“The caterer will provide us a fresh feast with no bother at all.”
“Ben, you’re talking about pounds and pounds—of money, I mean.”
“You will be in charge of curbing my wild extravagance, as well as my ferocity.”
“A week doesn’t give me much time to do either.”
“It offers too many opportunities—seven whole days—for you to vanish on me. Maggie and Mama will go with you to see to your trousseau, if you like. Whatever you can get made up in a week. The rest of the time you will be with me, tied leg and wing.”
With a guinea left of her allowance, Clara foresaw the need for some considerable skill in assembling a creditable trousseau. With the most careful of contriving, she did not see how it could be done at less than five.
“Not to worry, Clara,” Ben said, smiling at her fondly. “I mean to keep you quite as busy as Aunt Charity did, but I shall pay you better. I am arranging a settlement with my man of business.”
“Oh I—I have some money,” she said in embarrassment.
“Yes, love, I know you have a guinea and seven shillings, unless you’ve been squandering it on shoelaces and headache powders, but I am talking about an allowance. Don’t blush, Clara. We’re getting married. It is the custom, you know, for a husband to support his wife.”
“It’s not the custom for a lord to marry someone so poor as I am,” she pointed out calmly.
“You contradict yourself. You told me it was all the crack for a wealthy lord to marry a penniless beauty. I daresay you were dropping me a hint then, but I was too dense to see it.”
“Don’t remind me of all the stupid things I said.”
“I won’t. But in ten years’ time, I’ll remind you of one of your brighter remarks. And now I remind you of your primary duty. I am beginning to feel savage, Clara. Do something about it,” he demanded.
She poured him another glass of champagne. He set it aside with a heavy frown and advanced toward her in a stalking fashion.
Copyright © 1990 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest (0449217868)
Electronically published in 2007 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.