it were Proper Mary, he’d be dismissed before speaking. His stomach twisted. If he didn’t speak now, he may never have the pluck. He turned the knob and walked in.

Other than her scribbling hand, she did not stir. Covered in a pale blue dressing gown and a shawl, she sat hunched over her desk. Her hair must have been braided, but it had unraveled, framing her head in a fuzzy halo. She looked exquisite, though he could only see a bit of her profile.

Her quill paused. She dropped it, turned to look at him and gasped as she yanked the shawl from around her shoulders and covered her desk with it. What was she doing? He didn’t care. His chest ached, caging a slow and heavy heartbeat, and his hands grew hot. I love you. Please, don’t leave. I want you. Be my wife, and I will adore you forever.

He remained mute while Mary sat, wide-eyed and still, her arms around herself.

Move .

Before he could second-guess himself, he walked across the room and knelt beside her.

“Mary, look at me.”

She did, her eyes wide and her mouth straight, lovelier than ever, even in her disheveled state with ink smeared across her tired cheek.

“I had to speak with you.”

She sighed and wilted. What if, even after he told her how he felt, she would not have him? Could he bear the rejection?

His speechless pause drew on for too long. Mary raised her brows. “Well? What do you have to say?” She scrubbed at the ink stain on her finger, her hand trembling. Without encouragement, the task felt insurmountable. When he spoke to his parents, at least he knew he was saying something they wanted to hear. He had little indication of her feelings, but she had returned his kiss with as much passion as he felt. Combined with his desperation for her to know his heart, that memory became enough.

“I don’t express myself well, but I want to tell you that I do not, I mean, I did not, believe that after Miss Jensen, I could trust another woman with my heart. I wondered if marriage would be better without love, a rational relationship where feelings could not be hurt.”

Her eyes flitted to his face. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“My parents love one another so deeply that they sometimes make choices that seem imprudent to me. They indulge each other in impractical fancies.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought love was senseless…because I had never felt it.” His stomach grew heavy, but his heart urged him to finish. “I didn’t know what it was like to be willing to do anything for another person with little care for what I might get in return.” He paused, gathering courage. “I know it now.”

She looked at him then, and he held her eyes with his own insistent look. He cupped her cheek with aching restraint, testing her reaction. She didn’t move away. He leaned closer. “I am your servant,” he whispered.

Her lips parted, and her eyes became caressing, but he did not know if she accepted him, if she wanted his kiss as he craved hers. He would try. He moved a fraction closer, his eyes straying to her lips. She tilted her chin, and with a sigh, he closed the distance, capturing her mouth in exquisite release of his yearning.

“Yes,” she said over his lips.

He pulled her face closer, deepening the kiss as she opened to him, seeming to accept all the love he might give her. All he had was hers—all his past and future belonged to her. He would love and cherish and protect and keep her. He would meet her every whim. She sank to the floor beside him, wrapped her arms around his neck. He nearly expired from the sweetness of her embrace, from the passion he did not expect, but that came in every movement of her lips and every caress of her hands, at once gentle, then insistent.

Daniel pulled away and kissed the softness beneath her ear. He whispered, “Mary, whom I adore with my whole foolish heart, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Mary pulled her arms from around him, her face pale. Her eyes shifted, the tenderness of a moment before erased, and she transformed into Proper Mary. “What am I doing?” She scurried to the other side of the room. “Here you are, in my bedroom . And I…dressed in…most improper.” Her hands shook in front of her like she was flinging water from her fingers. She stopped in front of him. Then she snorted and began to laugh, covering her mouth, and dropping to floor next to him.

It was not proper, but he pulled her to him and cupped her face. “I am telling you that I love you.”