“Have you not already been doing so my lord?”
“I could be more so,” he replied. “I am in urgent need of a wife. You are in urgent need of support. I would say that we are both well matched. The circumstances of this, alone, means we need to trust each other.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then what will happen to your father?”
“You mean to manipulate me?” For someone who seemed to dislike blunt speak, Miss Walsh was warming to the matter heartily.
“Aye, I thought that obvious.” She gasped in response to this, so he pressed on hastily, “It would be to our mutual advantage. I cannot imagine you have many wealthy lords offering for you, despite your many charms.”
Her eyes blazed at that, but instead she fired back with, “Don’t you know dozens of more eligible, more suitable ladies?”
“I do. But they would take months to court. And look for a grand society wedding and possibly a honeymoon, none of which I have time for.”
“Why is it that you wish to wed so urgently, my lord?”
“I am dying.” Saying it aloud to her was a way of acknowledging it to himself. It had made him bitter and furious, but there was no time to rail against the situation—instead, he had to act. “I am not contagious, but my doctor says I won’t last out the year.”
As he spoke, he saw a shocked, compassionate look pass over Miss Walsh’s face, and then tears filled her eyes. He knew he could not stand her sympathy. If he allowed her to be sweet and concerned for him, it would break the fragile barrier he had erected to save himself from wallowing. He had to be strong; there wasn’t time for anything else.
“And marrying you will…” her words trailed off.
“Secure me an heir. As that is my reasoning for such a sudden marriage. I need an heir.” He held off mentioning his brother; after all, he did not wish to scare the woman away.
“But—we would—if I agreed… what I mean is, there is no guarantee that I would have a son…”
“Are you fertile?” He knew he was being coarse, but again he hoped it would convey the urgency of the situation.
At this question, Miss Walsh’s cheeks bloomed with colour, and she swallowed audibly. “I think I will have that drink now.”
Despite himself, Silverton laughed. He poured and handed her a glass, and with what seemed a practised air, although he felt sure it wasn’t, Miss Walsh knocked a tumbler of whisky back.
“I have no reason to think I would not be fertile.” She lowered the glass and placed it slowly on the table with a decided air. It seemed as if a decision must have been made because she straightened her spine. “If we were to agree, if I were to agree, and I am not saying I will, what arrangement would we come to, for—”
“In regard to Mr. Walsh—” Silverton was about to say that he would be happy to settle whatever debts poor John had mounted up, but Miss Walsh cut him off.
“No. I don’t mean about my father. I mean about me. This decision would be a seismic change to my life. I have an understanding with a young man. Certainly not with someone of your rank. I never entertained such notions. It was never in my mind that I could be a wife to a viscount.”
“A sickly one that you would not have to be married to for long,” Silverton added, hoping to sweeten the pill. A strange thought that this little woman might be interested in someone else. It rankled him,an understanding. It was hardly a real engagement, so he put it aside. How could she not see this was the perfect arrangement for all involved? “You wouldn’t have to bear my company for long, and then you would be a rich widow. Free to return to this other man if you wanted.” Silverton dismissed the jealousy he suddenly felt. After all, he would be dead by then.
“I have been raised to be a teacher or a governess, so being a viscountess may well be beyond me—”
“Please ma’am.” He drew nearer, suddenly wishing he knew her first name. Constantly referring to her as miss, or ma’am, or just Miss Walsh put a barrier between them which he disliked intensely. Her very reluctance and uncertainty made him feel sure he could trust her.
He stepped even closer to her, so close he could see a few faded freckles on the bridge of her nose and study the shimmering shades of brown and green that made up her eyes. He hated to appear weak, but it seemed this would be the best way of winning her over. “I am coming to you in a weakened state, with a simple request. I would be amenable to most things that you ask of me if you would agree to be my wife.”
With the brush of his hand on her mouth, he felt the tremble run through her body. Not willing but unable to resist, his hand dropped from her face to the ribbon that secured her hideous bonnet. He loosened the knot, and the hat fell back to the carpet behind them. Neither of them broke away, and Silverton found that his hand was still resting atop of the clasp of her cloak.
“It was not very becoming.”
“No, it is not my favourite,” she muttered, a small dimple appearing in the corner of her left cheek.
“You do not strike me as a woman much concerned with worldly niceties.” Silverton forced himself to move away from her. Being close to her was clouding his famed rationality, and he disliked the sensation. It unnerved him. He moved to place the desk between them. “But as my viscountess and then as a dowager, you would never have to work again. None of your family would. I can arrange a bank draft as soon as the papers are signed, and after a meeting with my lawyer, we can address any lingering questions you may have.”
“And if I did not… bear an infant?” She had bent and scooped up her hat, holding it tightly in her hands.
It was a fair question, one which Silverton did not want to dwell on. He wanted to take this matrimonial step, and he needed it to work. As for his business for the Home Office, usually a determined attitude was enough to succeed on a mission. He would simply have to adopt a similar attitude towards their endeavours.
