Page 54 of When She Was a Governess
“I can. I will.” Henry met his eyes steadily. “I know what she’s survived. She told me what happened with her last employer. I intend to make the rest of her life a happy one.”
Sebastian’s expression darkened. “She told you about the assault?”
“Yes. And it made me want to kill the man who hurt her.” Henry’s hands clenched. “But instead, I promised her she would always be safe with me. That no one would ever hurt her again. I intend to keep that promise. The thought of her being unhappy or hurt makes me…” He stopped, his hands clenching the arms of his chair. “It makes me furious in a way I’ve never felt before.”
“That sounds like love to me,” Sebastian said with a glance at his brother.
Henry picked up his glass of port. “I can promise you—I will spend the rest of my life trying to make her happy. Trying to be worthy of her. She deserves nothing less. As I said earlier, she’s brought the house back to life. And me too.”
James studied him for a long moment, taking a draw on his cigar, exhaling slowly. “Fine. I am convinced. Now let’s talk about practicalities. The estate. Is it entailed?”
“Yes. To the male line,” Henry said.
“And it came to you through whom?” James asked.
“My uncle, George Montrose. He inherited from his father, but he had no sons. Only a daughter—Charlotte, now theDuchess of Thornbridge. When he died six years ago, the estate passed to me as the nearest male heir.”
“And the Duchess has no resentment about this?” James’s tone was skeptical.
“None. Charlotte married well. The Duke of Thornbridge has substantial estates of his own. And my uncle left her a generous settlement in his will.” Henry paused. “Charlotte and I grew up together. She’s more like a sister to me than a cousin. She and her husband are my dearest friends.”
“The estate,” Sebastian said, returning to practical matters. “You said it’s entailed. Are there debts?”
“None. My uncle was an excellent steward. The estate is profitable, with two thousand acres, most let to good tenants. I’ve made some improvements since inheriting: new drainage in the lower fields, repairs to tenant cottages, expansion of the glasshouses. The income is solid.”
“And there is Sophia’s dowry,” Sebastian said.
“It is generous, your grace. But I would have married her without it.” Henry paused. “I’m not a wealthy man by ducal standards, but I’m comfortable. Sophia will want for nothing.”
“What about her pin money?” James asked. “Will she have any money of her own?”
“I’ve arranged for five hundred pounds per annum, plus full access to the household accounts for any expenses she deems necessary. And I’ve settled ten thousand pounds on her independently—it’s hers regardless of what happens to me or the estate. It will be formalized in the marriage contract.”
Sebastian nodded approvingly. “That’s generous.”
“As I’ve said, she’ll have whatever she needs,” Henry said.
Sebastian raised his glass. “To your marriage, Montrose. May it bring you both the happiness you deserve.”
James raised his glass as well, though his expression remained guarded. “To Sophia’s happiness. And your wisdom in protecting it.”
Henry raised his own glass, grateful to have won their approval. “I won’t fail her. Or you. I swear it.”
“Now then,” Sebastian said, setting down his glass with a decisive click. “I believe we’ve kept the ladies waiting long enough. Shall we join them?”
As they rose and made their way toward the drawing room, Henry felt his heart begin to pound. What he’d thought would be lies had become truth. He was in love with Sophia Ashford. He had fallen in love with his convenient bride.
And tomorrow, he would marry her, knowing that what had started as a practical arrangement had become something real. At least to him. He suspected it was the same for her. Regardless, he would give his full effort to making her fall in love with him. She was worth fighting for. He knew it now, down deep in his bones. They were meant to be.
Chapter Twelve
Mrs. Shaw helpedSophia into her wedding gown. The dress showed Mrs. Fletcher’s unmistakable artistry—exquisite Brussels lace at the neckline and sleeves, tiny seed pearls embroidered in a trailing pattern down the skirt.
“Almost done, my lady,” Mrs. Shaw murmured, fastening the row of tiny buttons up the back.
Sophia obeyed, watching her reflection transform. In less than an hour, she would be Lady Montrose. Henry’s wife. Amelia’s mother. The thought made her almost dizzy.
“There,” Mrs. Shaw said, stepping back. She was quiet for a moment, then added softly, “Your mother would have loved to see you looking so beautiful on your wedding day.”
