the great goal toward which every lady of gentle birth must aspire. Marriage is the consummation devoutly to be wished for, literally and figuratively, and here it is, but I’m…”
She looked small and bewildered by the grimy window. Also remote.
“Della, may I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“Why did you run off with Chastain?”
She crossed the room and took a seat on the sofa. This being the guest parlor, and seeing little use, the sofa was a lumpy castoff that looked more comfortable than it was.
“Not here,” Ash said, extending a hand to her. “The family parlor, to use a euphemism, is more commodious.”
He escorted Della down the corridor and sent up a silent prayer that Sycamore had put away his naughty prints.
“A bachelor lair,” she said, picking up one of Sycamore’s prints. “And this passes for art in such an establishment.”
“Sycamore collects satirical prints, but his tastes tend to the pruriently satirical. He’ll take that with him when he leaves.” Or Ash would burn the damned thing.
The family parlor was warm, the furniture comfortable, and the carpet slightly worn. Ash had spent many an hour in here tending to ledgers, budgets, and invoices.
“Sycamore and I have our best rows here,” Ash said, poking some air into the fire as Della untied her bonnet ribbons. “We agree that arguments in front of the staff are ill-advised, so this has become the arena where we verbally spar. Might I take your cloak?”
Della made no move to take it off, so Ash undid the frogs.
“Will we have rows, Ash?”
“Very likely. You will scold me, I will grumble at you. The Coventry or Sycamore will annoy me, and you will have a megrim exactly when I most try your patience.” He drew her cloak from her shoulders and draped it over the chair behind the desk. “Then we will make up, as newlyweds do, and all will be well again. Tell me about Chastain.”
With a flick of her wrist, she sent her bonnet twirling in the direction of a coat rack in the corner, such that the bonnet landed precisely on the only empty hook.
“Good aim, my lady.”
“An easy target.” She smiled wanly. “I am ashamed of my behavior with Chastain. I behaved impulsively, and when I behave impulsively, the result is usually disastrous.”
Was she marrying impulsively? “Let’s sit, and if you are hungry, I can put together a tray. We have a warming pantry arrangement on this floor, and a full kitchen is downstairs, though we often eat at the club.” That would have to change once Della became the lady of Ash’s house.
She took a seat in a corner of the sofa. “I am not hungry. I like this room.”
She did not invite Ash to take the place beside her, but they were to be married, and at some point, courtesies could become absurdities.
“About Chastain, Della?” he asked, joining her on the sofa. “Were you truly eloping with him?”
She shook her head. “I am the last unmarried Haddonfield, and this is such an abomination against the natural order that all of my siblings—there are eight, counting Ethan, not to mention their well-intended spouses—have conspired to bring the universe back into harmony. They fling bachelors at me as if they were sowing seeds in a biblical parable. Did you know that half the City is earnestly attempting to marry their sons to women from titled families?”
“I was aware of that trend.” Ash rested an arm along the back of the sofa. “And half the peerage is trying to marry their sons to the daughters of wealthy cits.”
Della hunched forward. “Much desperation results.”
“Were you desperate?”
“I missed you desperately.”
Nice try. “I missed you too. About Chastain.”
“Town has emptied out. The shooting is well under way, opening hunts around the corner, the house parties have begun, and still here I am, stuck in London. I was at some card party or other, partnered by a strutting twit who could not keep his hand off my skirts beneath the table. I excused myself from play and determined then and there that I was finished.
“No more smiling while my person is disrespected, no more standing up with men who hope to waltz away with my settlements, no more bad jokes about pocket Venuses and small packages.”
Ash mentally eliminated two phrases from his vocabulary. “You were angry.”
“I was desperate. I think I was born desperate.”
While Ash’s burden had been to be born despairing. “You took desperate measures?”
“I thought I was being practical, clever even. Chastain wanted out from under his