Lord Dashwood Missed Out(15)
Her husband said, “Miss Browning, may I present your hostess. My wife, Her Grace, the Duchess of Halford.”
Miss Browning dropped in a deep curtsy. Pauline inclined her head in greeting, as it befit a woman of her wedded rank to do. She didn’t know if she would ever get used to this, but for Griff and her children’s sake, she tried.
“Miss Browning,” she said. “I’m so delighted to see you here.”
“I am delighted to be here.” She cast a look about their surroundings. “I wonder, is there some place where I might wash up? And a bite to eat would be most welcome. It’s been quite a journey.”
“Yes, of course.”
Colin and Charlotte escorted her guest to the Queen’s Ruby inn, and Lord Bramwell and Captain Thorne expressed their desire to retreat to the Bull and Blossom for a hearty breakfast.
Pauline and her husband were left alone.
“I’m so sorr—”
“About yesterd—”
They both spoke at once, and then they both laughed. Griff made a ladies-first motion.
“I’m so sorry about yesterday. That was hardly the welcome home you deserved. The sherry didn’t matter. I don’t want to be one of those nagging wives who demands a complete accounting of her husband’s every step.”
“It was my fault for being so forgetful. And secretive. But can you blame me?” He took a glance at the snow-capped church steeple. “It is nearly Christmas, Pauline.”
From his pocket, he withdrew a slender oval on a gold chain and pressed it into her hand.
“A locket?” She pried open the tiny clasp, and inside was a miniature. “Oh, it’s you.”
He made a self-effacing grimace. “I’ve been searching London for a decent portrait painter. This seemed the best way to get a sample of his work.”
Portraits. They weren’t something that Pauline had really thought to have. For girls who grew up in homes like hers, portraits were unimaginable luxuries. She made memories instead.
She looked up into her husband’s face, gazing on those strong, handsome features preserved in her memory and etched on her heart, down to each faint laugh line and whisker of shadow.
“I meant to surprise you at Christmas,” he said. “Mostly so we could arrange a proper portrait of the children. But I hoped perhaps you’d want this one, too. You know, so long as it was already made.” He sounded a touch uncertain. “I know it’s not perfect. We were pressed for time. My forehead can’t possibly be that big, and—”
“It’s wonderful.” She closed the locket and held it tight in her hand, until she felt its shape imprinted on her palm. “I love it.”
And I love you. Love you, love you. With all my heart.
“Good. Then I hope you’ll give me a present in return.”
“Oh?”
“I want you to sit for a portrait, too.”
She started to object. “But surely that’s not necessary. Unlike you and the children, I’m not in the noble line. And I’m not really a portrait sort of lady.”
“I don’t give a damn about posterity. This is me we’re discussing, and you know I’m entirely selfish. I want this for myself. The past three weeks have been a trial.” He touched her lips. “I miss you like hell when we’re apart.”
“I missed you, too.”
“And if you need any extra convincing, did I mention I found you some very fine sherry just off the ship from Spain?”
“You did? How on earth did you manage that?”
“Found a little country spot. Open late.”
With a slight smile, she relented. “Very well, then.”
“You’ll sit for a portrait?”
As if she could she deny him anything. “Yes.”
He rested his forehead to hers. “Good.”
She whispered coyly, “With clothing, or without?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Later that afternoon, cleaned up and freshly coiffed, Nora read aloud to an audience of dozens in the Two Sisters subscription library. Ladies, mostly. But the gentlemen who’d come to her aid that morning lined the wall, as well.
She could think of no more perfect occasion to refresh her memory of these words. If she could, she would sit down and write them all again.
“As the new day dawns, and my inkwell runs dry, I hereby make a vow. Not a vow to the man I once hoped to marry, but a promise to myself. From this morning forward, I will never shed another tear for him. There is no need. Because everything Lord Da—’ ” She cleared her throat, then began again. “Everything Lord Ashwood rejected when he so callously walked away—is mine to claim. Mine to use. My wit, my strength, and most of all—my heart. I will not put any of these on the shelf.’ ”
There was a moment of silence. Then polite applause rippled through the crowded subscription library.
