Her sister’s letters had been full of the gossip. When Morwenna’s husband returned miraculously from the dead, the reunion had taken place in a ballroom, under the full glare of the world’s attention. There had been no way of saving Garson’s pride, or allowing him to make a discreet withdrawal from a romantic triangle that became unbearably crowded.
“The irony is that she never loved me.” He leaned one hand on the windowsill. It had started to rain, as if the weather reflected the heavy atmosphere inside the room. The gray light starkly revealed the sorrow in his face. “I always knew that.”
“But naturally you hoped.”
His mouth turned down in self-derision. “Yes, I hoped.”
“After all, her husband had been dead—or at least we all believed he was—for years.”
“Five.” His voice was bleak. “She has a steadfast heart, too.”
A tacit admission that he still loved Morwenna. Not that anyone who saw him now could doubt it. In an odd way, Jane found it admirable that he couldn’t turn off his love, despite the lack of any happy ending. Admirable—but not necessarily a positive feature in a future husband.
“I’m so very sorry, Hugh.”
“So am I.” He straightened and shot her a direct look. “The shambles of my past doesn’t change my need to make a life for myself. I’ve moped long enough. I owe it to the title to marry and have children. There’s no use pining for the moon.”
Which well and truly put Jane in her mundane place, didn’t it? It rankled a little that he saw her only as a broodmare. Her pique surprised her. Over the last dreary years, she’d thought she’d forsaken all claims to feminine conceit. Clearly not. “So you settled for me.”
“As I told you…”
“You always liked me,” she said flatly, returning to her window seat. All of this was too much to take in. Confused thoughts tumbled over each other, performing chaotic acrobatics in her mind.
“That’s something.”
“But hardly love’s young dream,” she said with a hint of bitterness, even as she told her vanity to step back because it had no part to play in this purely pragmatic decision.
“I’d hoped…”
With a touch of irony, she raised her eyebrows. “That I was past the age of wanting hearts and flowers?”
Hugh had the grace to look ashamed. His repentance was charming—she’d forgotten over the years quite what an attractive man he was. Or perhaps she’d never let herself notice before, to protect herself from inevitable disappointment. The women Hugh Rutherford pursued, even before he fell in love with Morwenna, were counted as diamonds of the first water. Jane couldn’t compete with that.
He made an apologetic gesture. “Please send me on my way, if you can’t hold with more of my blundering.”
To her surprise, she raised a hand to stop him. “Don’t go rushing off.” She struggled to inject a lighter note. “I had no idea you were such an impulsive fellow, Hugh. Please sit down, and let’s talk about this.”
He eyed her warily, then resumed his seat. He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it so he looked even more charming, plague take him. Jane hardened herself against his attractions. If this union was going ahead, she needed to keep a cool head. Going gooey-eyed over his handsome face wouldn’t help her at all.
“This is turning out to be a blasted unconventional proposal.” Self-deprecating humor deepened the creases around his eyes.
“I don’t know if I can live without love,” she said baldly.
He frowned. “Are you saying if we married, you wouldn’t be faithful?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. When I make a promise, I keep it, too. I’m trying to work out whether the absence of love is a strong enough argument against saying yes. After all, I’m twenty-eight, and nobody has yet taken my fancy. Perhaps nobody ever will.”
She’d like to share some spark of passion with the man she married. Perhaps for a staid, provincial frump past first youth, that was too much to ask.
“I hate to play devil’s advocate, Jane, but your world isn’t exactly overflowing with hordes of eligible gentlemen.”
“I’ve had my chances.” Even if they were all over fifty, and not in the best of health.
He looked curious, but this time he remembered his manners before he pursued any details. “I’m sure you have. Your devotion to your father’s care alone recommends you as a suitable wife.”
She hid a wince. Still not a word about her personal appeal. One of today’s surprises was the discovery that her romantic younger self claimed a place inside her respectable bosom.
“What do you want of me, Hugh?”