His cautious tone caught me off guard. “Please, tell me.”
“It’s a matter of particular importance to me.” Mr. Delafield folded his hands on his desk and leaned over them, his blue eyes searing into mine as only a future father-in-law’s might do.
Though tempted to squirm, I held steady, feeling this might be some sort of test. “Whatever you ask, sir.”
“An appropriate answer, which is why I have no problem asking this of you. I want you to promise to love my daughter.”
I suddenly tasted the acidic flavor of my breakfast rising in my throat. Love Miss Delafield? This was a marriage, not a romance. But how could I look her doting father in the eye—a man who seemed to trust me without a second thought—and tell him his wish was absurd.
“It’s been twelve years,” I hedged. “We have yet to be reacquainted.”
Mr. Delafield nodded. “That is to be expected, but I must have your word. A man ought not to have a favorite child, but Arabella and me are of similar interest. She possesses an open temperament and a keennessof mind. I cannot part with her for anything less than a marriage where I know she will be deeply cared for.”
My mouth hung ajar. “But you sought an arranged marriage. Am I wrong?”
“I did not seek just any arrangement, mind you. I sought one with you. I also did not press to make anything official over the years in case my daughter found a match more suitable to her.”
“Forgive me.” I rubbed my forehead. I did not expect to find any issue with Mr. Delafield. He had long been a supporter of mine, writing every few months and asking about my studies or my friends. I had willingly replied with details of my pursuits, though I declined any offer for a visit. Occasionally, he would include a detail or two about his daughter and remind me of my duty to marry her.
Never once had he mentioned love.
Mr. Delafield smiled patiently. “As you might have learned already, women are complex creatures. If they do not feel loved and appreciated, their spirits wither. I must have your word that you will try your hardest to show her the love and affection she deserves.”
An image of my friends and the bet flashed through my mind. I couldn’t afford to walk away from this deal. A second image followed the first—one of Miss Delafield’s wicked smile over her burning book. Love was much more than I had bargained for. Was I even capable of having more than obligatory affection for that spindly girl with an abundance of freckles?
My leg began to bounce, and a bead of sweat formed on my forehead as I considered my choice.
“Well?” Mr. Delafield prompted, his eyes probing again.
“I . . . I promise.” My world tilted on its axis—my words as binding as when I’d agreed to the marriage bet that fateful night on the English Channel. Would I live through this insanity too?
Mr. Delafield slapped his hand against the table, making me jump. “Splendid!” He pushed back from his chair and circled the table to me. “We will be family at last.”
“Certainly,” I said, pushing out of his bone-breaking hug. For a narrow man, he had arms of steel. “I will write to my father and tell him of our progress.”
Father would be proud. My angel mother would be ecstatic. I, on the other hand, would be sick. My stomach roiled as I exited Mr. Delafield’s study. I hurried toward the staircase where I could be privately ill in my room.
Voices sounded from the drawing room. Mr. Delafield caught up with me. “What’s all the commotion about?” He set his arm around my back and steered me toward the room and away from my reprieve upstairs. “Shall we not find out and share our good news?”
I dared not open my mouth to answer. It turned out that I didn’t need to. A second later, Mr. Delafield propelled me into the drawing room where I found myself staring at the back of a young couple. The woman had her arm tucked into the gentleman’s as they conversed with Mrs. Delafield, Elizabeth, and another couple I could not see properly.
“I know it is sudden, but Mr. Clodwick and I are engaged to be married.”
That voice . . .
I knew that voice.
Mrs. Delafield shrieked and clutched her chest, while conversely, the second mystery couple clapped their hands and shouted congratulations. Elizabeth’s hand swung over her mouth in apparent shock.
But it was Mr. Delafield who did the unexpected.
Beside me, he roared like an angry lion. “What?!”
The young lady in front of me released her hold on the gentleman and swung around to face us. In a sudden rush of air, I came face-to-face with the woman I could not dismiss from my mind, whose features now seemed achingly familiar—Miss First Page.
My heart stuttered to a stop.
Or should I say, Miss Last Page.