Exactly what degree was never specified, but the assumption that marriage was their intended destination gave them a great deal of leeway.
For several years, deep inside, she’d felt jealous of other young ladies who, courtesy of such social license, had been able to explore physical liaisons with their beaux. For years, she’d felt shut out, locked out and doomed to forever be on the outside looking in when it came to such experiences.
That hadn’t been solely a function of being Miss Flibbertigibbet, although undoubtedly her social persona had contributed to some extent, but even as Adriana Sommerville, until meeting Nicholas, she’d never met a man, gentleman or otherwise, whom in even her wildest moments she would have contemplated taking as a lover.
She’d almost resigned herself to dying an old maid and never knowing what lying with a man was like.
And then she’d set eyes on Nicholas Cynster, and in all candor, ever since, some part of her mind had dwelled on nothing else.
Imagining…
She had an excellent imagination, yet even so, she hadn’t foreseen just how…compellingthe physical act, even just the prelude to it, would be.
Every part of her had wanted to rush on and embrace the entirety of intimacy, of being intimate with Nicholas.
And that was the point, wasn’t it? She could and would do so only with him.
Yet being intimate with a man and marrying him were two separate and quite different things, a point Nicholas’s “understanding” recognized and acknowledged. If they embarked on an intimate liaison with the intention of progressing to a wedding, despite society’s expectations, it was still possible to mutually cry off. To step back from the altar, providing they both agreed.
If only one of them wished to back away…that would be difficult. But even after several months of indulging as their understanding permitted, if they both concluded that a marriage between them would not work, albeit reluctantly and grudgingly, society would allow them to part.
Essentially with a “least said, soonest mended” attitude.
Despite most of her wanting to rush ahead—to pick up Nicholas’s gauntlet and run with it—some small part of her questioned what would happen if one of them wanted to dissolve their understanding while the other remained firmly set on fronting an altar.
What then?
As far as she could see, that was the only potential problem with Nicholas’s proposition.
For herself, she was more than willing to risk it. Nicholas fascinated her in ways she didn’t understand, in ways she wanted to understand, and doing so would undoubtedly take years. She was fairly certain that love—abiding love—could grow from just such a fascination, and even if it didn’t, she already felt sufficiently fond of him to feel confident in her ability to craft a comfortable marriage with him.
She had never set her mind or heart against marriage. She’d simply seen it as an unlikely outcome for her. If married to the right man, she was only too ready to admit the relationship could be wonderful. Life-altering in so many ways. She only had to look at her parents to see and appreciate the succor and support that a sound, love-based marriage could bring to both parties.
On her own account, she had no qualms about tossing her cap over the proverbial windmill and forging on regardless.
But what if? What if, after she and Nicholas indulged—after he’d initiated her into the pleasures of the flesh—he found her, found continuing to be with her, less than enthralling and, in all honesty, was no longer keen to marry her?
Of course, being Nicholas Cynster and a rigidly honorable gentleman, he would hide his reluctance and, outwardly complacent, put his ring on her finger.
But she would know, wouldn’t she?
Could she live with that? With a marriage in which the husband she loved didn’t actually love her?
She stared at her reflection and wished she had some way of peering into the future.
There has to be some way of creating an honorable caveat that will allow him to back out of our understanding.
She narrowed her eyes on her reflection and drummed her fingertips on the dressing table.
Uncounted minutes later, a deepbongreverberated through the inn. Apparently, they used a large gong to summon travelers to the dining room.
With the barest inkling of an idea fermenting in her brain, Addie rose, shook out her skirts, and went downstairs.
She walked into the private parlor Nicholas had organized to find him and Dickie already there. Two serving girls followed her into the room, bearing a tureen and a plate of crispy bread.
Nicholas held a chair for her at the square table, and she sat and, once the tureen had been placed before her, served them portions of chicken-and-vegetable soup.
She bided her time as they worked their way through the ensuing courses. As they ate, they discussed their plans for the next day. They agreed that, immediately after breakfast, together with Rory, Young Gillies, Jed, and Mike, Addie and Dickie would venture forth to search around the town for anyone who could point them in the direction the thief had taken after he’d left the marketplace. Meanwhile, Nicholas would remain at the inn and act as coordinator of their efforts, directing the various pairs this way and that.
