“I think I shall marry.”
Felicity and Isabella launched to their feet.
“Who?” Felicity demanded.
“Marry?” Isabella cried.
Imogen turned around, her pale hair stark against the blue curtain. “Thurston.”
“Thurston?” Felicity’s mouth hung open.
“Yes. Lord Helston.”
“Surely you jest.” But Isabella’s gut knew the truth. Imogen would not jest about this.
“Thurston has suggested a marriage of convenience, and I have accepted.”
“We are speaking of the same Thurston, are we not?” Felicity asked. “Lady Templeton’s feckless oldest son? The man who refuses to marry. Who rakes about without a care in the world. The man who can’t make it ten moves in chess without you beating him?”
Imogen nodded. “He is a good friend to me, and our needs align. We both desire freedom, and that can be had in a marriage of convenience. I shall provide him with an heir when the time comes, but until then, and after that, we will be free to live our own lives. I may continue my studies, and he may continue his raking. Though I have asked him to please refrain from producing any illegitimate offspring. Seems terribly inconvenient for all involved. Especially the children.”
They had it all planned out, didn’t they, had put much thought into it. And she’d had not a clue. Isabella’s heart throbbed. “How long have you two been discussing this?”
“Since his return from Italy. We were discussing how much I would have enjoyed it, and he said he would like to take me, and I reminded him that was an impossibility, and he looked a bit befuddled at first, but then he remembered and laughed and said we should just marry one another.”
“What a terribly romantic proposal.” Felicity rolled her eyes.
But Isabella could find no joke in it. “You’ve been discussing marriage for a week and have said nothing?”
“I did not tell you, Izzy, because it did seem a joke. At first. But lastnight at the Springdale ball, he mentioned that, if the family was busy holdingone wedding, they could not plan another.”
“You told Thurston about our… problem?” Felicity fisted her hands on her hips. Never a good sign for her levels of irritation.
Imogen lifted her chin. “And a good thing, too. He was clever enough to realize our little joke might prove useful in reality. We’re marrying. He’ll arrive this afternoon to speak with Samuel.”
Felicity’s arms dropped, her hands unclenching. “You’ll be Marchioness of Templeton one day, then.”
“And Viscountess Helston… how soon?” Isabella crept closer to her sister, looking for signs of doubt in her face. She saw none.
Imogen smiled. “I would think not too soon. One of the points is, after all, to delay Samuel’s nuptials. But we will also have to suggest that some urgency is needed, or they might decide to put off my wedding until after Samuel’s.”
“Urgency…” Felicity frowned. “You don’t mean you’ll suggest—”
“That Thurston and I have… anticipated our wedding night. Yes, we do plan to suggest that. Only, though, if Mr. Haws demands we wait to wed.”
“Have you,” Isabella asked, “anticipated?”
“Absolutely not. Thurston is a dear, and I am, as you know, terribly curious about male anatomy, but no. And we will not until he needs an heir.”
“That’s usually something a future marquess starts on right away,” Isabella said.
“Thurston wishes to wait.”
“His mother and father will pressure him otherwise.”
“Thurston might not be a lot of things. But he is stubborn. When he sets his mind to something, he does it. Or doesn’t do it, as the case might be.”
“You’re set on this path?” Isabella asked.
