This wasn’t how she had always envisioned a proposal of marriage. It was not a sunny day. They were not surrounded by lush trees or blooming flowers. The man proposing to her was not on bended knee. They were not even facing each other. They stood like two lifeless statues facing the fireplace. No hands were clasped.
And, of course, he was not in love with her.
She turned to him. “It will be my honor to become your wife.”
He peered into her eyes with great intensity. Then he took her hands in his and bent to press his lips to them. “You’ve made me very happy.”
He squirmed a bit, and she looked down to see Lover Boy vigorously rubbing the length of his body against Lord Appleton’s leg. “Is my kitty bothering you?”
He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “No, not at all.”
That slight hesitation indicated her betrothed might not be speaking with complete honesty, but she credited him with doing his best to be tolerant of what mattered to her.
She thought to tease him. “Would you like to pick up Lover Boy for a kitty cuddle?”
He hesitated again. “I’d best not. My man would not be happy were I to return with orange cat hair over my coat.”
She nodded. “May I ask you a question, my lord?”
He did not respond for a moment. Did he fear she was going to ask how much he really liked cats? Or worse—did he fear she would ask if he was in love with her? “Of course, my love. Anything.”
She almost lost her breath when he referred to her as my love. She could not credit it. But she vowed to do everything in her power to make him fall in love with her—if it were possible to make one fall in love. “If you’re going to be my betrothed, I should wish to call you something less formal than Lord Appleton. What is your Christian name?”
His eyes flashed with mirth. “My given name’s Forrester Timothy Appleton, but my friends have always referred to me as Appleton. We are one of the few noble families, like the Spencers and Cowpers, whose title is the same as the family name. That said, members of my family have always referred to me as Timothy. You, my dear, may take your choice.”
“Would you mind awfully if I call you Forrester?” She liked the notion of having her own name for him, something no one else used. But certainly not a silly name like she’d give to one of her cats.
He kissed her hand once again and chuckled. “Not at all, love. Now, what shall I call you?”7
“My name’s Dorothea, but Papa has always called me. . .”
“Dot. I like it very much. It suits. May I call my future wife Dot?” His gaze dipped to skim her breasts. A tingle coiled through her. For the first time in her life, she felt like a woman. Now she was a woman standing before the man with whom she would become one.
Her heartbeat stampeded. My future wife. She felt as if she were a make-believe character in a happy-ending fantasy. “You may.”
“I know it would have been more proper of me to ask your father’s permission to court you, but I am not a patient man. I couldn’t wait another day.”
His flattery lifted her even higher than she already felt.
“Can you forgive me?” he asked.
“Of course. You did the right thing.”
“Shall I relay the intelligence to your father, or would you like to do so?”
“Allow me to lubricate the way for you. It’s essential that my father know this marriage is what I want, or he would never countenance the union. If you care to, you can return here tomorrow to speak to him.”
“Then I shall take my leave. I’ll call on your father in the morning.” He kissed her hand and left.
She wished he would have taken her in his arms and kissed her.
* * *
The drawing open of her silken draperies the following morning awakened Dot. She could tell by how high in the sky the sun was that she had slept late, owing to the fact she had been far too excited the night before to fall asleep.
“My, miss, but you’ve slept mighty late today,” Meg said.
Dot smiled at her maid. It was difficult not to smile at Meg, who was perpetually cheerful. The slender girl with a head of fiery hair was probably five years younger than Dot and, to Dot’s great surprise, was thrilled at the prospect of serving a fine lady as a maid. Dot could not imagine why anyone would desire a life of servitude, but she vowed to make such a life as pleasant as possible for those who served her.
“It’s because I didn’t fall asleep until dawn,” Dot confessed.
Meg’s green eyes brightened. “So you be thinkin’ about your young lord what you’ll be marrying?”
“Indeed I was.”
Still smiling, Meg nodded as she set a tray in front of her mistress and proceeded to pour hot chocolate into a porcelain cup. “I’ll be back in a bit to help ye dress, miss.”
Throughout the night, Dot had lain in her bed, enclosed within the bed curtains as the fire crackled in her hearth and rain pounded upon her casements, remembering every word that had passed between her and . . . Forrester. She sighed to herself each time she thought of her betrothed by that special name only she would use.
She thought, too, of the sweet words he’d said to her. My love. . . my dear. . . You’ve made me very happy. Not as happy as he’d made her.
And her father.
Papa had been ecstatic when she’d told
