Chapter Nine
Hampshire, England, 1817
With a furtive pat, Gemma Lyfeld blotted her nerve-damp palms on her white muslin gown. It would not do to receive a marriage proposal with moist hands. Or silly apprehensions. Besides, it was just Hugh. Her neighbor.
And she’d been expecting this moment since she was a child. Today, at long last, he’d requested privacy with her in the drawing room.
She shifted closer on the sofa to the Honorable Hugh Beauchamp and placed her clammy hands in his. It had been years since she’d sat this close to him, eye level with the crescent-moon scar on his chin he’d received when they were eight.
“I do.” She bit her lip at once. Too soon.
Hugh’s pale lashes blinked over wide blue eyes. “Pardon?”
“I do...want to hear what you have to say.” She squeezed encouragement into his fingers. “No need to be shy.”
He pulled back one hand and tapped her nose with a long finger. “Never with you, Gem, not after all our adventures. And you’re about to have another one. A Season in London, at last.”
Gemma glanced at the mantel clock. Her sister-in-law, Cristobel, had allotted them ten minutes, scarcely enough time to remark on the drizzle, much less accomplish a satisfying marriage proposal. But if conversation set a nervous Hugh at ease, some trivial talk was worth the end result.
“Long last. Cristobel couldn’t deny me my come-out this year. I’m practically on the shelf.”
“Not for long.” He smiled.
A shiver of anticipation skittered up her arms like the first breeze of spring, chill but pleasant, expectant of blossoms and bees.
“Don’t say you’re scared, Gem.”
Of what? Marriage or making her debut in society at the advanced age of four-and-twenty?
“No. I am ready.” For both. Even though her insides quivered like a Christmas pudding.
“You’ll love London. So many things to see and do.”
“Will you introduce me to your favorite places?”
“It is my friends to whom I cannot wait to introduce you. They’ll adore you, and you, them. One in particular, with whom I’ve grown quite close—”
The sound of boot steps in the hall swept under the door, silencing Hugh and pulling his gaze to the closed portal behind her. Gemma swung her head to stare at the oak expanse. Ten minutes could not have yet passed, but with Gemma’s sister, Amy, and her husband, Lord Wyling, here to fetch her to London, the house was full of people—children and servants and Wyling’s vexing associate, Mr. Knox. Any one of them could interrupt.
When the door failed to open, she turned back in time to see Hugh take a painful-looking swallow.
“Speaking of friendship.” His gaze met hers. “Sometimes a gentleman has...moments in life. Do you understand my meaning?”
She nodded. I do, I do.
“You and I have been friends for an age.”
“Forever.” Her mouth was dry as vellum, but their joined hands were slick with sweat.
“There has l-long been an informal understanding between our families that you and I would w-wed. Nothing binding, but expected.” He shifted. Did one knee lower a smidgen off the edge of the sofa? Gemma’s breath hitched.
“Gem.”
“Hugh.” Her voice was just above a whisper.
“The time has come to—”
With the click of the latch and a swoosh, the drawing room door swung wide on its hinge. Hugh dropped her hands like they were used handkerchiefs and popped to his feet.
“Oh.” With a single syllable, the baritone voice of Tavin Knox conveyed surprise and, to Gemma’s frustration, amusement.
She didn’t need to turn to know their houseguest grinned. No doubt that left brow of his arched, too. He had seemed unable to contain either response whenever he’d seen her with Hugh this past week.
“May I assist you, Mr. Knox?”
“I was looking for your
