Jo Leigh - Confessions Bundle

“I must speak with him,” she replied hurriedly, freeing herself gently from Mercy’s grasp and rushing after Sir Donald.

“But your cloak-!" she heard Mercy cry as she closed the front door behind her. It was still raining; nevertheless, Grace didn’t have the time to fetch her cloak. Sir Donald was nearly at the cow shed.

Sir Donald paused at the entrance, looking back at her with an interrogative smile. “Yes, Miss Barton?” he inquired as she joined him at the door. “Please, come inside out of the wet.”

He pushed open the door and gestured for her to enter, which she did, although that meant she had to push past him, her shoulders brushing his immovable chest. A quick glance around the cow shed revealed Daisy, still chewing, and the stallion, still waiting. There was no sign of any other human there, and for a moment, Grace wondered if the stranger had awakened and left.

“How can I help you, Miss Barton, who only moments ago was so anxious to have me gone?”

She whirled around to face her landlord, noting the smug amusement in his heavily lidded eyes.

“You must reconsider,” she began. “You must be reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” he countered. “I am being reasonable. I either need money from you, or from someone who can provide it.”

Grace took a deep breath and struggled to remain composed. She wouldn’t beg. Not of him, not even for Mercy’s sake.

Sir Donald’s smile grew broader, and his gaze more intense. “I could perhaps be persuaded to reconsider,” he mused, his voice low and uncomfortably intimate. “You are a remarkable-looking young woman, Miss Barton.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed with suspicion and disgust. “I hope what you are about to propose is not going to insult me,” she warned.

“Believe me, Miss Barton, when I tell you that nothing could be further from my mind.”

This time, Grace did not try to hide her skepticism.

“Oh, do not frown so, sweet lady! It quite mars your loveliness.”

“If you don’t mind, Sir Donald, say what you have to say at once. I’m rather cold.”

He ran his gaze over her in a way that reminded her of the damp clothes clinging to her body and she hugged herself. “I see that you are,” he said. “Therefore, although I would much prefer to take my time about this, I will be brief and to the point.”

Suddenly, and to Grace’s utter amazement, Sir Donald Franklin dropped to one beefy knee. “Miss Barton, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Utterly dumbfounded, Grace stared at Sir Donald, convinced she couldn’t have heard him correctly. “I…I beg your pardon?” she gasped.

Sir Donald reached out and took her fingers in his large, damp hand. “My dear Miss Barton--and I do mean dear--I am asking you to marry me.”

“But…I…”

“It’s a surprise, I know,” Sir Donald continued smoothly, stroking her hand as he laboriously got to his feet. “As much to me as to you, if I were to speak truly. It was only when I realized how devastated I would be if you were forced to leave Barton that I knew my own heart.”

“Then do not raise the rent,” Grace said, regaining her faculties and immediately snatching her hand from his.

Sir Donald shook his head. “I regret I cannot do that.”

“Then allow me to say that while I appreciate the honor you do me with this proposal,” she said, her shock giving way to a sarcasm she could not conceal, “I regret my answer must be no.”

Sir Donald looked not a whit dismayed. “I would not be so hasty,” he replied softly, his gaze still upon her. “What I offer is not to be dismissed lightly. Wealth, privilege, a fine home. I would see that your sister wants for nothing. Indeed, she would be most welcome to make her home with us. She would not have to leave her beloved Lincolnshire.”

Somehow, Donald Franklin had discovered the one thing that could force Grace to hear him out without slapping his face: Mercy’s ardent desire to remain in Barton.

Grace forced herself to think of something that would overrule Mercy’s preference. “I don’t love you.”

“Perhaps not at present,” Sir Donald replied. “I’m sure you’ll see my merits soon enough.”

She knew him to be a vain fellow, but his persistence was beyond imagining. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that you love me, either. You hardly know me.”

“Really, Miss Barton, don’t underestimate your charms." He ran his gaze over her body in a way that made her understand that he knew all he apparently wanted to about her. “And of course, there is the value of your family name. Don’t you think you could appreciate being married to a member of parliament?”

That he was ambitious as well as vain was not beyond her expectation; nevertheless, it had not occurred to her--or even the Hurley twins--that he might aspire to political power.

Yet now, when she looked at him and thought of his vanity and ambition and sudden, unexpected desire to be connected to an old family name, she could easily believe it.

She could think of no one worse to represent her county than this conceited, arrogant and greedy man. “You suppose that by marrying me you will advance your own career?”

“I do, and so does Lord Denburton,” he replied, naming a man who had been successful in fielding candidates who were sure to do his bidding for years.

“But I am penniless,” she noted, wondering why this particular point hadn’t stopped him before.

“You are also a very beautiful woman,” he said in what she assumed he intended to be a romantic manner.

He looked like a fool.

“Do you think I could ever be so desperate--”

He held up his hand to silence her. “I would not be too impetuous, Miss Barton,” he said harshly, with a spark of anger in his eyes. “Not when you have such limited alternatives, unless you quite fancy the idea of spending the rest of your life in a workhouse." He took hold of her hand again, so firmly that he hurt her. “I am making you an honorable offer in good faith. Will you not at least do me the courtesy of thinking about it before giving me your final answer?”

Whatever Grace thought of his offer--and at the very least, she considered it outrageous--her mind told her to be circumspect at present. After all, the three-month period he had set to raise the rent was arbitrary, to be extended or shortened at his whim. “Very well,” she said. “I will think about your proposal.”

“Excellent!" he declared, lifting her hand to his lips to kiss it.

She managed to subdue a shudder, yet she could not refrain from tugging her hand away as soon as possible.

He realized the meaning of her action, and a scowl darkened his features. “I have not taken offense at your manner because I knew my proposal would come as a shock to you,” he said, his voice full of menace. “However, Miss Barton, you would do well to remember that I have a long reach. And an even longer memory.”

With that final threat, he retrieved his horse and led it out of the shed.

Grace started to shiver and drew in a great, shuddering breath. She couldn’t marry Sir Donald. Not if she had to become a beggar in the streets.

She heard a small sound, and instantly remembered the stranger sleeping not so far off. Her face flushed with shame at the thought that even an unknown person would have heard Sir Donald propose to her, and she quickly moved to the stall to look at her uninvited guest.

Still asleep, thank heavens, and his presence still a secret. She regarded him for a long moment, marveling that a man so handsome, who had apparently at one time been well-to-do, and who had, perhaps, had a home and a family, was now reduced to sleeping in a stranger’s cow shed. This could be their fate, if Sir Donald would not lower the rent.