'Honoria will cope, I'm sure.' She ignored the suggestion, heavy in his manner, that Honoria might be holding herself — and her staff — in readiness. 'So the ceremony, the wedding breakfast, and my gown are easy to arrange.'
He looked back to his horses. 'The invitations?'
'I'm sure your mama will already have given the matter some thought. She's hardly blind.'
'And your mother?'
'Likewise.' She glanced at him, but he didn't meet her eye. 'Four days is the minimum if we send the invitations by messenger.'
'Today's Thursday…' After a moment, he glanced at her. 'How about next Wednesday?'
She considered, then nodded. 'Yes — that will give us an extra day or two…' She paused, then looked at him. 'We'll have to make some announcement.' When he merely nodded, his gaze on the road, she inwardly grimaced and broached the one hurdle she could see. 'We'll have to be prepared, when we speak with my father, to explain the matter of your funds.'
The glance he threw her was so swift, she didn't catch it; his leader jibbed, and he had to pay attention to the reins.
She drew breath and forged on, 'If it was just my father, that would be easy enough, but there's also my cousins—
Devil and the others. They'll check, I'm sure, and they've all sorts of contacts… we'll need to be prepared to defend our case, even though I'm quite sure they'll all agree in the end. But if they do become difficult, there's no reason, within the family, that we can't make it plain that we've been intimate. It's hardly likely to shock them after all, but it will force them to see that we're in earnest and quite committed, and… well, you know what I mean.'
Luc didn't look her way; she could tell nothing from his profile, his expression was as impassive as ever. 'In birth, title, and estate, you're precisely the sort of gentleman they always wanted us — me and Amanda — to marry. The fact that your current funds are low is not significant, given the size of my dowry.'
She'd said all she dared, all she felt she must. Biting her lower lip, she considered his stony profile, then concluded, 'They may grumble at first, but as long as we make it perfectly plain we're determined to wed, they'll agree.'
His chest swelled as he drew in a breath. 'We said Wednesday.' He looked at her, his eyes narrow, his gaze hard. 'I want you to promise by all you hold holy that you will say nothing to anyone about our engagement until I give you leave.'
She stared at him. 'Why? I thought we agreed—'
'We have. That's definite.' He glanced at the road, then back at her. 'I want to put some arrangements of my own in place first.'
She blinked, but could understand… she nodded. 'Very well — but if we're set on Wednesday, then how long will it be before we're free to speak?'
He flicked the reins; the greys lengthened their stride. He glanced at the sky. 'Impossible to do anything tonight. It'll have to be tomorrow.' He glanced briefly at her. 'I'll do what I need to do, then I'll call on you tomorrow afternoon.'
'What time?'
His lips set. 'I don't know. If you go out, leave a message — I'll find you.'
She hesitated. 'All right.'
A minute passed, then he looked at her, met her gaze. 'Believe me, it's necessary.'
There was something in his eyes, some trace of awkwardness, a tinge of vulnerability, that made her reach out, lay her palm on his cheek, then stretch up and touch her lips to his.
He had to glance at his horses the instant their lips parted, but he caught hold of her hand, then, reassured as to the greys, raised it to his lips and placed a kiss in her palm. He curled her fingers as if to seal the kiss in; his fingers about hers, he held her fist for a moment, then released her.
'Tomorrow afternoon. Wherever you are, I'll find you.'
He should have told her. By all the tenets of acceptable behavior, he should have spoken, and explained he wasn't the pauper she thought him.
The next morning, as he descended the front steps of his house and set out for Upper Brook Street, Luc faced the unpalatable fact that the tenets of acceptable behavior did not extend to Amelia's reaction. Without a cast-iron guarantee that she would still agree to be his bride once she'd learned the truth, he wasn't about to offer it.
Indeed, after their sojourn at Hightham Hall, he was even more wary of rocking their rowboat at this point in time, of giving her any excuse to balk or back away from the altar. One afternoon and one night had altered his perspective; where before he'd
He was absolutely adamantly set against giving her any chance of escaping him. Of doing anything other than becoming his wife.
On Wednesday next.
After that, he'd have plenty of time in which to find the right moment to tell her the truth.
Assuming she ever truly needed to know.
That last phrase whispered through his brain; he thrust it aside, refused to dwell on it, knowing it for the coward's way out.
He wasn't a coward — he would tell her, one day. Once she loved him, she'd understand and forgive him; that's what love was all about, wasn't it? All he had to do was encourage it in her, and all eventually would be well.
Reaching the front steps of Number 12 Upper Brook Street, he glanced up at the door, then determinedly climbed to the porch and rang the bell.
He'd sent a message earlier; Lord Arthur Cynster, Amelia's father, was expecting him.
'Come in, my boy.' Arthur rose from the chair behind the desk in his library and held out his hand.
Going forward, Luc shook it. 'Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, sir.'
Arthur humphed. 'I'd be given short shrift if I hadn't.' Blue eyes twinkling, he waved Luc to a chair beside the desk. 'Sit down.' Resuming his seat, Arthur grinned. 'What can I do for you?'
Luc returned his smile easily. 'I've come to ask for Amelia's hand.'
That — getting out the words he'd never thought to say — was the easy part. Arthur beamed, and said the expected things; he'd known Luc from childhood and viewed him from a position similar to that of a distant uncle.
Amelia's wish to marry at Somersham Place the next Wednesday—'That's her choice, and I'm happy to indulge her' — had Arthur's brows rising, but he accepted his daughter's stubbornness without a blink.
They eventually got to the financial aspects.
Luc drew a folded letter from his pocket. 'I asked Robert Child for a declaration, in case you'd heard any rumors that the current position of the Calvertons had been adversely impacted by my father's activities.'
Arthur blinked, but accepted the document, opened it and read. His brows rose. 'Well, my word. No need to worry on that score.' Refolding the letter, he held it out to Luc. 'Not that I'd expected to.'
Luc reached for the letter; Arthur didn't immediately let go. Luc met his gaze — very blue, very worldly — over the document.
'I didn't imagine you had any financial worries, Luc. Why, then, this letter?'
Arthur released it and sat back, waiting, patient and paternal. It had been sometime since Luc had faced such an interview.
He knew better than to lie — wouldn't have done it anyway. 'I…' He blinked, then steeled himself. 'The fact is Amelia imagines I'm very much less wealthy than I am. In short, she thinks her dowry plays a part, indeed, is significant, in cementing our union.'
Arthur's brows had risen high. 'But that's clearly not so.'
There was a smile — a definite smile — flirting at the corner of his future father-in-law's lips; Luc felt the ground firm beneath his feet. 'Indeed. However, I don't, at this juncture, wish to… rattle her with that revelation.'
Leaning back, he gestured to the paper lying folded on his knee. 'She'll court no danger of penury by marrying
