Page 31 of An Unwitting Alliance
He was staring at her again, his eyes making a study of something. “Have you always wanted to live your life alone? I imagine living in a house full of people could make one want the opposite.”
She could see how her family could have that effect on him and others, but it did the opposite for her. She might as well tell him the whole of it before she really did end up with a pair of spectacles. “Megan exaggerated my words when she claimed I dreamed of spinsterhood. I desire an escape as much as the next person, but I genuinely enjoy living in a house full of people. In truth, I have wanted to be a mother since I was a very little girl. I hope to have as many children as the good Lord blesses me with.” She took a deep breath. “Even if that does mean I must marry first.”
If he seemed surprised by her sudden candor, he did not show it. “A wise order of things, Miss Vail. And an admirable goal.” He cleared his throat, pushing away the seriousness from his voice. “I cannot say I have ever longed to be a father, which leads to only one conclusion. You must have dreamed of a different knight in shining armor all this time.”
She looked away from him to the piles of books. For some reason, she could not bring herself to be rude and tell him she had absolutely never dreamed of him—especially when he seemed genuinely interested in her feelings. And how could she fault him for wanting something different than she did? If he did not desire to father children, that was his own prerogative. It only further proved how incompatible they were. “Dreams aside, I am determined to make a match of my own choosing.” Her mind worked up a way to flip the question on him. “What about you? What do you want?”
His smile lines faded, and he swallowed. Had her question caught him so off guard?When he met her gaze again, he said, “Currently, I want to reform a workhouse.”
That was the last thing she had expected him to say. “Do you have one in mind?”
He nodded. “Airewell’s.”
A spoiled baron’s son would never even consider such a notion. He must be daft. “Do you know anything about reforming workhouses?”
“I am going to learn.” Mr. Harwood’s smile returned. “That is the great thing about this life. With a little work, experience and information are ripe for the picking.”
“For a man, and one of your station, perhaps.”
His eyes lit with amusement. “They are more available for those like myself, as you say, but I would argue that most of my station are lazy and self-indulgent.”
“But not you?” She still did not know if she could believe him.
“I do not care to be judged by the aristocracy at large, though you may think one night sufficient proof of my character. I know you do not trust me, Miss Vail, but on this account you can be sure: I might tease and deflect, but I would never intentionally hurt you or anyone else.”
He was right that she did not trust him, but sincerity rang in his tone. Had she condemned him too quickly? If he truly wanted to reform a workhouse, he could not be so wholly bad. But since she could not be certain just yet, she brought the subject back to his project. “Where will you begin your workhouse education?”
“I will visit a neighboring workhouse or two and compare what is being done there.”
“What about the owner or overseer or whoever is in charge? They cannot like you coming in and wanting to change things.”
“You impress me with such an observation.” Mr. Harwood evenlookedimpressed, so he must have meant it. “No, my changes will not be desirable for the owner. I will not focus on the problem but the solution. In this, you may be assured, an answer will come. I have found there is always a way when a person truly wants to right a wrong.”
“You sound as if you have great experience on the subject.”
His lips twitched and his smile grew a little more. “I think you should be more concerned with my successes. For if I have a poor record, I cannot have the least hope of turning a beautiful woman into a spinster.”
It was not meant as a compliment, but the wordbeautifuldid not get past her. It sank deep, penetrating her bloodstream and sending warmth pulsing through her veins all the way to her cheeks. She ducked her head. “You did well enough with Tiger.” She stroked the cat’s blue-tinted fur. “So you cannot be a lost cause.”
She meant it in more ways than one. He was far more thoughtful than she gave him credit for. Almost sweet.
“We can only hope. There are a lot of men, women, and children who depend on reform. But do not forget that you are my top priority.”
“Me?” Her head came up in her complete surprise. And flattery, if she dared admit it to herself.
He nodded. “Of course. I have not forgotten about that turban. You know, you don’t have to be a spinster to wear one.”
That one sentence reminded her why she was not going to marry Mr. Harwood. He was entirely too focused on all the wrong things. A turban was not going to get them out of this betrothal mess. While he continued to tease her about spinsterhood, she would have to redouble her efforts in convincing Aunt Evans to take her as a companion. Ending this betrothal would be completely up to Aunt. Mr. Harwood would be no help at all.
Chapter 13
After his fourth day ofan overly spicy supper, Tom’s stomach desperately needed to recover. He excused himself to write a letter to his parents in his room. He begged them to reconsider the engagement, even though his hope was waning. They believed what they were doing was right, but perhaps time had given them a chance to reflect on the hastiness of their arrangement.
When he finished sealing the letter, he leaned back in his seat and wondered if Miles had received his letter detailing Airewell’s workhouse. Tomorrow Tom would visit the local vicar, Mr. Miner. Then he would need to arrange to ride to Leeds to visit another workhouse so he had something to compare Airewell’s to. He was completely out of his realm here. For the hundredth time, he wondered why Paul had to disappear on a wedding trip when Tom needed his expertise to determine what was legal and what was not. But, despite the weight of responsibility, he was excited too. He wanted to make a difference, even if his contribution was small.
Once he settled into his still-unfamiliar bed for the night, sleep evaded him. Instead ofplanning for the workhouse, all he could think about was how infuriating Cassandra was. She was determined to hate him, and for some reason, he could stomach Fairview’s food better than that idea. His attempt at levity with the mobcap had failed.
He had wronged her at the ball, and now his parents and her parents had done more of the same. He would attempt to apologize again, but she would hardly give him the opportunity to explain. He rolled over once, and the vision of her blue-gray eyes stole away his peace once more. That vexing woman wouldn’t let him sleep. It was not as if they wanted any of the same things. He shifted to the opposite side and focused on clearing his mind. The minutes waxed into over an hour, and somewhere along the way, he finally lost consciousness.
