The Perfect Bride (19 page)

She nodded, sighed and finally smiled. Her smile was so tremulous he had the urge to weep. “I'm fine.”

He did not refute her, but she was hardly fine. Her scream had been bloodcurdling—again. He knew he had uncovered the truth when he had accused her of hiding a vast fragility beneath her exterior airs and manners. He stared at Blanche. He wished he could decipher the cause for such delicacy. He wished he knew what made her so vulnerable, and by that, he did not mean inexperienced.

“Why don't you take a dose of laudanum after you eat something?” He kept his tone carefully neutral.

She smiled again. “I think that might be a good idea.”

She knew he was afraid to leave her. Their gazes locked.

“It is a migraine,” she now said, softly. “I have no doubt.”

She had fainted, she had head pain, she was in tears, and she thought to reassure
him.
“Yes,” he lied smoothly. “I am sure it is just that.” He would send Fenwick to town to bring a doctor back. Tyrell was there, Tyrell could find the best physician, a specialist of some sort. But they didn't even know what kind of specialist she needed. Maybe, if there was any justice in the world, Linney was correct and she simply needed rest.

And he had to keep himself in check. She did not need his attentions now.
Damn it.

He stood, aware of so much disappointment—and how selfish it was. “Let me have a tray sent up. Please humor me and eat something before you rest.”

She touched his hand. “Sir Rex.” Her smile wavered. “Do not worry so. I am
fine.
”

He would not argue that point now.

“I feel terrible putting you out,” she added. “Meg can prepare a tray—”

“You are not putting me out. You could not put me out, not under any circumstance. In spite of my behavior, in spite of everything, you nursed me through my accident, perhaps even saving my life.” He realized his tone was brutally harsh. He tried to soften his expression, too. “Blanche. I owe you a great debt. Let me return it.”

She stared at him.

“Please,” he added, incapable of summoning a smile. “Let me take care of you now.”

She finally nodded. “Thank you.”

 

“H
OW DO
I
LOOK
?” Blanche asked the next morning.

“A body would never know you were ill yesterday,” Meg said, standing behind her as they stared into a mirror. “You are so beautiful, my lady.”

Blanche trembled. She was going to ask Sir Rex to consider marrying her.

It was almost noon. The dose of laudanum had been exactly what she needed—she had slept through the entire night without even moving once. And the moment she had awoken, she had thought of her host.

He was not only the kind of man who could manage her considerable fortune, he was kind and considerate, a rock of towering strength, and after yesterday, she was certain they could make a go of it. She had spent the entire morning bathing, dressing and doing her hair while trembling with anxiety and excitement. She was wearing a lavender gown with a lower-cut bodice—it was an elegant dress, suitable for any supper party in town. She had adorned it with amethysts and diamonds. A diamond clip even decorated her hair. Sir Rex was fond of her, he desired her, and she desperately wished for him to accept her proposal.

“I am so nervous,” Blanche whispered, but she kept thinking about how Sir Rex wished to blame himself for her illness yesterday—and how concerned he had been. Meg had told her he had spent the night in a chair in her room. Blanche had been thrilled at the thought. On the other hand, she tried to hold that emotion in check. He had specifically said he owed her. She did not want his acceptance of her suit as payment for any personal debt.

As if reading her thoughts, Meg said, “He will be a good husband, my lady. He is so caring of you!”

“He is, isn't he?” Blanche smiled, and as she did, her heart leaped for the hundredth time. She could not manage his rejection. She dared not think of it. She was so fond of him, all of him—in spite of his periodically dark humor. “I have decided to be blunt. In most matters, we suit. This will be a marriage of convenience and friendship, and what is wrong with that?” She thought about the two kisses they had shared. It might even be a marriage of passion, she thought, and she inhaled, as more moisture gathered in her eyes.

Blanche could barely believe she would suddenly cry at the drop of a hat. But she was wary now, as well, for her tears yesterday had brought that terrible head pain. And it had brought an image of that half beast, half man, and while she had no wish to recall it, unfortunately, the image was engraved on her mind.

Blanche hurried to the bed stand to take a sip of water, but no pain came. She breathed more deeply and when nothing foul occurred, she finally relaxed.

Meg patted her arm. “Be yourself, my lady. Tell him that you care.” She smiled.

Blanche had to smile back, her heart racing wildly again. “I will see how it goes. Wish me luck!” She hurried from the room and downstairs.

In the great room, she paused. The tower room door was open and she felt certain Sir Rex was there. She slowly approached, trying to marshal her arguments. He was a very rational man, so she intended to persuade him with logic. After all, such a union was meant to be beneficial to both parties.

He was seated at his desk, but he was staring at the open doorway as if aware of her approach. His gaze met hers when she paused on the threshold there. His eyes flickered and he looked at her hair, her entire gown, her bodice and then back at her face. He slowly rose to his foot and crutch. “Are you going back to town?” he asked.

She started. “No!”

Relief appeared on his face. “You are dressed for town.”

She flushed. “Am I? Meg insisted on the lilac, I cannot recall why.”

His gaze narrowed.

“Actually,” she swallowed, suddenly ill with nervous fear, “I was wondering if you had a few moments. There is a matter I was hoping to discuss with you.”

He straightened. “Of course. I take it you are feeling better?” His gaze roamed her face again slowly, feature by feature.

She closed the door and then came forward, aware that he had remarked the unusual action. His gaze appeared suspicious. “I had a very good night's sleep and I feel wonderful today. I even had an omelet for breakfast.”

