Page 129 of The Seaside Homecoming
He looked at her expectantly. She moistened dry lips and faltered, “I ... trust your room is comfortable?”
“Yes. Mr. Hammond took pity on me and gave me a room on the first floor, sufficiently distant from your noisy Mr. ... Jackson, was it? Although my valet testifies to the accuracy of your description of the man’s snoring. Angry badger indeed. Thankfully, I cannot hear it.”
Pity, Claire thought.
He stepped closer. “Have you given any thought to my proposal?”
She’d been up half the night wrestling with it. “Naturally.”
“Any decision? Or questions you wish to ask me?”
The door knocker sounded, and Claire was relieved for an excuse to rise and excuse herself. “Pardon me.”
She went to the door and opened it to Mr. Craven, whom she had met briefly at the concert, along with his sisters.
He beamed at her. “Ah, the lovely Miss Claire Summers. What a delight to see you again.”
“Mr. Craven.”
“Is Bertram available? I hope to convince him to join me at cards in the assembly rooms, unless he is otherwise engaged?”
No doubt recognizing Craven’s voice, Lord Bertram joined them in the hall.
With a glance at him, Claire sweetly replied, “Not at all. Here he is, and quite at his leisure.”
“Excellent. Shall we, Bertram?”
Lord Bertram looked at Claire and whatever he saw in her expression propelled him to say, “Why not. Apparently I am not otherwise engaged.”
Perhaps having heard the door knocker, Mr. Hammond came down and stood beside her as she watched the two men depart.
Then he led her into the morning room and closed the door, which they rarely did. He asked, “Who is that man? To you, I mean.”
Good question.She was not fully sure of the answer herself.
Quietly she replied, “A man I once thought would be my husband.”
He drew in a breath of surprise. “You were engaged?”
“Not officially, although he did ask me to marry him.”
“You refused?”
She shook her head, the sting of rejection still sharp after all this time.
“He changed his mind when he realized I was not the heiress he thought me.”
“And now?”
“His financial expectations have improved. He says he regrets crying off before.”
“And how do you feel?”
How did she feel? Torn. Guilty. Wishful. She wished she could tell Mr. Hammond everything, and hear him say none of it mattered, and she should not marry a man motivated by money.
“I am not sure how I feel,” she replied truthfully. “But I would be foolish to dismiss his offer out of hand. My mother would, I think, approve of the match, which might better our relationship.”
His expression became more somber yet. “How so? Do you ... need to marry?”
