“Jewels?” Cassian asked offhandedly.
“No,” she said shortly, then by force of habit added, “but thank you for the consideration.”
“Whichever it is,” her father waved, “you will be taken care of, and he has also given into your name a line of rental properties, the rents of which are yours as income.”
At that, her brows shot up. Cassian had given her a business? That was surely unexpected. Surely, that had some strings attached. “That is very… magnanimous of you, Your Grace,” she said carefully.
Cassian lifted his cup as a mock salute. “I do believe in independent women.”
With her dour image of him, the compliment oddly sounded like everything but.
Henry shifted another paper to the side. “The archbishop has granted the Special License, and I will be arranging with St. James for the wedding ceremony.”
Her heart fluttered at the image of wedding guests only attending the wedding to stuff their gossip gullets. “Actually,Father, I’d prefer a smaller venue and a very limited guest list. Perhaps St. Mary on Paddington, or St John’s, or St. Michael's.”
Frowning, Henry asked, “And why is that?”
“Because I do not want to give the gossipmongers more ammunition,” Cecilia said. “The more attention they get, the worse they grow.”
“Really?” Cassian drawled dryly with one hand drumming on the arm of a chair he had just taken. “And here I was contemplating inviting the editors of theTimeswhile I have the invitation to the Prince Regent ready to go.
“In my experience, if you give them more than they can twitter about, they’ll be spoiled for choice and not care to look for anything…more.”
Cecilia gave him an aghast look, wordlessly asking him if he was insane. “I appreciate your candor, Your Grace, but I do not think your blasé treatment of the public is one for me. Discretion is the better part of valor.”
Her father was displeased, but he nodded in allowance, “I’ll see about that. And how many guests do you wish to invite?”
“For me, only two,” Cecilia answered. “Rosie and Emma.”
“And your brother,” Henry pointed out.
“Of course,” she refrained from rolling her eyes.
“One for myself,” Cassian added. “Earl of Somerton, Benjamin Hadleigh. He will be my witness.”
Sitting back in his chair, her father drummed his fingers on the table. “I see. Tressingham wants to speak with you alone for a moment, but I will have your maid sit in with you—” her father’s eyes landed on Cassian, “—so no more impropriety happens, you understand. Even though that horse has bolted from the barn already.”
“Where?”
Moving to the lavish sitting room five minutes later, Cassian noted that the place was done up in shades of ivory and gold. Clearly, the lady of the house had taken great pains to make the room exquisite, but Cassian could not care less about it.
He waited for Cecilia to take a seat in the loveseat while he took the single chair. Cecilia’s buttoned-up dress looked like a nun’s habit to him; the thing went up to her neck, but the soft silver of her gown suited her ethereal beauty perfectly.
She sat rigidly. “What do you want to speak about?”
Her maid rested a tray of tea, coffee, and tarts on the table, made her cup and his, then took a seat in the corner. He wantedto needle her, but reminded himself that her life had been upended, so he needed to tread with care. A woman’s emotions were not to be trifled with.
“About our marriage,” he started.
“It isnotgoing to be a marriage,” she said stiffly. “It is only a mockery of one.”
“And here I hoped you’d found me a delight after the kiss,” he drawled sarcastically. “Believe me, I harbor no delusions that you will have any affection for me.”
She scowled back at him. “You are right about that. I’d swim the channel before I marry you of my own volition.”
“Is marriage to me such a terrible thought?” His lips flickered.
She glared at him. “Yes, it is. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.”
