A March to Marquess | A Regency Romance

Chapter Nine

Isabella squared her shoulders back and lifted her head. No way was he going to catch her looking sheepish for hearing in on their conversation and being in his library. The way to handle this was with confidence. She carefully stepped out from behind the heavy drapes and came into full view of the man standing before her. He was a few steps away from her, the flickers of the fire and light glow from the candles deepened the angular features of his face.

His eyes traveled over her and she stifled the desire to fidget. She wasn't used to this kind of stare from another man. What was he going to say? Was he going to treat her the same way he did with the lady from before? Was he waiting on her to give him her apology?

"I see you have found my sister's shelf of books. I know she is quite fond of the one you are holding so tightly in your hands. It would be a shame if you damaged the cover."

She became aware of the book in her hands. Her hands were holding on to the decorative binding of the book, strangling it. She immediately relaxed her grip and placed the book on the table next to her.

"My apologies, my lord," was all she managed to get out.

"Have you read it before?" Isabella looked at him quizzically after his question. She didn't expect him to be discussing books. She thought he would be furious or threaten her because of what she heard.

She slowly nodded her head. "Yes, I have read through the book before."

"And what do you make of it?" He asked.

"I find it well composed." She could tell him how she feels close to Emma. How her desire not to marry feels like it is imprinted on her being. But she could feel the disapproval from her step-mother glaring at her. Men do not care much for women who like to read.

He continued to study her, almost like he knew she had more to say. When she did not say anything further he said, "I have a proposal for you."

The sharp intake of breath from Isabella pierced the room. "No, no. Not that kind of proposal," he quickly added. "It is more of a business proposal. There is something you need and something I need."

"I'm not sure I understand, Lord Devonshire."

"Please, if you are going to accept my proposal, we can drop the proper respects of lord and miss.” He cleared his throat and ran his fingers through the top of his hair. Pushing back unruly bits. “I am most certain that you do not care for Dunmore.”

She stifled a shiver as he said his name. “Lord Dunmore is a respectable match for myself. My father and step-mother are quite happy.”

“You did not answer my question, Isabella. Do you care for him?”

“I am not understanding how to answer your question, my lord. Lord Dunmore will be a fine husband.”

Devonshire paced back and forth in front of Isabella. He would stop, looking like he had something to say, shake his head and continue pacing. “Lord Devonshire, I’m not sure how you want me to answer.” 

He stopped abruptly and turned on his heel and looked her in the eyes. The unexpected contact stilled her and she felt a pool of warmth spread through her body. “I want you to be honest.”

“Sir,” she awkwardly paused, garnering polite strength to stop whatever was transpiring between them. “We are not much more than acquaintances. This is information I would not divulge to even my closest of allies.”

“Obviously, you have heard a most personal conversation of my own. I would hope that you would not say anything, seeing as it would convict you as being somewhere you should not be. That said,” he paused and stepped towards her. Isabella took an unconscious step backwards, keeping the space between them. “I told you I have a problem. You see, I do not wish to have my exploits made public. I do not think you personally would shout them from the top of London, but I know these ‘allies’ of yours could very well not have the sense you seem to possess.”

“You have my word, Lord Devonshire, I will not tell a soul.” Isabella hoped her words of reassurance would make the uncomfortable conversation cease and she would be free to return to the party. She never thought she would think those things.

“Ah, yes. I do believe you to be true. But, I like security in all things. Here is my proposal.” He made a move to walk and Isabella steeled herself. Instead of stepping towards her, he moved to the sideboard and grabbed two crystal glasses and set them in front of him. Isabella turned her head to observe his graceful movements as he gently pulled the ornamental top off of a decanter filled with amber liquid and poured a fingers width in the bottom of each glass. He picked up the glasses after he returned the decanter to it’s proper spot and handed Isabella a glass.

“Dunmore is a fool,” he said plainly. “He has no wealth, he spends too much time at various clubs gambeling more than what he has. I can see that he frightens you after watching your interaction on the terrace.” Isabella took a sip of the liquid and it burned down her throat. She stifled a sputtering cough, her eyes starting to water. “I can protect you from him, Isabella.”

After he said those words, Isabella couldn’t hold in her cough anymore. The coughs wracked her body as she tried to get rid of the burning within her body. Devonshire came to her side, holding her arm to keep her upright. The overwhelming smell of sandalwood, sage and orange exuded from him. A smell that was masculine and clean. Strong and comforting. “You’re okay, Isabella”

Once her coughing subsided, and she used his proffered handkerchief to dab at her eyes and nose, she looked at him again. His eyes were roaming over her face to make sure she was in fact okay. Her eyes traveled to how close his body was to her and she stared at his hand on the bare of her arm. He noticed her stare and quickly withdrew his touch. Cold immediately seeked the spot where he left and Isabella longed that he covered it again.

Instead, without touching her, he helped her to a leather chair.

“I’ll protect you from the unfortunate marriage to Dunmore if you help me keep out of the gossip channels. That means, a dance at every ball and it must appear I am properly courting you. I imagine, much like Emma, you do not care much to marry. I must admit, I feel a similar way. But my father is ailing, Isabella. It pains him so that I do not have a proper family of my own yet with many sons. There hasn’t yet been a woman I have desired to call my wife. You will buy me another year if you agree. If you do this, I can promise you a tidy sum at the end of the year and the attention that comes with being courted by me.”

Isabella’s head was spinning. She didn’t know if it was the brandy, his manly smell combined with the supple leather of the chair or if it was his words. “I must think about it,” she said in a small voice.

“Of course, of course,” he sighed and moved back from the chair where she was sitting. “I would hope you have an answer for me soon. I do not like to be kept waiting. Feel free to spend as much time as you would like here. I must return to the party.”

With that, he was gone. She focused on her breathing while she watched the flickers of the candle next to her dance. “He doesn’t want to marry you, Isabella. He only wants your help. And, he will protect you from Dunmore.” She said aloud to herself in a whisper. But how was she supposed to agree to this?

…

May 14, 1818

Lord Devonshire,

I do hope this letter finds you well. Thank you for your kind generosity yesterday with the lease of your library. The party was also wonderful. I pray I do not insult you with praising your library and not your generous hosting. My father and step-mother rave about your London house and how wonderful a match you would be to any of the beautiful women that attended the dance last night. Excluding myself, of course, for apparent reasonings. After pondering most of the night about your proposal, I feel as if I must accept. You are correct in judging my current circumstance. As a character in one of my favorite novels so wisely said:

“‘It is always incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always imagines a woman to be ready for any body who asks her.’”

I fully appreciate your understanding in this regard.

        Yours respectfully,

            Isabella Graves