She had. He proposed. She refused.
Now what? He continued toward the house, deciding just as he reached the stable yard, he would tell Sherbourne she was compromised. Her father wouldn’t allow her to refuse him. They would be married by tomorrow morning. He’d bed her by tomorrow night. By the time she was with child, hopefully sooner than later, he would be done with this insanity-inducing desire. He would keep his distance, except when they shared a bed, and he would not know her beyond that. He couldn’t allow it, for he was absolutely certain, just as Lucy believed, he would grow attached. Already, he liked Lady Jane. Rather a lot. His horrible words in the library had shocked her, but she couldn’t know he’d been equally shocked. It was unlike him to be cruel, but he’d been desperate to gain some distance, to kill her desire, for he’d been dangerously close to hauling her over to the sofa and taking her, right there, damn the consequences or the possibility of someone walking in on them. She’d have allowed it, not because she hoped to force his hand, but because she wanted it.
Incredible. She was simply incredible. And she would be his wife.
It would be difficult in the extreme not to become attached, even to fall in love with her. And then where would he be? If she died in childbed, as his own mother had, he might perhaps lose his mind, become a madman, like his poor, demented papa. He would lose all he’d gained, would further disgrace the family name, the ducal title. Hundreds of people would suffer, as they had when his father went mad, all because he lost the wife he loved so much, and subsequently, his handle on reality.
No matter what, he could not love Lady Jane. He would allow himself to enjoy their marriage bed, but out of it, in the light of day, he would stay far away from her. When she became pregnant, he would leave her at Eastchase Hall until she was delivered. He would return, see the babe, perhaps get her pregnant again, to ensure an heir in case the first succumbed to death in childhood, then leave again. If she died in childbed, he would feel terrible, of course, and he would mourn the passing of one so young and full of life. But he would not go mad.
He thought of Annabel and flinched. He had not loved her, but he’d felt a certain amount of affection for her, and her death had been a blight on his soul. In point of fact, he was not yet fully recovered. Thinking of Annabel brought on dull pain and a gloomy outlook.
He tried not to think of her and, as a general rule, was successful. Of late, he was able not to think of Annabel at all, unless he was in his cups. Regrettably, he’d been close last night. He’d made his way to the library and overindulged his brandy, feeling morose after a decidedly tedious evening of entertainment. He’d suffered through Lady Letitia’s recital, Miss Harriet Sutcliffe’s monologue of a scene from Hamlet, and a game of charades, the best performance, of course, by Lady Jane. He’d not joined in because it was beneath his dignity, electing to remain in the corner, conversing with Sherbourne about crop rotation and an interesting investment opportunity. Otherwise, he found the evening irksome, the culmination of almost two weeks of constant companionship with a group of people he’d ordinarily avoid at all costs.
Tomorrow would be an end to it. He’d thought to offer for Lady Letitia, but no more. He would have Lady Jane. Perhaps she was a hoyden, but she would make an adequate duchess. She was well acquainted with running Sherbourne’s household, and with the guidance of her aunt she’d not be hard pressed to provide entertainments in his home. She had a great amount of health and vitality. She would, no doubt, produce an heir without too much trouble.
Set upon his course, he’d only just stepped into the house through the garden door when Lucy rushed toward him and dragged him into the conservatory. “Blix, did you meet Lady Jane in the library last night?”
Gazing at his sister’s bright eyes, her flushed cheeks, he could see she was rather excited at the prospect. “It was accidental, but yes, I did see her in the library when all the house was asleep.”
“Oh, Blix, how marvelous!”
“Not precisely how I’d phrase it, Luce. How did you know?”
Her brows rose. “Mrs. Sutcliffe, of course. She’s a horrid woman, but I do adore her daughter, Harriet, so I had to suffer inviting her in order to have Harriet.”
Michael blessed the horrid Mrs. Sutcliffe. She’d inadvertently made all of this much easier for him. “Did she happen to mention why she was up and about at two in the morning?”
“Claims she suffered dyspepsia and couldn’t get an answer to her ring. She went to the kitchen for a bromide and on her return, saw Jane leaving the library. Directly afterward, you opened the door and looked after her, and Mrs. Sutcliffe reached her own conclusion.” Lucy’s eyes, if possible, became brighter. “Was she correct?”