creaked under his foot.
‘Come into the kitchen with me and I’ll light a candle,’ the vicar said. ‘Don’t bother bolting the door. I always open it anyway, no matter what kind of person is pounding.’ He chuckled in William’s direction.
After the kettle started, he whisked a glass and wine bottle from a shelf. After placing the glass in front of William, he poured without asking and then concerned himself with his own drink.
‘So,’ the older man asked after he finished preparations and settled to sip his tea, ‘what is all the rush about?’
‘A young woman and I need to be married. We do not wish for any tales about us to be spread.’
‘A compromising position?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Perhaps you’re overreacting. Tales can fade.’
William snorted. ‘Not this one.’ He leaned forward. ‘I know what I am to do. We are to be married and we won’t cause interruption in each other’s lives.’
‘I have never heard of a marriage which does not cause some interruption in life.’
‘I have the funds to see that it happens,’ William said. He stopped. ‘I am very adept at dealing with such things. I can live separately if needed.’
‘Marriage. The specialness in part is that it cannot be walked away from. That is what makes it different than, say, not marriage. Love is fickle, though.’
‘We are not in love.’
The vicar sputtered into his tea and set down his cup.
William continued. ‘We are in agreement. She and I have discussed it. I told her what nonsense love is.’
‘Ah.’ The vicar nodded. ‘You shouldn’t have told the truth on that. Not even to me. But if she agreed with that, then I suppose she will have no one to blame but herself.’ He chuckled, and mumbled, ‘Do not expect that reprieve, however.’
‘Isabel is not like that.’
‘You’ve known her long?’
‘Long enough.’
‘A lifetime can be not long enough to know what a woman is like before you marry her—from what I’ve seen.’
‘The woman I am going to marry is...’ He paused. ‘She’s almost alone in the world, or that’s how she feels. I don’t want her to be alone. I may not be able to give her everything, but I can give her a home, safety and a haven. She’ll have servants. Children, perhaps.’
In a flash of memory, he could see his parents laughing at the table and then his father throwing crockery about after her death, acting in the same manner as Rosalind when she’d been cross. Only he could not send his father to his room and tell him that the governess would not be reading him a bedtime story.
His father had never even raised his voice before his wife died. Never acted anything but sensible and selfless. Then he’d become senseless—and selfish.
William’s eyes flickered to the small man who stared into him. ‘I need to marry her—for my own purpose, but it is not an entirely bad thing for her. Without me, she will likely remain unmarried and not have children of her own.’
‘Why do you think she won’t find someone else? Is she unappealing?’
‘I wouldn’t say she is unappealing. In fact, she is too appealing—to be safe—alone in the world. It isn’t beauty, though I am not saying she isn’t.’ William smiled, staring at the empty glass. ‘She has this copper-coloured hair.’ He held out his hand, thumb touching forefinger, making the movement as if holding a strand. ‘The light shone on it and she had her bonnet off, and the other men saw it and they saw her eyes, and ten years from now, she could walk into a room and they will remember her.’
‘There are other ways to protect a woman besides marriage.’
William let out a deep breath. ‘Not this one.’ He put the glass on the table and leaned back, stretching his legs. ‘Not this one. She’s been at a school in the country or she would have had suitors lining up. Even at the school, someone found her who wished to take advantage.’
The minister stood. ‘You think to love her later.’
‘No.’ William breathed out the word. ‘I don’t. That could never happen.’
‘If she is so appealing—’ He moved, standing by a shelf with a basin on it, keeping his back to William. ‘Another man should easily fall in love with her.’
‘That’s true. But I’ve seen what love does—I’m not in favour of it.’
‘My wife might agree with you,’ he said. ‘But you might fall in love if the two of you are married.’
‘No. I do not have it in me.’ William considered the words.
‘How does she feel about you,’ the vicar asked, ‘this daft woman who has agreed to wed you?’
‘She doesn’t know me.’
The man turned around, wiping his hands on a cloth from beside the basin. ‘I would say she doesn’t.’ He peered at William’s face and reached under the shelf and pulled out another bottle from the dark recesses. He popped the cork and put the bottle on the table between them. ‘Drink up and tell why I should perform this ceremony.’
Isabel examined her patched dress and stained shoes. She’d once wondered what she’d choose to be married in. It wasn’t this.
Her invisible groom’s father, Viscount Langford, sat in Sophia’s overstuffed chair as if it were his throne. He patted a chair arm and stared, emotionless.
‘It’ll just be a few minutes more,’ Sophia said, perching at the end of the sofa and resting one hand on the brocade between them. The other hand held a fan that flitted more than any butterfly wings. ‘And William will be here. He’s not really late yet.’
Isabel raised her head in acknowledgement.
‘If he doesn’t appear, I will find him and drag him here myself.’ Langford stood, walked behind the sofa and patted his daughter’s shoulder.
‘This almost reminds me of the day—’ Sophia stopped fanning, glanced at her hand, then spoke to Isabel. ‘One day, in the past, my sisters and I waited for Father and William to return. It was in August, too, and a much warmer day than this.’
‘Do not speak of your mother today,’ the Viscount commanded. ‘If she were here, William would have married long before now.’
Isabel stood, turned to the Viscount, gave a small bow of her head, and put a smile on her face. ‘William—’ she fluttered her hand over her heart and paused ‘—was waiting for me. His whole lifetime. So it will not
