Laura stared. “James, you don’t need to pay me.”
He raised a brow. “You think a married woman shouldn’t have money of her own to manage?”
“No! Of course I don’t think that.”
“So your objection is that you won’t be capable of managing it. If you’d rather come to me for money each time you want to purchase something, I have no objection, though it is a bit of a bother.”
“Stop it! You know that’s not what I meant.”
“It’s eminently practical. It will make you independent. I trust you to use your money wisely, and it will provide you with ample funds while the estate is being settled. What is your objection?”
He paused for a reply. It was supremely irritating that Laura didn’t have one. All she could do was glare.
“Then that’s settled. Excellent. Here is a bit of pin money until your account is established.” He handed her a sheaf of bills that made her eyes widen.
“That’s a great deal of pins.”
His mouth twitched up on one side, but he said only, “Now, as for the rest of it: I obtained the special license and arranged with the vicar to marry us tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”
“And I suppose I am to have nothing to say about the matter?” She wasn’t sure why she felt so annoyed . . . and vaguely disappointed.
“Did you wish for a later time? Eight thirty? Nine o’clock? I thought you understood there is a need for haste.”
“Yes, of course, but . . .”
“I see no reason to tarry.” He glanced around dismissively. “If you wish to take some of these things, I’ll—”
“Yes, I wish to take some of these things,” Laura snapped. “However paltry they may seem to you, they are important to me.”
“Then naturally you can—”
Laura plowed on, determined to have her say. “But that is not the point, anyway.”
“Indeed? May I ask what is?”
“Your high-handed, dictatorial manner. Your assumption that the only thing that matters is what you want. I agreed to marry you, not to be your slave. I don’t intend to sit about with my hands folded and my mouth shut, meekly going along with whatever you say.”
“And here I was so sure you would.” His eyes glimmered in amusement.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me.” She balled her hands on her hips.
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
“Hah!”
“Are you going to hit me now?” He eyed her clenched fists. “I’ll need to brace myself . . . my condition, you see . . .”
“What?” She gaped at him, dropping her hands to her sides, temper suddenly gone. “How can you joke about that?”
“How can I not?” He gave her a wry smile. “Miss Hinsdale, please accept my abject apologies for having offended you.” He made an elegant bow. “I fear I am too accustomed to making decisions for myself alone. When, pray tell, will it be convenient for you to be married?”
“Stop.” Laura tried to glare, but her mouth rebelliously curled up at the corner. “Eight is fine, if the vicar doesn’t mind.”
“The vicar thinks the whole matter is splendid, especially the new pulpit in your father’s name.”
“James! You didn’t.”
“He seemed to have some reservations about my taking advantage of you in your bereaved state.”
“It’s none of his business. You needn’t let him push you into giving the church money.”
“You are accusing me of being too soft? Miss Hinsdale, I’m astonished.”
“Truthfully, so am I.”
“I didn’t want him plaguing you about it or looking like doom all through the ceremony. It’s scarcely the wedding young girls dream of as it is.”
“Well, I . . . thank you. For having Father’s name remembered.” Laura added, a little hesitantly, “I would like to take my father’s books and some of his other things with me. It’s rather a lot, I know, but I—”
“Take whatever you like. I’ll make arrangements to have it shipped. Except that piano. There’s a far better one at Grace Hill.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not a tyrant, you know,” he told her mildly. “Merely a bit high-handed.”
She chuckled. “I am glad to hear it.”
“Then . . . you intend to go on with it? You haven’t decided to cancel our agreement?”
“Of course,” she said, surprised. “I don’t go back on my word.”
He gave her a short, sharp nod. “Good. Then I shall see you tomorrow morning at the church.”