“Well, yes.” She tucked a stray strand of midnight-black hair back into place. “I had hoped to make this as painless as possible.”
“For whom?”
“For both of us,” she said sharply. “This is not exactly what I had planned, you know.” She turned away and meandered around the perimeter of the library in a manner entirely too casual for the occasion. As if the topic of discussion was of no more importance than whether they should picnic near the lake or by the rose garden. It was as disconcerting as the discussion itself. “I fully intended to marry you.” She trailed her fingers over the edge of the desk. “I certainly wouldn’t have allowed all these preparations otherwise.” She glanced at him. “And I am sorry.”
“Well, as long as you’re sorry.”
Her brow furrowed and she stared at him. “You’re really quite surprised, aren’t you?”
“Surprised is the very least of what I am.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Come now, Winfield, it’s not as if you were in love with me.”
“I was not . . . not in love with you.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It means that I fully expected to love you someday. I expected love between us to grow.” Somehow, that didn’t sound quite as good as he’d thought it would. “I like you a great deal.” Oh yes, that was much better. “I thought we were well suited to one another.”
“Yes, well, there was that.” She cast him a pleasant smile. “I must admit, the idea of spending the rest of my days with you was not the least bit daunting. Indeed, it had a great deal of appeal.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“Nonsense, Winfield, of course you do. You’re simply letting the . . . oh, I don’t know . . . sentimentality of the moment confuse you.” She continued her casual progress around the room. “But even you admit you and I were never a love match.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“So, although we do like one another—and make no mistake about it, I do like you—”
“Imagine my delight,” he muttered.
She ignored him. “Our marriage was more of a practical matter, almost a business arrangement, really.”
He stared. “That’s rather cold.”
“Granted, it’s not quite that callous and, as I said, I do like you.” She thought for a moment. “But I’m certainly not in love with you, nor are you in love with me.”
“I could be,” he said staunchly.
“But you’re not. Tell me, Winfield.” She pinned him with a firm look. “Does your heart flutter when you hear my voice or your eyes meet mine?”
“Well, no but—”
“And when I kiss you, do your toes curl?”
“Not that I have noticed but—”
“Nor do mine. And Winfield . . .” Her gaze met his firmly. “Can you imagine living the rest of your life without me?”
“No,” he snapped.
She raised a brow.
“Perhaps,” he muttered.
“Of course you can. This would be an entirely different matter if we were in love with one another, but as we aren’t . . .” She shrugged.
“Are you in love with him then?” He strode across the room, yanked open the bottom drawer of the desk where his father had long hid a bottle of his favorite Scottish whisky, as his mother did not especially approve of hard spirits. He grabbed the bottle and one of two glasses stored with it, and poured a glass.
“It’s rather early in the day for that, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t.” He took a long swallow. “Indeed, on the day before your wedding when your fiancée informs you there shall be no wedding, I don’t believe there is any such thing as too early in the day.” He glared at her. “Do you?”
“I suppose not.”
“And you have yet to answer my question.” He wasn’t sure why he cared, why it seemed rather important to him. And yet it did. “Are you in love with him?”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? I’m no more in love with him than I am with you, but I am confident I will be one day. I suspect he is in love with me, which is a delightful idea.”
“One wouldn’t think he would come all the way here to propose marriage on the day before your wedding to another man if he wasn’t.” He considered her for a moment. “Unless, of course, he is interested in your inheritance.”
“Nonsense. He already has an impressive fortune and is heir to a dukedom. If anything, I am interested in his prospects, not the other way around.” She shook her head and sighed as if he was entirely too simple-minded to understand. “Even in this modern day and age, women like myself of good family are expected to make the best match possible. It’s the way women improve themselves. And as Harold’s uncle is a duke, and he is his uncle’s only heir, his elderly uncle, it only makes sense for me to marry him as you will only ever be an earl.”
“So you have found a better way to improve yourself than by marrying me?”
“Exactly.” She cast him a satisfied smile. “Besides, he claims to love me, whereas you only plan to love me. All in all, Winfield, even you must admit Harold is a much better choice.”
“You do realize you have broken my heart,” he said in a manner even he knew was perhaps more dramatic than necessary.
“Nonsense, I don’t believe that for a moment. If I did . . .”
“If you did, what?” He sipped his whiskey and studied her.
“If I did . . .” She drew a deep breath. “I probably wouldn’t have had the courage to break it off with you directly. I didn’t have to, you know. I simply could have failed to appear at the wedding or sent you a carefully worded note. But your affections are not overly engaged and you well know it.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“It’s your pride that is, well, not broken exactly but bent a bit, wounded perhaps. As is to be expected.” She considered him thoughtfully. “Therefore if you wish to let it be known that the cancellation of our wedding was my doing, I would certainly understand, although . . .”
“Yes?”
“Well, I would much prefer if the rest of the world did not know I was the one who broke off things between us to marry a man with better prospects.”
He snorted. “In spite of the fact that you are.”
“I know that and you know that, but there’s no need for others to know.”
“I daresay people will notice when you marry Mr. Hedges-Smythe.”
She waved off his comment. “Oh, I have no intention of marrying Harold any time soon. We shall wait a suitable period.” She frowned. “I should think three months would be long enough, don’t you?”
“No.” He huffed.
“Perhaps you’re right.” She considered the question. “Six months would be better. I would hate to appear shallow.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
“Sarcasm, Winfield.” She shook her head. “It would reflect poorly on you too, you know. My being seen as shallow and preferring one man over another simply because of his title. Why, you might even be viewed as somewhat pathetic. At the very least, people will wonder whatever were you thinking.”
“I’m beginning to wonder that myself,” he said under his breath. Still, there was no need to make this worse. He drew a deep breath. “I would propose then that we simply let it be known that by mutual agreement, we have decided not to wed.”
“That will do nicely.” She paused. “I do appreciate it, Winfield.” She hesitated. “This is not as easy for me as it might appear. I am exceptionally fond of you as well. I certainly wouldn’t have agreed to marry you otherwise. But I do have to think of my future and, well, you have my sincere apologies.”
He stared at her for a long moment. She was as beautiful as she had always been, as charming and amusing as well. And she was right.
He had no doubt he would have loved her one day, but he certainly didn’t love her now. His heart was not broken, although it did feel a bit chipped. Still, that might well be his pride.