Page 55 of A Vow for the Viscount
“I’m—” He exhaled. “I’m concerned for you.”
Her voice softened. “I know.”
Neither of them said a word.
“Next time,” he said quietly, “I’ll go with you.”
She hadn’t expected him to say it. Not so plainly. But maybe that was how they moved forward now. No more riddles, no more waiting. Just the truth, spoken quietly.
She met his gaze, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. The promise was there, unspoken.
She nodded once and walked past him, into the light.
He watched her silhouette merge with the light, his pulse still thudding like he hadn’t fully let her go.
He didn’t follow. Not yet. He stood there a moment longer, listening to the sea, trying to slow the fear that hadn’t left him since she stepped inside. He hadn’t known how deeply it would gut him to see her disappear into darkness. She was brilliant, stubborn, and recklessly brave. None of that made her invincible.
He pressed a hand against the cave wall, grounding himself and reminding himself that she was safe. For now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Wednesday afternoon, thewind tugged at her cloak as she stepped through Barrington’s door unannounced. Mary-Ann had barely arrived at Barrington’s townhouse when she was ushered into the drawing room and into the chaos that was Mrs. Bainbridge.
Barrington had been called away on urgent business, leaving the drawing room to suffer the full force of Mrs. Bainbridge’s wedding preparations.
The room looked as though it had been swept up in a paper storm. Swatches of fabric, invitation samples, and half-filled teacups littered every available surface. A small pile of folded letters teetered on the edge of the pianoforte bench, and a lace-trimmed veil was draped unceremoniously over a bust of Cicero.
She had expected quiet. A moment to gather her thoughts. Instead, she was greeted by a tempest of lace, letters, and Latin indignation, Mrs. Bainbridge’s dramatic fury over having to recite her vows in a language she neither spoke nor trusted.
Kenworth, predictably unruffled, stood by the fireplace inspecting a parchment scroll as if he were reviewing troop deployments.
She barely had time to cross the threshold before Mrs. Bainbridge descended upon her like a flurry of ribbon and distress.
“He suggested a bishop who only speaks Latin! Latin, Mary-Ann! I am not reciting vows in a language I don’t evenunderstand. What if I accidentally promise to become a hermit or a goose keeper?”
Mary-Ann blinked, stepping out of her walking boots as the woman pressed a sheaf of papers into her hands.
“And don’t get me started on the menu. Her ladyship believes aspic is elegant. Aspic, Mary-Ann. Jellied vegetables pretending to be refined. If we serve it, I may simply perish before the vows are exchanged.”
Sketches, guest lists, and what looked suspiciously like a diagram of the church’s seating arrangement were among the papers in her hand. A tiny ink blot marked a prominent X labeled:Duchess of Carrimere—DO NOT OFFEND.
“I don’t know why I bother planning anything when Barrington’s mother undoes it all before I’ve finished my tea,” Mrs. Bainbridge huffed, pulling off her gloves with dramatic flair. “And now she wants to move the ceremony to their London townhouse. I told her it would be easier to marry in the Tower of London. I think she thought I was serious.”
Mary-Ann stifled a smile. The whirlwind of frustration and absurdity was almost comforting.
From the doorway, Kenworth cleared his throat. “If I may, madam, one rarely needs to raise one’s voice in the Tower.”
Mrs. Bainbridge narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this. And don’t say only mildly. You have that particular look about you. It’s the same one you had when I discovered you had swapped out Lord Pevensey’s wine with claret vinegar at the summer ball.”
“Only mildly.”
“Mary-Ann, I’m going to need you to elope on my behalf. Take Quinton, take a carriage, and disappear to Gretna Green. Barrington and I will follow your example shortly.”
Mary-Ann laughed, unable to help herself. “You could always suggest holding it at Rosalynde Bay,” she teased. “It would certainly keep the duchesses guessing.”
Mrs. Bainbridge paused. “Don’t tempt me.”
