“You would still be taken care of, and we would find another solution should that become a problem. But I do not believe it will be the case.” How hard could it possibly be? Surely, it was merely about perseverance and frequency. “I have faith we will acquit ourselves perfectly well.”
He wasn’t sure why he added that point. If she agreed, they would need to go to bed as soon as possible to ensure she fell pregnant. Now that her bonnet was off, he could see her unruly waves of hair. He wanted nothing more than to stick his hands into the midst of those curls, to feel the strands wrap around his fingers as he drew—no—pulled her to him. Was that why he’d made such a shocking point? Was that why his breath was hitching in his throat as he awaited her answer.
“If I were to agree,” she said slowly, and Silverton felt his stomach clench with pleasure. Miss Walsh did truly look as if she were close to saying yes to his suggestion. “What would our next steps be?”
“We would leave at once for my London residence. So that tomorrow we would be able to approach the archbishop and apply for a license. I believe it should not take us more than a few days. My name will help secure it quickly. Unless you have a hankering for a trip to Gretna Green?”
“I would like my father and sister to be there. At the ceremony.”
Was that ayes? It sounded like one. Silverton suppressed the strange desire to punch his fist into the air with delight. This whole experience was an odd one—clearly, he was not himself. Tentatively, he moved closer to her side. He felt conscious of his appearance, that of an overgrown bear; hardly one to be called the most dashing of suitors. He stopped in front of her. “Is that yes?”
Lifting her face to meet his stare, Miss Walsh said, “I have another request before I agree. This is not a simple matter for me. My life will be forever altered. And even if you do die in a year, our infant will be your legacy.”
“I am aware.”
“You say you want this because you really want a child?” she asked. “To feel as if you were leaving something behind? A child of your own?”
Silverton nodded as if he agreed with her worthy sentiment, guilt shaming him, but his scheme motivating him on. She couldn’t know this was far more to do with his brother than his need to be a father.
“I can understand that desire,” Miss Walsh said. “And I can see how it will improve other’s lives if I were to agree to your proposal.”
“Yes.” He paused, his tone affected by the growing amount of fear if she were to say no. “I am in desperate need of your help, and I have no one else to turn to. Please, say we have an agreement?”
A solemn look fell over her face, and Miss Walsh finally said, “We do. I do.”
“Save those sentiments for the ceremony.” He had hisyesfrom her. Silverton moved away from Miss Walsh, his mind awash with pleasure at his success. Now he needed to be practical. “How much does your father owe?”
A grimace passed over Miss Walsh’s face. “A thousand pounds.”
It was not an inconsiderable sum of money, but Silverton made no comment. He counted out a sheaf of notes and slipped them into an envelope. “I can be ready to leave here within the hour. We will pass by your father’s home and drop these off. We will tell him that you have agreed to be my mother’s companion, and that we are journeying up to London.” He paused for breath. “Is that acceptable?”
“Yes.” She paused and then added, “My lord.”
“In light of our engagement, you may call me Silverton or, should you prefer, Gregory.”
Miss Walsh dimpled. “It suits you.” Her smile was the sort that animated her expressive face, filling in the corners, the cheekbones, the chin, illuminating her as if by a candle that warmed her completely. That her mentioned suitor had not rushed towards a ceremony was a mystery that befuddled Silverton no end.
She made to lift her bonnet back onto her head, and Silverton raised his hand to stop her. “Please, that thing truly is hideous. It does not begin to do you justice.” Miss Walsh’s brow quirked, but she passed him the bonnet, and Silverton unceremoniously threw her hat into the fire. “I will get you one that does.”
“I should think so,” she said, watching the flames engulf her hat. Her expression moved from surprise before she let out a little laugh. “Surely, it was not that bad?”
“It was horrible,” he assured her.
She looked sceptical but made no comment. Instead, moving across to the closest chair to the desk. “Now I must ask for a sheet of paper to write to my employer.”
Passing the paper over, Silverton did not release the sheet even when Miss Walsh’s hand closed over the other side of the paper.
“I must know your Christian name.” It came out as a command when it should have been a request. “For the special license.” And for his own curiosity, he realised.
Miss Walsh did not seem too perturbed by his demand. “My given name is Mary, but everyone calls me Maeve.”
It was a musical, romantic name, of the sort that would inspire poetry and devotion. All too easily, Silverton could see himself sinking into the depths of that sweet, silky name. God, why couldn’t she have said something plain and unremarkable? He caught her watching him and realised that even if her name had been either of those things, he still would have been in over his head.
CHAPTER4
The interlude might as well have been snatched from a dream. A fantastic dream of a mad man, as far as Maeve was concerned. It certainly felt as if it were unreal, and as if at any second, she might be snatched out of this moment. It was hardly an average occurrence in a schoolteacher’s day to day, to be proposed to by a viscount.
You silly chit, she scolded herself,he doesn’t know you.
