Marrying Christopher (41 page)

Safe passage— Is there such a thing?

“Grandson of a duke or not, no doubt you would have continued on in a life of poverty being married to Mr. Thatcher. He was a descendent through his mother, so the title and monies did not go to him.”

“He did not need a title or money.” Marsali had loved him as he was.
Just
as he was, and she felt certain he would have built a better life for himself here. The one he had dreamed of.
She felt suddenly tired and sorrowful. She leaned forward, handing the paper to Lady Cosgrove. “I fear I can read no more.”

“Very well.” Lady Cosgrove took up the paper, straightened her posture, and began where Marsali had left off.

“
It is assumed Mr. Thatcher returned that affection, for Captain Robert Gower (44) of Liverpool, married the two the morning of 25 September, just hours before lightning struck the mast of the Amanda May, setting the ship afire and sending all of her crew and two of her passengers to watery graves. The only survivors were Miss Abbott and Lady Cornelia Cosgrove—
” Lady Cosgrove cleared her voice suddenly, then mumbled something that began with “fifty.”

She skipped reading her age
, Marsali surmised. Lydia had informed her— as she’d informed everyone else on the ship— that her mother was fifty-one.

Lady Cosgrove cleared her throat once more. “I seem to have a tickle,” she said. “Be a dear and find someone to fetch me a glass of water, will you?”

“Of course.” Marsali stood and left the room, trying not to contain her growing resentment of Lady Cosgrove.
She treated Lydia much the same
, Marsali reminded herself— partly a pampered showpiece to put on display, and partly a servant at her beck and call.

But at least I am not in danger here. And I can leave next month.

She found a servant girl to fetch Lady Cosgrove’s drinks— water and something a bit stronger, Marsali knew intuitively by now— and returned to the sitting room.

In her absence Lady Cosgrove appeared to have recovered from her tickle and began reading aloud once more before Marsali had even taken her seat.

“
Lady Cosgrove’s daughter, Lydia, formerly betrothed to Mr. William Vancer (34) (Vancer Furs, Vancer Shipping) of New York, perished at sea. Upon learning of the disaster, he welcomed both Lady Cosgrove and Miss Abbott into his home indefinitely
.” Lady Cosgrove paused and removed a handkerchief from her sleeve, then used it to dab at the corners of her eyes.

“
Since then Miss Abbott and Mr. Vancer have been seen driving, and the three have hosted a dinner party with a few close friends. At that party, Miss Abbott was seated near the head of the table at Mr. Vancer’s right, indicating that the rumors are likely true— that she and Mr. Vancer are helping each other through their grief and may just be able to heal each other’s broken hearts. The real fairy tale might just be unfolding
.”

Marsali brought a hand to her forehead, partly covering one eye and wishing she might disappear altogether. “I did not realize the gossip column merited the second page. It seems this piece is more fictitious than newsworthy.”

“Do not be ungrateful, dear,” Lady Cosgrove snapped. “Mr. Vancer has rescued you as surely as Mr. Thatcher did— better, in fact. Look what he can give you.” Her hand swept the room. Marsali did not need to follow to note the luxurious drapes, furnishings, and artwork. She was well aware of the wealth of her surroundings.

“Note that there was no mention of your poverty or the indenture to Mr. Thomas,” Lady Cosgrove said. “Mr. Vancer made sure of that. No one will look down their noses at you here. You will have everything you’ve ever dreamed of, the life you were born to,” she added, causing Marsali a sting of guilt.

The maid appeared in the doorway, waiting there until Lady Cosgrove beckoned her in. When the tray of drinks had been set on the table in front of them and the maid had gone, Marsali was not at all surprised to see Lady Cosgrove pick up the glass that did not hold water.

The older woman scooted forward on the sofa and reached out, touching Marsali’s arm in an almost motherly way. “Dear, you must forget Mr. Thatcher,” she advised, her voice softer. “Think of efforts I will have wasted in bringing you here. Mr. Vancer is a fine man, and if you’ll only let him, he can give you everything.”

“I know,” Marsali said, her eyes downcast.
But what if I cannot give him anything— even a piece of my heart— in return?

“Lady Cosgrove showed me the article in the paper,” Marsali said, feeling that to be a good topic for conversation as any on her stroll with Mr. Vancer through his gardens.

“Brilliant piece, wasn’t it?” he asked, the smugness of his smile suggesting that he’d had much to do with it.

“Did you write it yourself?” Marsali asked.

He chuckled. “No, but I gave them the information needed and showed them its potential.”

“What potential?” she tilted her face up at him.

“For the love story of the decade,” he said, his lip curving upward as he looked down at her. He patted her hand as it rested lightly on the crook of his arm. “We are the matter of dreams. Women will swoon over such a story, and then they will recall the name Vancer when it comes time to purchase their furs.”

Marsali bristled.
Losing one’s fiancée and one’s husband is what others dream of?
“And if our dream does not go as the paper has so boldly predicted?” She did not see how it possibly could, based as it was on promoting business, as it suddenly seemed to be.

Mr. Vancer ceased walking, turned to Marsali, and took both of her hands in his. “Why should it not?”

She replied with a question of her own. “Why should you wish to marry
me
? Why, for that matter, did you wish to marry Lydia? No doubt you are one of the most sought-after bachelors in New York, or possibly even the entire States.”

“New York, yes. The States… perhaps, though there are some well-known Virginians still holding out as well.”

She frowned at his arrogance, and he laughed aloud as if he knew her thoughts.

“I am only jesting,” he assured her. “The truth is twofold. I have entertained a great many fine ladies with the idea that I might find one I wished to court. But none has ever held my attention for long.”

