Dawn In My Heart

She took a bite of the warm tart and savored its buttery crust and rich custard hidden by the sweet strawberries and fresh cream atop it.

“You’re not having any?” she asked with a glance at his empty plate.

He shook his head. “You go ahead.”

“I should think you could use some of these pastries,” she commented, remembering her mother’s mention that he’d been ill.

“Are you of the opinion as most that I am in need of ‘fattening up’?”

“You are quite thin. Is that just natural or—or…” She hesitated.

“Have I been ill?” he finished for her, taking a sip of his tea.

“Mother mentioned something of it.”

He nodded. “Yes. I was ill.” He did not elaborate. After a moment, he asked her, “Tell me, Lady Gillian, what do you expect from this marriage?”

She washed the taste of strawberries and cream from her mouth with a swallow of lemonade and set down her glass, wondering at the directness of the question.

When she didn’t answer right away, he said, “Come, you agreed to this arrangement between our parents. Despite all their interests in our union, I don’t believe your mother would force you against your will. You have seemed less than willing up to now.”

“Well, that’s due solely to your—your somewhat less than gentlemanly manner.”

“I was somewhat caught by surprise by my father’s announcement. I had no more stepped off the ship than he was insisting on my marriage. I beg your pardon if my manner has offended you. I was still adjusting to the notion of having my bride already picked out for me.”

“You objected to the match?” she asked curiously. “You’ve reached your majority. Surely your father can’t make you marry someone you don’t know.”

He leaned back in his chair and focused his gaze on a fat bumblebee hovering over the stalks of blue delphinium. “After considering all his persuasive arguments, I had to concede his point. I am not getting any younger. Edmund’s death taught us all that we can depart at any moment. Without an heir—” He shrugged. “Our estates are entailed. If I expire without leaving a male heir, all our lands pass to a cousin. The mere thought brings on an attack of gout to my poor sire.”

“But wouldn’t you want to choose your own wife?”

“I am afraid I have neither the inclination nor energy at this point in my life to sort through all the young ladies of marriageable age presently making their debut in society. The mere thought is both exhausting and excruciatingly tedious.”

“You certainly don’t believe in flattery,” she replied, not sure whether she should be insulted or amused at his description of the Marriage Mart.

“Since most of the candidates would have been merely after my title and fortune, it makes things much simpler to select a young lady who is already possessed of these assets.”

“But to marry a virtual stranger—” she began.

He gave her a humorless smile. “My father is a philanderer, an inveterate gambler and, above all, a lover of pleasure. Whatever my opinion may be of his way of life, I cannot fault his taste in women. He is a connoisseur of the fairer gender.

“When he promised I would be pleased with his choice, I could not but agree to have a look at you. He sang your praises. I can’t say you displease me, fair Lady Gillian.”

Her name sounded like a caress in the softly pronounced syllables, his dark eyes appraising her.

“Is he as good a judge of horseflesh?” she asked evenly, once again inclined to feel affronted.

He looked amused. “He’s an excellent judge of horseflesh.”

“Then I should be flattered.”

He shrugged. “That’s up to you. I’m merely telling you that my father has an eye for beauty and the finer things of life.”

She squirmed, feeling he could see things she had revealed to no one. When she didn’t answer right away, his tone gentled. “I have told you my reasons for agreeing to the match. Can you not confide something to me?”

Not ready to do any such thing, she persisted with the topic. “If you have such confidence in your father’s opinion, why were you so ungracious the first evening we met?”

He raised a dark eyebrow in inquiry.

“Oh, come, my lord, you remember perfectly well how you behaved, looking me up and down as if I were a mare. Telling your father I’d do.”

He smiled, his forefinger playing with the contours of his mouth. “That was not against you. My father and I, how shall I put it, don’t like to concede the other a point scored. I would no more admit to him he is right than I would wear a spotted waistcoat.”

Not quite mollified, but beginning to understand him better, she nodded.

“That still leaves why you acquiesced to your mother’s choice.” His soft tone intruded on her thoughts.

“I want a home of my own,” she finally admitted, looking down at the doily under her glass.

“A home of your own,” he answered, surprise edging the low timbre of his voice. “I would not consider you homeless.”

“I want to be mistress of my own household.”

“Well, you will have ample opportunity as the Countess of Skylar.”

“It is what I have been trained to do. I know I would do it well.” She felt her face warm as she spoke the next words. “I want to have children of my own and bring them up. You are right when you say I am tired of playing the debutante. I would like my life to serve some purpose.”

“I think we will suit,” he said finally. “I, too, want to run my father’s estates and prove I can manage them well. I need a wife for that. A good one. I want a woman I can trust. She may play hostess for me whenever she wants. I want to devote my time to my estates and to taking my seat in Lords. I can grace whatever parties she chooses to give, but I don’t intend to become caught up in the social whirl.

“I expect my wife to remain faithful to me, as I will to her.”

She met his gaze. His dark eyes seemed to be probing her, willing her to confess any tendency toward waywardness. Would they ferret out her past secrets or only demand future fidelity?

She said nothing. He continued. “I will be frank with you, my lady. I have not led the life of a saint. I sowed my wild oats here in London before I was banished across the Atlantic.” A faint smile tinged his lips, though his tone was bitter.

“In the Indies I dedicated myself to turning around a failing plantation. I have just ended a six-year relationship with a wealthy island widow. It was not a love union, merely a mutually agreeable arrangement. I left no illegitimate children behind.

“Forgive my frankness to your maidenly ears. I do not wish to offend your sensibilities, but I want to make it clear I ended any entanglements and fully intend to honor my wedding vows once I take them. I expect my future wife to do the same. Do you understand me?”

Her face had blanched at his unvarnished confessions. Did he expect the same of her? A complete disclosure of her past conduct?

Perhaps with his confession, he was making it clear the past was behind him and he would behave differently as a husband. Her heart lightened. The past didn’t matter. She, too, intended to honor her wedding vows, despite her mother’s advice, no matter how distasteful they seemed to her at the moment.

She swallowed. “Yes, I understand you. I, too, will—” she almost choked over the words “—honor our wedding vows.”

He sat back, as if relieved some decision had been taken. “Good. I will tell my father to have the betrothal announced and the banns posted. We can discuss a date with your mother.”

He raised his glass to hers. “Let us toast our future union.”