In addition to being young and fashionable and handsome, in addition to those knee-weakening blue eyes, the man was mad. And was she to pity him or take advantage of him? Abigail wondered.
She looked at him, at the object of every woman’s most secret and unrealistic dreams, and she took a mental look at herself. She was a woman who would be quite destitute in a few more days. She would not even have a roof over her head. She would be quite unable to find employment without a character from her last place of employment. And Vicar Grimes would doubtless scold and perhaps—if she was fortunate—send her to another Mrs. Gill. Or she could take to the streets.
Or she could marry the Earl of Severn.
He thought she would be just the type of woman who would suit him. Had he not just said that? What type was that? All the most dazzling beauties of the ton must be falling all over their dancing slippers to charm him.
She couldn’t. She really could not. He thought she would suit him, poor man. And how could she marry a man she knew nothing about except that he was very, very rich?
Oh, dear good Lord. He was very rich. She thought suddenly of Bea and Clara and of another unrealistic and impossible dream—but more painful than the one about handsome men because it involved real people. And she thought of Boris and his shattered dreams.
“I shall leave you for a while,” the earl said, “and send refreshments. I shall return in half an hour.” He made her a half-bow and turned to leave.
“No,” she said, stretching out a staying hand. For goodness’ sake, she would be in a state of nervous collapse after a half an hour alone. But she could not simply accept him, could she? Without telling him a few truths and watching him scramble to rescind his offer?
It was all absurd. Totally insane. She must get out of there as soon as possible, she decided, and hurry home to share a good laugh with Laura.
Home! She had no home, or would not have in four days’ time.
The earl was looking at her inquiringly from those compelling blue eyes. She wished it were possible to change his eyes, to make them more comfortable to deal with. Gray, brown, green, hazel—anything but blue. But blue they were, and they were looking at her.
“Ma’am?” he said.
“I accept,” she said quickly. But it would make as much sense to take a dueling pistol and shoot herself, she thought even as she spoke. How did she know that he did not have six mistresses and three dozen children hidden away cozily in various parts of London? How did she know he would not turn out to be a wife-beater? And how did he know that she would not turn out to be quite the opposite of what he wanted in a wife—as she would? And why was he in such pressing need of a wife anyway? “But you may be sorry, my lord.”
He smiled rather arctically, to reveal a dimple in his left cheek that had Abigail’s heart performing a complete somersault. It was not fair. It really was not.
“I think not,” he said. “I am happy with your decision, ma’am. I shall have the banns read at St. George’s on Sunday and we will be married one month from now. Will that suit you?”
Several dozen questions all crowded themselves into Abigail’s mind. She was going to wake up soon, she thought, and have a good giggle over the absurdity of her dream—and a good sigh over the handsomeness of its hero. In the meantime she felt rather unwilling to put a deliberate end to it, bizarre though it was.
“Yes, my lord,” she said quietly.
He frowned and stared at the floor between them for a few moments. “But Sunday is six days off,” he said. He looked up at her suddenly. “You are without a home, Miss Gardiner?”#p#分页标题#e#
“I have to leave Mr. Gill’s by the end of the week, my lord,” she said.
“Then I shall procure a special license,” he said curtly. “We will be married . . . two days from now. Can you be ready?”
Abigail could almost feel herself floating to the surface of sleep. But she clung tenaciously to the dream. This one was too good to be given up without a fight.
“Yes, my lord,” she said.
He crossed the room, passing close enough to her that she was aware of the fragrance of a musky cologne. He pulled on a bell rope beside the fireplace.
“Have my carriage sent around immediately, if you please, Watson,” he said when the butler appeared almost before he had released the rope.
For her? It would be very wonderful, Abigail thought. She would be walking into the wind on the way home.
“I shall have you conveyed to your employer’s,” he said. “I shall come for you there tomorrow morning, ma’am, if I may. You will need some bride clothes. The morning after, I shall take you away from there to stay. In the meantime you may inform Mr. Gill that if his hands stray close to you again, he will have the glove of the Earl of Severn slapped in his face shortly after.”