The Sherbrooke Bride - Catherine Coulter [13]
“Still,” she said after several moments of silence, “still he expects too much. I won’t have him, Father! You must write back and inform His arrogant Lordship that I now find him repellent, yes, that’s it, utterly repellent, just as Oglethorpe was repellent and a toad. I won’t have him; I will wed another.” She stopped, spun about, her white hands pressed to her cheeks.
“Oh dear, what if he feels that he broke my heart three years ago and that is why I haven’t wed! What if he believes that I’ve pined for him? I can’t bear that, Father, I just can’t! What shall I do?”
The duke made soothing noises. Pride, he thought, damnable pride. Well, he’d infused her with all the pride that was in his lineage. Inspiration struck and he smiled to himself. “The poor fellow,” he said in a mournful voice, shaking his head.
Melissande whirled about to face her father, blinking in confusion. “What poor fellow?”
“Why, the Earl of Northcliffe, of course. The man has wanted you for three years, has doubtless suffered more than you and I could possibly imagine. He wanted you, Melissande, but he felt great dedication for England, felt honor bound by what he believed to be his sacred duty. He did not dismiss his honor, despite his ardent desire for you. Surely you cannot fault him for that. And now he tries to make restitution. He pines for you. And now he bows himself before you, my dear, begging that you forgive his lamentable integrity, that you please consider that you will have him now.” The duke wasn’t about to tell his daughter that the earl had sold out some nine or ten months before. Even Melissande would wonder at the earl’s depth of passion were she to know that he hadn’t pushed to have her for nearly a year after he was free to do so.
“He was very distraught,” Melissande said slowly. “Even as I took him to task for his devotion to his absurd duty, he did appear genuinely distraught.”
“He is the Earl of Northcliffe, and his home is one of the premier estates in England.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“He has wealth and standing. He is still a man to be reckoned with in the government. I hear he still consults with the War Ministry, even with Addington.” The duke paused, then added smoothly, “A man in such a position desperately needs a wife of grace and consequence to oversee his social obligations. He is also a handsome man as I recall. I hear he is much in demand in London drawing rooms.”
“He is very dark, too dark. He is probably hairy. I do not like men so dark, but he is an earl.”
“You liked him well enough three years ago.”
“Perhaps, but I was very young. He was severe then; he is probably more so now. He did not laugh very much; he was far too serious. No, even his smiles were rare.”
“He was suffering from a rather serious wound.”
“Still, he rarely showed a glimmer of humor when I was amusing. It was a fault I saw but ignored then.”
“But my dear, how could he be so very severe when he admired you? His admiration, as I recall, was quite remarkable in its scope.” That was true, but he’d known that the earl, had he remained longer in his daughter’s orbit, would have removed the blinders from his eyes. He fully intended to have them wed as quickly as possible.
“Not as remarkable as his devotion to his country!”
“Now his devotion would be to you, his wife, no longer to his country. You are an intelligent girl, Melissande. Surely with such a devoted husband, you would arrange matters quite to your liking. Ah, how you would shine when you took your rightful place as the Countess of Northcliffe in London society.”
The duke stopped, knowing the seeds were all well planted, watered, and fertilized. Perhaps even a bit too much fertilizer. He must wait now and see if her mental powers were