“Perhaps it is your attention that is lacking, rather than the ladies,” Marsali suggested, causing him to laugh again.

“That is what I love about you— your candor is refreshing. I shall never be allowed to be vain with you by my side.” He released her hands, offered her his arm once more, and they resumed their walk.

Marsali fretted even more. He’d spoken almost as if it was a foregone conclusion that they were a couple, that they
would
be together.

“Why did you suppose that Lydia— Miss Cosgrove,” Marsali amended, “would be any different than the other ladies? That she would be able to keep your attention?”

“I did not suppose that at all,” Mr. Vancer said, somewhat astonishing Marsali.

“Yet you intended to marry her? And what would happen when you no longer fancied her?” she demanded. “Would you—”

“No.” His tone sounded more pained than angry. “When I marry I shall be faithful to my wife. As I would hope she would be faithful to me.” He cast a glance a Marsali, causing her further guilt.

I am already unfaithful. I cannot stop thinking of Christopher or comparing the two.

“I agreed to marry Miss Cosgrove for two reasons. First, the Cosgroves are old friends. Our families have a history some generations back. When Lady Cosgrove wrote to me of her predicament, I do not believe she was hoping for an offer of marriage for her daughter.”

“Then why—”

“If honesty is your strength, impatience is surely your weakness,” Mr. Vancer said.

Marsali sighed, then found herself smiling. “You are right, of course,” she admitted. “My apologies.”

“Accepted.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Lady Cosgrove’s letter arrived at nearly the same time as another letter from England, this bequeathing to me an estate worth a great deal of money. However, to claim the inheritance, I had to be married.”

“So your act
was
more than charity,” Marsali said, understanding at last what had brought about such an unusual betrothal.

“I admit as much,” Mr. Vancer said. “Yet Miss Cosgrove— and her mother— stood to benefit from it as well.”

“But you did not know her. What if you did not suit each other?”

He shrugged. “That was always a possibility. I had not seen Miss Cosgrove since she was a girl, and all I remembered of her was that she had a head full of golden curls and chattered incessantly.”

Marsali smiled sadly. “She remained very much the same— extraordinarily beautiful and talkative.”

“Do
you
think we would have suited well?” Mr. Vancer asked.

Marsali looked up at him once more, as if studying his profile might help her to predict such a thing. “I do not know,” she said truthfully. “Miss Cosgrove was quite young and rather prone to emotion.”

“Just one year younger than yourself,” Mr. Vancer noted.

“Yes, but…”

“She had not lived through what you have,” he suggested.

“I suppose that might have been our difference,” Marsali said. “But she was a sweet girl, ever optimistic and enthusiastic, with a spirit of adventure. I believe you would have liked her quite well.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me.” They came to a bench in the garden, and he stopped before it, stepping aside and indicating that Marsali should sit. Somewhat reluctantly, she did, and he followed— seating himself too closely to her, as she had feared.

“I have felt somewhat guilty,” he explained, “that I am not mourning my intended, as you seem to be mourning your husband of only one day.”

“He was my husband for less than one day, but we had four weeks in which to become well acquainted. Had you been given the same, your feelings might be different.”

“I thank you for that as well,” Mr. Vancer said. “You are generous with your thoughts about others.”

Not really
, Marsali thought, assuming a great deal of guilt herself.

“But the fact remains that I intended to marry Miss Cosgrove for financial gain. And now that I find myself without a fiancée, time grows very short. If I am not wed by the year’s end, I will lose my great uncle’s inheritance.”

“Do you need it so badly?” Marsali asked. It had not occurred to her that he might live on borrowed wealth or that his business did not do as well as she had supposed.

“Need it? No. Do I want it? Yes, very much so. It will provide the capital to expand my current business, as well as to invest in others I have set my sights upon for some time. It is not about the money so much as the opportunity.”

“You are willing to risk a life of unhappiness for this opportunity?”

He did not answer immediately but appeared to be considering her question. “I had not looked at it in quite that light,” he said. “After all, I did not intend to marry Miss Cosgrove the very moment she stepped from the ship. Rather, I intended a period of time for us to become acquainted— as you and I are now,” he added, giving her a meaningful look. “But, one way or another, I intend to marry by December 31. I
must
,” he insisted. “And if I must, I find I should like it to be to you.”

His bold declaration left Marsali breathless and set her heart to racing. She had known his intentions from that first day at breakfast, yet to hear him declare them so openly frightened her. Not because he was unkind, for he wasn’t, but—
because it is not right. Something about this, about
us,
is not what it should be.
But to give voice to those words would sound ludicrous, for she could not explain her feeling any better than that.

“I know you do not love me,” he continued, causing Marsali to meet his gaze, her own sorrowful.

“No matter,” he reassured her. “You are young yet, and time enough has not passed for you to forget your feelings for Mr. Thatcher.”

“I am sorry,” Marsali said, and in that moment she was, and wished fervently that she might feel differently about him.

“Don’t be,” he said. “Your depth of emotion gives me hope, actually. That when—
if
— your affection does turn to me— and you must know that I hope it does— you will love me well, with your whole heart.”

Marsali swallowed with difficulty, growing more ill at ease by the moment.

“Many marriages begin loveless,” Mr. Vancer said. “Many are still arranged, and the couple has little say in the matter. But after they are married, that is when a friendship can be developed and affection formed. My own parents began as such and had a very happy life together.” He claimed her hand once more, caressing it lightly with his own, and awakening in her a yearning to be held, to be comforted.

But by him?