The duchess moved forward. “Thank you so much for that reading, Miss Browning. We have sherry and teacakes for everyone, and Miss Browning has agreed to sign copies of her work. But first, are there any questions?”
“I have a question.” The male voice came from somewhere in the back row. Near the entrance.
Her pulse stuttered.
Dash.
He jostled into view. All six broad-shouldered, darkly handsome feet of him.
She averted her eyes before she could drink him in any further.
He repeated, “I have a question, Nora.”
“Just who the devil are you?” the duke asked.
“I’m George Travers, Lord Dashwood.”
With a little squeal of excitement, Charlotte Highwood lifted her copy of the pamphlet. “Do you he’s mean the Lord—”
“No,” Nora snapped. “Dashwood, not Ashwood. The pamphlet isn’t about him.”
Charlotte’s shoulders fell. “Well, that seems a great coincidence.”
“Precisely my thoughts on the matter,” Dash agreed.
Nora spoke through clenched teeth. “You have a great deal of nerve, coming here.”
The crowd bustled with excitement. Whispers chased from one set of lips to the next: It is him. It must be.
“I must speak with you,” he said.
“Why? So you can tell me more falsehoods?”
“No, I—”
“You lied to me,” she bit out. “About the road, the coach, the bridge. Everything.” She skewered him with a glare. “I’ll bet you weren’t even a virgin.”
The bustling of the crowd abruptly ceased. One could have heard a snowflake twirl to the floor.
Lord Payne tossed back a swallow of sherry. “I really must attend these things more often.”
Dash cleared his throat. “Yes, I lied. About a few things. Not everything. But I did pay off the coachman. Well, both coachmen. And the innkeeper in Canterbury.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’re the reason the first coach left without me.”
“Yes. And the bridge was never out, and the hitch was fine. You’re right. I lied. I’m sorry for the deceit, but I was desperate for time alone with you, and I knew you’d never agree. I needed to know if I had any chance.”
“Any chance at what?”
“At convincing you to marry me.”
Now every woman in the library gasped in shock.
Nora could only conclude their collective gasp had sucked all the air out of the room—because she could no longer breathe at all.
Dash threaded his way through the rows of chairs, came to stand before her, and went down on one knee.
“Stop,” she told him, finding her voice.
“No.”
“Go away.”
“Marry me.”
“Do get up,” she pleaded.
He gave her a teasing look. “Say yes first.”
“I won’t agree to this. I can’t.”
“You can, and you should. We’ll be perfectly not-perfect together. If we can just stop fighting ourselves long enough to be wed.”
“How can you say that? You mistreated me, abandoned me, used me, and deceived me.”
“I also carried you, kissed you, warmed you, and gave you pleasure.” In a devilish murmur, he added, “Twice.”
Her face heated. “You can’t even propose to me without being infuriating. What makes you think I’d even consider marrying you now?”
“Because you’re remarkable, Nora.” He reached for her hand and held it in both of his. “And every brave, brilliant accomplishment in your life began as something you did to spite me.”
The truth of his words sank into her bones. He was right. Beginning with their lessons as children, continuing with the pamphlet and her speaking career . . . not to mention, everything they’d done last night. Even riding away from the cottage this morning—on horseback, for the first time in years.
In every instance, she’d wanted to get the better of Dash. And she’d ended up making something better of herself.
“If that’s the case,” she said, “then I should continue to spite you.”
“And what better way to keep me within spiting distance, than to marry me and spend life at my side?”
Oh, he was impossible. Nora didn’t know what to say to that.
“This is what you wanted,” he said. “What you still want, in your heart. And it’s what I’ve wanted, too.”
Now that irked her. He’d gone too far with that claim.