He nodded, watching her closely, as if he sensed an assault was about to be launched. Blanche reminded herself that he was very perceptive and he now knew her well. She sat down in the chair facing his desk, fussing with her skirts, her heart thundering far too loudly. Maybe she should delay such a proposal, she thought. She hadn't expected to be so nervous.

He was staring oddly at her.

She realized she should have sat on the sofa.

But he sat down in his desk chair, the large desk between them. “You seem uneasy. I cannot imagine why. Is this a business matter?”

She smiled brightly. Marriage was usually a business arrangement. “Yes…for the most part.”

He leaned back.

She took a breath for courage.

“What is wrong?”

She smiled brightly again. “There is a matter I wish to discuss, but, I am not sure I can. I have never raised such a matter before.”

“I will help if I can,” he said swiftly. “You do wish to ask me for my help in a business matter?”

“Not quite,” she managed. “But in a way, yes.”

He seemed wary. “That clarifies matters.”

“Sir Rex.” She somehow smiled. “In a way, you were right about yesterday. There was some excessive strain, but it had nothing to do with our hack on the moors.”

He was entirely attentive now. His gaze did not flicker, once.

“And, really, I did not object to your advances—as you know.” She looked carefully at him.

“Then what possible strain arose yesterday after our ride?” he asked bluntly.

His eyes were as watchful as the lion's in her dream, she thought uneasily. “I have been thinking about my future,” she said on a long breath. “I have been giving it a great amount of thought and even internal debate.”

He sat up sharply.

“I was thinking about it yesterday after we returned from our hack. My fears about my future did cause strain, Sir Rex. I believe that is why I fainted, or at least, that is partially why.”

He stared during a long pause. “Where are you leading?”

She wet her lips. His gaze moved there. “I am not going to consider any of my current suitors for my hand.”

He was silent.

He wasn't making this easy, she thought. “I mean, that was your advice when I first came to Land's End, and it had seemed correct to me, even then.”

“Are you hedging?” His tone remained blunt.

She inhaled and nodded. She was about to blurt out that she was so fearful of what she must ask! Instead, she trembled, sought composure, and said softly, “Sir Rex, it seems clear to me that we have developed an unusual friendship in the past week, even though we have known one another for years.”

Confusion flitted through his eyes. But he remained watchful. “Yes, I agree.”

“I am aware that you hold me in some esteem, and I also hold in you in the same regard, but I have said so already.”

He began shaking his head. “What are you trying to say?”

“We have gotten to know one another as never before,” she managed. “And there are wonderful qualities to your character…. You are clever, astute, industrious, honest and resourceful!” she cried.

His eyes widened.

“I have been impressed with your management of this estate.”

His surprised expression intensified.

She saw that he had no clue as to where she was leading. “I am aware of our differences, of course, but after carefully considering the subject, I was wondering…” She stopped. She wanted to marry Sir Rex. She had not a single doubt. She did not know if she could fashion a proper proposal. She was foundering when she should be persuasive and firm.

“What subject?” he demanded. “Because I am lost.”

“The subject of marriage.”

His eyes widened impossibly.

“I thought we might suit,” she gasped. “And I was wondering if you would consider a marriage proposal from me!”

His brows jerked upward. He was clearly shocked. He stood, incredulous.

Oh, God, she thought, ill to her stomach. Is he horrified, too, or just stunned?

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Blanche slowly stood. “I see you are somewhat surprised—”

“Are you suggesting a marriage between
us?
”

“Yes,” she whispered, aware of becoming crimson. He seemed to think it a terrible idea!

“You and me.” But his harsh tone was somehow a question.

“Yes.” She swallowed, dismayed by his reaction, aware she must either rush to save the day or flee. “You need a wife and I need a husband. You need a fortune and I need someone with the strength and integrity of character to manage my fortune. Clearly, such a marriage, one of convenience and economy, with the additional value of friendship, would be mutually beneficial!” she cried.

“A marriage of convenience and economy,” he echoed, in disbelief.

“We do seem to have conjoining needs,” she tried.

“We do?” A dark shadow fell over his face. “If I wished to marry a fortune, I would have done so long ago.”

For one moment she stared, incredulous and dismayed. Then she reeled. “You are refusing me?”

“Have you even thought about this?” he retorted, seeming angry now.

“Of course I have,” she responded, shaking. He was displeased, he was angry, he was
refusing
her.

“I prefer the country, and you, town. You are a great hostess, I admit I am a complete recluse. Am I supposed to move to town? How long will I last at your supper table, at the head reserved for the host of the affair?”

She had not thought about supper parties, but she had certainly thought about this particular problem. “Many couples lead separate lives,” she tried, aware of moisture filling her eyes. They were arguing about her proposal.

“Separate lives,” he echoed. Disbelief widened his eyes. “I see—I will manage your fortune. You will live in town, I will live here.”

She stiffened. “I have made a horrible mistake.” She turned to go, stumbling, tears blinding her.

She heard his crutch thumping. She stumbled to the door but he barred her way when she got there. “Blanche, do not walk out now! You cannot shock me with such a proposal and simply leave!” he cried harshly.

She looked up at him and saw emotions that were far too familiar to her now—she saw anger, frustration and a torment she did not understand. “But you seem distressed by my offer—when there are over two hundred gentlemen in town, of whom each and every one would be thrilled and flattered to receive such an offer.”