Page 41 of To Woo and to Wed
“Not the specifics.” James waved a dismissive hand. “But she was convinced that all was not right.”
“Well, you may return home and congratulate Violet on being a keen observer of the human condition.”
James looked appalled. “I’ll do nothing of the sort; that would merely encourage her. Oh, I won’t lie to her,” he added, seeing West’s stern look, “but I’m certainly not going tocomplimenther. I’ll have my hands full enough trying to prevent her from hatching some deranged plan to ensure that you and Sophie actually get married after all.”
“Well, Sophie did tell Father that we were having a double wedding,” West said. “So I suppose we’ll see whether her desire to force him to attend outweighs her desire to never, under any circumstances, marry me.”
Hawthorne frowned. “She told you that?”
“She told me that with explicit clarity the last time we discussed it—four years ago. She has not given me any reason to believe her feelings have changed in the interim.”
James nearly fell out of his chair. “You asked Sophie tomarryyou onlyfour years ago?”
West frowned now, too. He disapproved of such liberal employment of italics; it was borderline hysterical. “Our paths crossed soon after her husband’s death. We… talked,” he said delicately, which James and Hawthorne—being no fools—naturally immediately understood to mean something entirely other than “talking.” Their eyebrows performed another round of irritating in-unison lifting, which West ignored. “I, foolishly, thought that now that she was widowed, our path was clear and we could wed, once she was out of mourning. She felt otherwise.”
A silence fell that felt expectant, somehow. West looked from his brother to his valet, both of whom were regarding him almost incredulously.
“What?” he asked, a bit defensively.
“That’sit?” James sounded flabbergasted, which was truly saying something, given that his brother was not a man in the habit of expressing strong emotions. They’d both been trained well by their father.
“I believe when a lady informs you that she will—and I quote—nevermarry you, the gentlemanly thing to do is to retreat.”
“West,” James said patiently, “did she tell youwhyshe would never marry you?”
“We didn’t get that far in our conversation.”
“Of course you didn’t,” James muttered. “Is this a family curse? Did some ancestor of ours offend a witch at some point, generations ago? Though ‘inability to communicate’ seems like an oddly specific curse.”
West was unamused. “I think I liked you better before you reconciled with Violet,” he said darkly. “You didn’t joke then.”
“I’m only half-joking now,” James shot back. “For God’s sake, you’ve been in love with Sophie for years, and you didn’t even think to ask herwhyshe was so dead set against marrying you?”
“It doesn’t matter, because I know now,” West said coldly. “I thought I understood the full scope of things then, but it turns out I was wrong.” He informed James and Hawthorne in as few words as possible about the duke’s intervention—first in threatening Maria, then in threatening him.
“Well,” Hawthorne said, “I can’t say I blame her. Are you certain you’re worth all this?”
West cast him a dark look. “She’s close to her family—and they’ve been nothing but kind to me. I do not think she can fathom marrying me, if it would mean a permanent rupture with my father, my losing Rosemere… and I don’t know how to make her understand that she is worth more than all of that to me.”
“Well,” James said, “I don’t know that I’m in a position to be offering much in the way of romantic advice, given, er, recent events”—West fought the urge to smile at this—“but it seems to me that this farce you’ve found yourself enmeshed in is actually a perfect opportunity.”
West frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Everyone in thetonthinks you’re engaged. You’ll have to spend an awful lot of time together. This is the perfect opportunity to court her—convince her that it’s worth it. Thatyou’reworth it. Thatyoucan be her family, even if Father will not accept her.”
“I want her to want to marry me, James. I don’t want to have to pressure her into it.”
“Then don’t. Simply make her see that she means more to you than anything else on earth—because she does, doesn’t she?” He paused, and glanced at West. Whatever he saw in only the most cursory glance at West’s face was enough to answer his question, which in turn left West feeling oddly naked.
“Or…” Hawthorne said slowly, and West suppressed a sigh; he was not accustomed to finding himself in the role of the man receiving romantic advice from his friends, and he did not think he enjoyed it. “You could ask her.”
“Have you been listening for the past ten minutes?” West asked, irritated. “Ididask her—or as good as—and she gave me an unequivocal no.”
“Not tomarryyou, for Christ’s sake.” It was Hawthorne’s turn to sound vaguely exasperated. “You toffs and your fixation on marriage, it’s unhealthy.”
West had no reply to this, considering that Hawthorne had his own, very valid reasons for being skeptical of the institution of marriage, and the rules surrounding it.
“I meant,” Hawthorne continued, “that if, last time, she felt that you weren’t taking her concerns seriously… perhaps, this time, you should ask her how you two could make this work between you. An affair—marriage—whatever it is you want. You could be her partner, rather than her protector. Work it out together.”
