The Last-Minute Marriage

‘Are you afraid of me?’ he asked, his tone softening. ‘You know, fear’s no basis for a marriage.’

‘I’m not afraid of you. I don’t even know you. And that’s no basis for a marriage, either.’

‘No.’ He paused. ‘No, it’s not. And therein lies the problem.’

‘There’s a problem?’

‘There is.’

‘Well, then…’ She cast another uncertain glance at the curtains, as if unsure whether she should move on. But outside there was a group of mourners gathered, and the funeral director had moved back to wait respectfully by the door. He wouldn’t hurry a man of Marcus’s stature, but he was still anxious.

Hattie wasn’t behind the velvet curtain, Peta told herself. Hattie had gone.

Her future had probably gone as well. This man had offered her a solution which was as crazy as it was unworkable. What was he saying? That there was a problem?

‘Well, then.’ She did an almost visible regroup. ‘Well, then. There’s no need even to tell me what the problem is. This whole marriage idea was a crazy, unworkable plan. I need to catch a plane tomorrow and you, I’m sure, have work to do. Thank you for coming this morning. Thank you for your accommodation last night.’ Her voice faltered just a little. ‘I… I’m very grateful. I sort of needed someone.’

‘Anyone,’ he agreed, and she smiled.

‘You were a very nice anyone.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

‘Well, it’s not every day that a girl gets an offer of marriage from someone as neat as you.’ She looked over to the funeral director and gave him a reassuring smile. ‘It’s okay. We’re leaving.’ She put her hand out and shook Marcus’s, a firm shake of farewell. Moving on. Fast. Before she broke down. She didn’t know whether it was Hattie’s death or the fact that she was so far from home-or that she’d just allowed herself a glimmer of crazy hope with this mad marriage scheme…

She had to get out of there. Fast.

‘Goodbye,’ she muttered and turned away before he could see her face-but he wasn’t letting go. He held her hand and turned her back to face him. ‘No.’

‘No?’

‘It’s still on,’ he told her. ‘The marriage.’ He smiled, a funny lopsided smile that was amazingly endearing. ‘Ruby says I can marry you.’

‘Well, bully for Ruby.’ She paused. ‘Your assistant gave you permission to marry?’

‘No.’ Marcus cast an uncertain glance across at the undertaker. The man’s ears were practically flapping. ‘Um… Well, yes. Ruby does the busy work. She’s figured out the things we need. The formalities. As well as that, I asked her to run the will past a couple of my lawyers. It’d be a waste if we were to marry and not be able to overturn the will.’

‘A waste,’ she said blankly.

‘Well, it would.’ He held out a placating hand to the undertaker. ‘Five more minutes.’ Then back to Peta. ‘You see, the lawyers are of the opinion that if you married me and got on the plane tomorrow and I stayed here, then Charles could argue that the marriage was a farce.’

‘So what are you saying?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Are you saying we have to consummate the marriage?’

The undertaker gave a start. The little man choked, met Marcus’s eye and carefully backed out of the door. A little. Not out of earshot.

Marcus grinned. ‘No, we don’t have to consummate the marriage.’

‘Well, that’s a relief.’

‘I thought you might say that.’

She smiled. It was a weak sort of smile but it was a smile for all that. It was the first time she’d smiled that day and it felt okay. More. It felt good.

She was so grateful to this man, she realised. Even if his crazy plan didn’t come to fruition-as it surely couldn’t-his presence over these two days had lightened her load immeasurably.

He’d made her smile. He’d made her feel as if somebody cared.

She forced herself to focus on practicalities. Somehow.

‘So we don’t consummate the marriage. What do we do?’

‘Ruby says we need a honeymoon,’ he told her. ‘It seems, legally, we need to spend some time together if we’re to be seen as truly married. I’ve just finished stitching together a deal which has taken nearly three years to pull off. Ruby tells me I haven’t taken a holiday in ten years and I guess she’s right. She’s just read me the riot act and told me that if I don’t take some time off I’ll drop dead from overwork. Anyway…’ He gave a grin that was half amused, half embarrassed. ‘Anyway, if you’d like a honeymoon… If you’d like…I could come back to Australia with you for a couple of weeks.’

She stared at him. Stunned. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘I never kid.’

‘You want to come home with me?’

He grinned again. ‘There’s no need to say it like I’m a stray dog.’

‘I don’t want you.’

‘There’s gratitude.’

She tried taking a breath. It didn’t quite come off. ‘I’m sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘No. I’m not sorry. I don’t want a husband.’

‘That’s good, because I don’t want a wife.’ He shrugged, still smiling. ‘But Ruby says I offered and I ought to go through with it. I’ve never been to Australia.’

‘This is crazy. You can’t just take two weeks off-for a stranger.’

‘I can-for a holiday.’

‘You mean… You’d go off on a tour or something?’

‘Ruby says I’d need to stay at your farm.’

‘Do you want to stay at my farm?’

‘No.’

‘Then…’

‘But I’m prepared to.’

She shook her head. ‘Marcus, I don’t think I can cope with that level of obligation.’

‘I can understand that. But maybe-if you want the farm badly enough, you need to swallow your pride and accept my help. Accept that I can afford to give it and accept that I’ll ask nothing in return.’ He smiled. ‘Except a small glow of virtue which I promise I’ll keep under my smug little hat.’ He caught her hands and held them, and he looked down at her, his gaze strong and sure. Compelling. ‘Are you strong enough to accept this? Taking’s hard, Peta. I know that. But-maybe you have no choice.’

His smile faded. He might be as confused as she was but he didn’t seem to be showing it. His gaze said trust me. His gaze told her he knew the direction she should take; she just had to let him take the lead. Do what he said.

To let a stranger help her in such a way… It seemed crazy. Impossible. But his eyes said trust me. His eyes said let me take the lead.

And for Peta, who’d never had anyone take the lead in her life, the concept was suddenly almost overpoweringly appealing.

‘No strings?’

‘No strings.’

‘I’ll knit you a pair of socks for Christmas.’

‘That would be very nice,’ he told her and she choked.

‘You haven’t seen my knitting.’

‘But you’ll accept?’

‘I don’t have a choice,’ she said simply. ‘I’m very grateful. I hate that I need to be grateful, so I guess… You’re just going to have to get used to my socks!’

He ushered her next door to a coffee shop, he ordered pastries and coffee and she didn’t argue. She even ate something.