Page 17 of The Spring Promise
Part of him wanted to call Hunter out. Although swords or pistols were far too civilised for what he wanted to do to Hunter. How dare he presume to ask Molly to marry him! Molly was not Hunter’s and would never be Hunter’s. Molly was…
The truth hit him and he felt like the bad tempered bull in the west paddock at Starling Hall. Roaring and stamping and shaking its massive head. He felt exactly like that right now because Molly washis.
But she wasn’t, was she? Molly saw him as her brother and could never love him inthatway. Just because he realised now that helovedher and couldn’t live without her, and wanted to marry her and take her home to Starling Hall and be with her forever. Well, that didn’t mean Molly was the least bit interested in it ever happening.
Will stood up again. Oh God, was she going to accept? Was she going to go off with Hunter? And Will had thrown her into his arms as a distraction as he pursued Celeste. What a fool he had been! Abby was right. He was an idiot.
Open your eyes, you idiot.
His sister had said those words to him just this morning as he was about to set out to Lacey Farm. It had seemed puzzling and a little extreme at the time, but now he understood. He had opened his eyes, and it was too late.
Or was it? Could he turn things around. Could he somehow salvage this situation? Will had warned her of the man’s reputation. Perhaps he had cushioned his words too much? Inadvertently made the cad sound appealing like in one of those blasted gothic novels his sister Abby read. Think, think! Don’t panic.
Will was a practical man, and he must approach this in a practical, commonsense manner. The direct approach, then. He would tell Molly he did not love Celeste after all and that he loved her. He would ask her not to go off with the cad Hunter because he wasn’t good enough for her. And Molly would…
He almost groaned aloud. Molly would laugh at him or she would be cross with him, because he had made all of this happen. If it hadn’t been for his obsession with another woman and the promise he had wrung out of Molly, then none of this drama would have happened. He would have woken up one morning and thought: I am going to ask Molly to marry me, and Molly would have said yes, and they would have lived happily ever after.
Or perhaps he would never have realised he loved her if this hadn’t happened? Perhaps he had needed his whole world to be tipped upside down so that he could see the truth that was right before his eyes.
“Will?”
He turned, startled. Molly stood inside the door, looking at him, puzzled. Grace scuttled out of the room, and Molly’s frown grew. She turned back to Will. “Come on,” she said, “or we will be late.”
Once in the carriage he had brought for the occasion, she didn’t waste time.
“Grace told you, didn’t she?” Her eyes flashed. “Shesworeshe wouldn’t. I will have words with her when we get back.”
“I’m glad she told me,” Will said, struggling to be calm. “You can’t possibly… That is, are you really considering Hunter’s proposal?”
Molly turned to face the road before them. It was a pleasant day, and her straw bonnet shaded her fair skin, while a gold locket rested about her throat, and he could see the pulse there beating fast. She might look calm and neat and well turned out, but inside was surely another matter.
“That is none of your business, William,” she replied evenly, “and I won’t discuss it with you.”
“I told you about Celeste!”
Her green eyes narrowed as she turned them on him. “That was your decision. I didn’t want to hear about her. I would have preferred you kept it to yourself.”
He floundered. “But I thought we were friends?”
“I have decided there should be a limit to our friendship.”
This did not bode well for his plan to ask Molly to marry him, or at least to confess his love for her. He considered again explaining himself in a clear and concise manner, but he could see by the set of her jaw and her hands clenched in her lap that she would not be receptive. And yet, what other option was there left to him?
This indecision lasted until they arrived at the Hunter residence. He had not been there before, but knew the widow Hunter by sight. Hunter and his grandmother greeted them cheerfully, and Will struggled not to glare. He suspected Hunter understood why he was barely able to speak, and it seemed to amuse him.
Sir Reginald and Celeste had already arrived and were ensconced in a pleasantly decorated drawing room. The widow Hunter—he must stop calling her that in his head—was an artist and was keen to show off some of her work. Will’s mother was also an amateur artist when she had time, and he found what he saw here to be rather good. The elderly woman pointed out to Molly where some of the landscapes had been painted.
“I find Barton Lacey an infinite source of inspiration,” she said.
“It is a beautiful place,” Molly agreed enthusiastically.
“And yet you are young, my dear. You may move away once you marry.”
Molly shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. And then, as if afraid she had said something she shouldn’t have, cast a glance toward Hunter.
She need not have worried. Hunter and Sir Reginald were deep in discussion about their plant collections. Will tried to eavesdrop on more of Molly’s conversation, but Celeste had taken his arm and was chattering to him about all the things she hoped to do when she was home. “I am going to stay with my cousin inLondon,” she said breathlessly, as if it was the most wonderful thing she could think of.
“Won’t you miss any of this?” Will asked, waving a hand vaguely around them.
