“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Of course! I should have considered. Please accept my apologies. There can be no objection here.”
As he finished his sentence, the carriage slowed to a stop. Nora glanced out of her window and saw that they were but a few hundred yards from the Guard’s House by Kensington Gardens. Here, the river which formed the Serpentine was surrounded by wide, open spaces. One or two small, empty rowboats bobbed up and down in the water, attached to a small dock beside a boating house. A clump of trees clustered near the bank, and a sandy path led down to a little beach. Logs and the occasional bench on which visitors to the park might sit, dotted the path, each sufficiently distanced. They were not in the main flow of Society, but this north side of the river was a public promenade. They would not be isolated. This was a pleasant prospect.
“This is a lovely spot,” she mused out loud, noticing there was no one about apart from a couple walking in the distance. Still, it was more public, at least, so it felt more proper. Nora hated that term and found Society’s use of it to be hypocritical, at least in her experience. Many of the unwanted children that found their places in orphanages—and worse—had been born on the wrong side of the blanket… a problem created by the proper aristocracy.
“Good!” Colin declared jovially.
The groom opened the door. “Will this be satisfactory, my lord?” he asked.
“Yes. Thank you, Gerard,” he replied to the coachman. “Give me a hand.” Colin nodded towards a small grassy knoll in front of them, and the two men quickly reassembled the cozy picnic spot of ten minutes past. Gerard drew the carriage on to the grass beside the road. He and the groom settled themselves on the box to await his master’s orders.
Driven by an uncomfortable growl in her stomach, Nora checked her hat and picked up her reticule, ready for luncheon and conversation. Not waiting for Colin to return for her, she descended from the conveyance and followed the men.
Colin held her hand and helped her sit down comfortably. Before her, a spread of meats, cheeses, bread, and grapes waited.
“Please, take a plate,” he offered.
Feeling pinched, she smiled and selected a plate, filling it with the delightful fare, hoping to eat before the embarrassing growl of her empty stomach became an amusement.
“I daresay we should discuss expectations of our engagement,” she began, hoping to quell the nervous fluttering in her belly that had added to her discomfiture.
“Things have become somewhat different from the way they were when we first discussed marriage,” he said crisply, handing her a glass of lemonade. Nodding towards her glass he added, “I had heard from the children that Mrs. Simpkins makes the best lemonade, so I thought it sporting to try it today.”
“How so?” she ventured cautiously, accepting the glass.
As if recognizing her feelings of alarm, he smiled warmly. “Have no fear, my dear. I told you before that I always honor my offers. I have not changed my mind. We will marry.” He tugged at his cravat, a sign that he might have felt some uneasiness. “However, I want more.”
“Please elaborate, sir,” she said, cringing inside and seeking refuge in sipping her lemonade. She gazed at the bottom of the glass as she drank. As she consumed more of the liquid, she discovered more and more clarity. She took the last sip and peeped down at the bottom of the glass. Now all is clear. It was an interesting analogy for her life.
It had been her belief that marriages of convenience favored only the men—once his duty done and the calves in the meadow, the bull is free to graze elsewhere. She would also be free to graze. Had she just used that vulgar comparison? A shudder shot through her as she realized she had. A marriage of convenience was not what she wanted. It was exactly what she did not want. She wanted love. She had grown up watching her parents support each other, love each other, grow old with each other. However, the lives of the children and this orphanage were now her priority. It would secure their future. Grandmama had offered security, but in turn, Uncle Wilford threatened it. Nora needed assurances and marriage to Lord Colin Shefford offered that.
“You must be thirsty,” he remarked, nodding to her glass. She blinked.
“Y-yes. I suppose I was,” she acknowledged, summoning a smile to turn up the corners of her mouth.
“I was as well.” He smirked, picked up the flask of lemonade and refilled their glasses. Nora watched his movements, entranced. His hands were spectacular. They were a comfortable size—hands which could fully enclose her own and keep hers warm. They were hands that could gently smooth away the hair from her face. She remembered his hands holding her, stroking her and pulling her closer.
Some sort of connection between the two of them had developed over the past few days, and she found it hard to disagree with a single thing. He had inserted himself into her life, changing everything familiar to her. She shook her head in disbelief. And now, she was engaged to him. Her life had turned upside-down, yet she was not unhappy, only puzzled. He was handsome, and despite her initial assessment of him, he was gallant and kind—and very handsome. That point, she decided, could not be accentuated enough.
“Nora.” A deep male voice penetrated her thoughts and Nora turned to her betrothed.
“Yes?” Her voice was tremulous. Nora realized she had become so immersed in her musings, she had forgotten what they were speaking about. Oh, yes, the marriage.
“I would like to see
