“I don’t have long to sort it out. I’m expected back in St. Petersburg in June.”
She refilled his cup and her own. “You have much to do then, in such a short time. The estate will need a lot of work, I fear.”
He pulled a face. “As bad as that, is it? Oh well, I’ll get it started and my brother will help—he loves that kind of thing. I’m not completely off the hook as far as work is concerned. The czar’s aunt, the Grand Duchess Anna Petrovna Romanova, is making her first visit to London, and since she knows me well, I must go to London and dance attendance on her. She’s an old lady and very difficult to please.”
She gave him a dry look. “I gather you please her.”
He was startled.
Her eyes danced. “My grandmother was the same—very crotchety and picky in general, but in the company of a handsome young man, she blossomed. You’d think her nothing but milk and honey.” She began to clear away the cups and saucers. “So, no other close relatives who might be worrying? Parents? A wife? Should you write to your brother and tell him you are all right?”
“No, I’ve al—” He broke off, recalling how he’d broken into her letter to Marcus. “No one will be worried. My parents are dead and I have no wife.” He took a breath and added, “Though my aunt is even now making arrangements for my wedding.”
“You’re betrothed?” Was there a constraint in her voice? Her back was turned so he couldn’t read her expression. Surely she didn’t think . . . didn’t expect . . .
His chest felt suddenly tight.
She turned with a brilliant smile. “How exciting. Tell me about your fiancée. Is she pretty? Is the wedding to be soon? You must tell the girls, they love to hear about weddings.”
No, she didn’t expect . . .
On balance, he was relieved, he thought. She was a lovely girl, but life didn’t work like that. Marriages were like treaties between countries, made for practical reasons, not emotional ones. He knew it and Maddy, being of French descent, would know it, too. The French, even after their revolution, remained hardheaded and practical in separating marriage from matters of the heart.
Besides, who knew what Aunt Maude had already arranged? He’d given her more than three weeks. Aunt Maude could settle the affairs of a small country in three weeks. She’d probably picked out the perfect bride for him already. And booked the church.
The tightness in his chest didn’t ease.
“I’m not yet betrothed,” he said. “My aunt has guaranteed to find me a suitable bride.”
“Suitable?” Her eyes widened. “You’re leaving it to your aunt?”
He shrugged. “It’s the most practical solution.”
“You don’t plan to marry for love, then?” She sounded amazed.
There was a short silence, then, “I’ve always believed an arranged marriage is the most prudent approach.”
“Prudent, yes, but a little . . . cold-blooded, don’t you think? Especially when you have a choice,” said the girl who had none.
He hesitated. If she was harboring any female dreams of hearts and flowers, it was best to put her straight now. “My parents made a love match. From the point of view of a child of that marriage, it was a living hell. My opinion hasn’t altered since.” His opinion had, in fact, hardened. The more bored and restless wives invited him for dalliance, the more he realized that marriage and love was the worst possible combination.
He pretended not to notice her troubled expression and added in a light voice, “Besides, I don’t have time to go a’courting. I’m only in England for a short time. The Foreign Office frowns on English diplomats marrying foreigners, and my aunt can be trusted to find the right sort of girl.”
“I’m fascinated by this glimpse into another world,” she said. “What is ‘the right sort of girl’?”
He ran a finger around his collar. Even though he wasn’t wearing a neckcloth, it felt quite tight. “Oh, you know, a girl with the right sort of upbringing, the right sort of connections for a life in diplomatic circl—”
“Maddy, Maddy, we’re home.” The children burst into the cottage. Nash was never so glad to see a bunch of muddy children in his life. The conversation had strayed into sticky areas.
They both knew anything more between them was impossible, but still . . .
“We saw Mr. Harris going into the village,” John told them. “He looked like someone had punched him in the nose.” He scrutinized Nash’s face, glanced at his knuckles, and exchanged a satisfied look with Henry.
“Lizzie’s aunt gave us a quart of fresh milk,” Jane said, shutting the door behind them.
“And some cream to have with our pancakes, as well as the cottage cheese,” Susan added. “Lucy’s got the cheese.”
“Your horse is in splendid fettle, sir,” Henry told Nash, inspecting the signs of battle. “Needs to be ridden, we think,” he added hopefully.
