Clare was speechless for a moment. "Oh."
He saw that she was surprised, but he could not tell if she was shocked or angered or horrified to discover that she would soon be wed to a bastard. "Now mayhap you understand."
"Aye, sir, I do. Under the circumstances, Desire is no doubt as much as you can expect to receive by way of an inheritance, is it not?"
He did not like the hint of sympathy in her voice. "Tis enough. More than I expected."
Clare glowered at him and then bent her head over the letter. "This is too much. Your father states that I am to marry at once and that he hopes I will choose you, but if not, he will accept Nicholas of Seabern as the new lord of Desire."
"I told you that Thurston is most anxious to see the matter settled,"
Gareth said neutrally. "He was much alarmed to discover that this manor had been without a lord for some time."
"Ah?"
"For some reason, he did not learn of your father's death until very recently. Apparently your letter notifying him of the sad event was delayed for a few months."
"Well, as to that, aye, there was some small delay." Clare cleared her throat discreetly. "I was numbed with grief for a time, of course."
"Of course."
"And then, when I eventually recovered, I discovered that there were a great many business matters that needed to be settled."
"Naturally."
"And then, the first thing I knew, it was winter," Clare continued blithely. "I reasoned that the roads would be impassable, what with the snow and ice. I decided it would be best to wait until early spring to send a message to Thurston."
Gareth almost smiled. "And while you waited for the roads to clear, you sought to discover a way to avoid marriage."
Clare gave him a disgruntled look. "It was worth a try."
He shrugged. "But the effort failed. So now we must go forward along a new path."
"We?"
"Aye. There is no reason the marriage cannot be celebrated on the morrow, is there?"
"Impossible." Desperation flashed in Clare's eyes. "Absolutely impossible. It simply cannot be done."
"It most certainly can be done, and well you know it. All that is required is that a priest be summoned?"
"We do not have a priest here on Desire," Clare said swiftly.
"I'm sure that one can be found in Seabern. We shall make our vows in front of witnesses, and that is that."
"But there is so much more to the matter," Clare protested. "A suitable celebration must be arranged.
My marshal already has his hands full organizing the household to accommodate all of your men. He will need weeks to arrange a wedding banquet and a proper feast for the villagers."
"I am certain all can be arranged very quickly once you have made your selection. A day or two at most," Gareth conceded.
"You speak as one who has never had to organize such an event," she informed him with lofty disdain. "Great quantities of bread must be baked. Fish must be caught. Chickens plucked. Sauces prepared. Casks of wine and ale will have to be purchased. It will be necessary to send someone to Seabern to obtain some of the supplies."
Gareth came to a halt and confronted her. "Lady, I have organized entire battles with less notice. But I am willing to be patient."
"How patient?"
"Now we are to bargain on that point? I begin to comprehend that I am to marry a woman with a head for business. Very well, my terms are simple. I shall allow you a day to make your decision and to prepare."
"One day?"
"Aye. An entire day. All of tomorrow, in fact. I am feeling in an indulgent mood."
"You call that indulgent?"
"I do. We shall be married the day after tomorrow even if we are obliged to serve naught but bad ale and stale bread at the banquet. Do you comprehend me?"
"Sir, I am not one of your knights to be ordered about in such an overbearing manner."
"And I am not one of your household servants or a fawning young minstrel devoted to serving your every whim," Gareth said calmly. "Unless you have decided that you wish to wed Nicholas of Seabern?"
"I most certainly will not marry that obnoxious oaf."
"Then I will soon be your lord and the lord of this manor. Tis best that you remember that when you think to gainsay me."
"What I choose to remember is that I am the lady of Desire and I will expect to be treated with the respect that is my due."
Gareth took a single step forward. He was pleased when Clare stood her ground, but he was careful not to show his satisfaction. He was, after all, well skilled in the arts of combat. He knew better than most that it was extremely unwise to show weakness of any kind.
"Be assured that you have my respect, madam. But you cannot avoid the facts. Lord Thurston has commanded you to wed as soon as possible."
Clare tapped Thurston's letter against her palm and regarded Gareth with narrowed eyes. "Are you quite certain that you did not overtake my other suitors on the road, do something dreadful to them, and then write this letter yourself?"
"That is Thurston of Landry's seal. Surely you recognize it."
"Seals may be stolen or duplicated and used for fraudulent purposes."
Clare brightened. "Aye. I should have thought of that immediately. 'Tis quite likely that this seal is false. I shall have to write to Lord Thurston to ascertain if he actually wrote this particular letter."
Gareth regarded her with dawning amazement. Clare certainly did not surrender easily, not even to the inevitable. "Madam?"
"Twill no doubt take several days, mayhap weeks, to receive an answer from your father. 'Tis unfortunate, of course, but we shall have to postpone the selection of a husband until he sends a message to me verifying that this letter is genuine."
"Hell's teeth."
Her eyes shone with a mock innocence that did not completely veil the underlying shrewdness. "Only think of the complications that would ensue if I were to act in haste."
Gareth caught her chin on the edge of his hand and leaned very close to brush his mouth lightly across hers.
"Give it up, lady," he said softly. "The letter is genuine. Your lord, my father, wants you safely wed as soon as possible. There is no way out of this snare. Go and see to the preparations for our marriage banquet because, unless you wish to marry Nicholas of Seabern?"
"I most definitely do not wish to wed him."
"Then come the day after tomorrow, you will be my wife."
Clare watched him in silence for a few taut seconds. A sudden crackling sound made Gareth glance down. He saw that she had crushed Thurston's letter in her hand.
Without a word, Clare whirled around and walked away from him. She did not glance back as she stalked out of the garden.
Gareth did not move until she had gone. Then he turned slowly to contemplate the well-ordered garden for a long while before he went to find Ulrich.
Clare sought the refuge of her study chamber. It was a place where she could usually find as much satisfaction as she could in her garden or in the workrooms where she concocted her perfumes and potions.
The walls of the sunny chamber were covered with beautifully worked tapestries featuring garden scenes. The air was scented by urns full of flowers that had been crushed and dried and then painstakingly mixed to yield complex fragrances.
The braziers in the corners, which provided heat on cold days, burned scented coals that delighted Clare's sensitive nose.
In the days following the death of her brother, Edmund, and again, after receiving the news of her father's death in Spain, Clare had found solace and comfort in this chamber.
A few months ago, seeking a way to take her mind off her myriad problems, she had begun a book-writing project. She determined to write down many of her intricate perfume recipes.