ended his pretty speech and reached inside his evening coat. ‘I have something for you, Philippa.’ He took out a square, blue velvet box and opened the lid to reveal a sapphire pendant on a thin gold chain, tasteful and expensive. It had not come from a local jewellers. ‘I made a shambles out of things New Year’s Day. No woman wants to be asked to wed in a haze of anger.’
‘You don’t have to do this. You don’t need to atone for anything,’ Philippa began to stall. Right now would be the perfect time for Mr Danforth to burst in and start babbling about his bank. The odd man hadn’t bothered to follow any protocols of polite conversation at the dinner table, why not put all that lack of couth to good use and barge in now, when it would be useful?
Lucien was prosing on about his growing sentiments for her and she supposed she’d better pay attention. ‘Although I regret my behaviour during St Just’s visit, I do not regret what his visit has caused me to see. That is, I want to spend my life with you. We are well matched in status and intellect. In you, I see more than a wife and mother to my heir. I see a partner. Would you consider doing me the honour of marriage?’
He was even down on one knee. Philippa was struck by how different her response to this scene might have been had it occurred a month earlier. She might have said yes immediately, as a logical conclusion of their long-standing friendship. Companionship was worth marrying for, even in the absence of passion. Her first marriage had been based on mutual companionship and it had not been a poor experience. But now, everything was somehow different.
Still, she was not foolish enough to toss away a modicum of happiness and security on a whim. Neither was she so much of a sapskull that she would ignore the assets of marriage to Lucien Canton. As her friend, he deserved more from her than an out-of-hand dismissal.
‘Lucien, you pay me a great honour. It deserves thinking about. Rest assured that your proposal will be in the forefront of my thoughts as I return home to Cambourne.’
‘Then take this pendant as a token of my esteem and my affection, Philippa. It will serve as proof that I am in your thoughts.’ Lucien was too gallant to refuse as he fastened the sapphire pendant around her neck. ‘Now, off to your packing, my dear. Rest well. I will be up to see you off in the morning.’
The wall panel to the left of the fireplace slid open and Mandeville Danforth came out of hiding. ‘That’s quite a room you’ve got back there,’ he chortled. ‘Right out of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s time.’
‘That went well, I think,’ Lucien said, uninterested in Danforth’s thoughts on the priesthole.
‘Yes, indeed. Although, she could have said “yes”,’ Danforth was quick to point out.
‘At least she didn’t say no. St Just has turned her head, but how far is hard to say. We’re not the only ones making inquiries in London. She’s thought about it. My valet found a letter in her room. Still, her doubts about St Just are enough for us to exploit if we must.’
‘We must. It is a foregone conclusion,’ Danforth corrected. ‘She must marry you or sell you all her mining rights and ancillary companies. You have to control the Cambourne interests. I don’t see her selling.’ Danforth’s eyes narrowed in thought.
‘We could stage another accident, perhaps several of them, that would convince her to sell.’ He began to plot.
‘No.’ Lucien cut him off sharply. ‘Properties with accidents don’t inspire investors to cough up their pounds. It would do us more harm than good in the long run. Besides, she’s stubborn and sabotage would take too long. We need those properties by late summer.’
‘Then it looks as if the Duchess should reconcile herself to being a June bride,’ Danforth said in a tone that suggested Philippa Lytton would find herself at the altar, whether she wished it or not.
Lucien raised his glass. ‘Here’s to the end of my bachelor days.’
Chapter Nine
She was glad to be home! Philippa put down her pen and looked up from her ledgers, taking a moment to stretch her back and survey the glorious view spread before her through the long windows of the library. Not even the fine mist that blurred the landscape could dim her appreciation. The vast lawns spread before her, green even in winter. The pond floated on the horizon, filled with ducks. In good weather, she would have been tempted to throw open the windows in order to hear their squawking.
In all, she’d been gone two months; first up to London for the Little Season and the Michaelmas session of Parliament, wanting to support some early discussions on mining reform; then to Richmond for Christmas and Lucien’s for New Year. Now she was home for three months before she’d need to return to London after Easter.
Home. Her kingdom where she reigned supreme. She did the ledgers, she oversaw the transactions of daily business, she visited the tenants, the fields, the home farm, the mining interests. Here, she was not ruled by any man.
Philippa knew how rare her situation was. It had not come easily, but at the price of sacrificing a youthful dream. She’d wanted to marry for love, the passionate romantic kind of love found in fairy tales and Minerva Press novels. Instead, she’d married the man of her family’s choice and found a quiet companionship with him.
Perhaps that was better. Her experience with Valerian had been quite illuminating about the quality and strength of romantic love. It had its limitations. But companionship had its limitations, too. Cambourne had been kind and generous with a giving that extended far beyond his purse. He’d educated her in business and finance, delighting in her interest in his estates.
In the beginning she’d become interested to keep her mind off Valerian’s desertion. She had to do something to fill her life. Later, she’d seen the genuine need to take an active part in the life of Cambourne’s holdings. She’d built the school for miners’ children and it had become one of her favourite projects.
Then Cambourne had died so suddenly, firing her involvement in legislation concerning mine safety. Oh, yes, there was no disputing that her life was full these days. She’d remade herself admirably as the young Duchess of Cambourne and then again a few short years later as the Dowager Duchess. But re-fashioning oneself was hard work and she had no desire to do it again.
Philippa fingered the sapphire at her neck. She’d worn Lucien’s gift today out of a need to honour her word. There was no one to see her, no one to hold her to her commitment. But she knew. She’d told Lucien she’d consider the offer. Wearing the pendant was a reminder of what she’d promised. She owed at least some consideration of his offer. Although, if he could read her thoughts, he’d probably wish she hadn’t felt so obliged. Marriage to Lucien would definitely require some re-fashioning.
Most likely, she could get her solicitors to design a betrothal contract that would protect her property, but it would be difficult. Not even a dowager’s possessions were safe from a new husband’s rights. She would have to give him something. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him precisely. It was more the issue of having to give up the control she was so used to having.
Control would be given up in other areas, too. Lucien would expect her to stay with him wherever he went. The year would be divided up between Truro, London, his father’s estate, and then Cambourne. There wouldn’t be time to live as she liked. Her interests would give way to his and when his father eventually died, Lucien’s responsibilities would increase. Becoming the future viscountess to Lucien Canton would require quite a lot of re-fashioning, leaving very little room to be the Dowager Duchess of Cambourne—obliterating
