Page 49 of The Moonstone Major
“Did the both of you not warn me away from her just weeks ago? Not that I blame you. How can I ever be considered suitable for someone like Chloe?”
“We were only concerned about your sincerity. She cares for you very much, and we did not want to see her hurt by you.”
“I never would.” Fionn gripped the arms of his chair. “I would die for that girl.”
Cain sighed. “That’s what my wife said when boxing my ears for ever mentioning it to you. She called me an idiot for doubting you love her.”
“My wife called me an idiot and an arse. You are of far better character than I ever was,” Cormac muttered.
Fionn managed a grin, thinking of Imogen’s comment earlier in the day, but it quickly faded. “Do not indulge your wives in their romantic notions. Being penniless and raised as a foundling is something I shall never be able to overcome. Nor will I ever accept charity from either of you, or Chloe, who is an angel, and the man who marries her will be the luckiest on earth.”
Cormac was now frowning at him. “And it will not be you?”
“How can it be? I do not even know who I am.”
Cain crossed his arms over his chest. “All the more reason why you must take us up on our offer. Something about your past may be discovered. If you will not do it for your sake, then do it for the sake of Chloe.”
Fionn’s every thought was about her. Was it not obvious? Marriage to him would deprive her of everything she deserved.
“You are both quite generous. But…may I think about it and give you my response tomorrow?”
Both men nodded.
“Thank you. By the way, how is Lady Charlotte doing? Her girls were quite worried about her.”
The marquess ran a hand through his hair. “We’re not certain yet. John may need to take her back to London. Dr. Hewitt is a good man, but I don’t think he can compare to our family physician, George Farthingale. The man is brilliant. Phoebe and I will keep the girls with us, if it comes to that.”
“Then it sounds quite serious. I am truly sorry. Let me know if there is anything I can do. I am building a hospital, after all.”
The marquess appeared genuinely pained. “Thank you, but we shall keep our hopes up. She took care of me for years as I was recovering from my war wounds.” He glanced at his missing arm. “I was a beast to her…to everyone, but especially to her, since she was the one who had to deal with me every day. This is my chance to make it up to her. I dread that it may be needed.”
Fionn strode out of the study, his intention to take the shortcut along the beach to return to Moonstone Cottage. Melrose was at his post by the door, and Chloe was standing right beside him with her arms folded across her splendid chest while impatiently waiting to question him.
“You cannot leave just yet,” she said, pointing to the window. “The rain is coming down in torrents. It should pass in about twenty minutes. I think Mr. Hawke will have made it safely back to the cottage before it started. I hate to think he was caught in the downpour. Come into the library and tell me what is going on.”
He shook his head. “You know we cannot be alone in a room.”
“We shall keep the door open.”
“What I have to say is private, and I am not going to discuss it with an open door.” He glanced out the window again, willing the rain to stop.
It came down harder. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Chloe cast him a smug grin. “Trapped.”
“Yes, for the moment. But I am still not going to discuss the matter with you. Perhaps I will talk to you about it tomorrow. I have to think on it first.”
“All right,” she said, her voice quite gentle. “Come into the library with me anyway. Melrose will bring in a tea cart for us while you wait out the rain. I’m sure we can think of a dozen nonsensical topics to occupy us.”
“No, Chloe.” He peered out the window yet again. “It appears to be stopping.”
“I have never known darkening thunder clouds to represent a storm clearing. Do not even think to go down to the beach now, or you will be struck by lightning on the water. You owe me a waltz at this week’s upcoming church dance. How do you intend to keep your promise if we find your charred remains on the sand tomorrow?”
He grinned. “A bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
“Not at all. Who is to worry about you if not me?”
“Chloe, this is getting out of hand.” He took her by the elbow and led her into the library, not particularly caring who overheard him. “You are not my wife.”
