He froze, his mind blanking. ‘Uh…’
‘She will have a dowry, too. A large one.’
He flinched. Was it possible? Could he wait for Lucy to come of age? His heart lurched in his chest. ‘You have been gone from England a long time, my lord. Neither of us knows what awaits us when we land.’
His sister’s letter ran through his thoughts. He’d read it so many times, it was committed to memory. Of course, he’d imagined that he’d arrive home to find that everything had miraculously changed for the better. Just as he’d imagined the damaged roof coming down on their heads, killing everyone.
Unfortunately, Cedric was well versed in playing the odds. He knew his father would not change. Which meant that his sisters were in a miserable situation. Worse, the moment the word was out about Grace’s dowry, every fortune-hunter in England would appear at her door. He couldn’t risk the competition much as he might want to.
‘I have made my choice,’ he said through the constriction in his throat. ‘Miss Richards,’ he began, but he couldn’t force the next words out. And his knees appeared to be locked. Why wouldn’t they bend?
‘I need more time,’ she said, her words rushed. ‘I need to learn your customs.’
‘I can teach you whatever you need to know. And if not me, then my mother.’ He nearly choked on that last bit. His mother would not treat a half-Chinese bastard well, but that was tomorrow’s problem.
Time to drop to one knee. Time to propose. But his legs would not bend, and he kept thinking, what if he waited? Could he hold off disaster another year? Could he wait for Lucy?
And in his hesitation, he lost Grace. ‘This is a very great honour,’ she said, her words stiff. ‘But I need more time.’ Then, despite the fact that she wore a dress, she escaped his grip andscampered up the sails. She had to hike her dress up an indecent amount, but she did it anyway, no doubt to hide in the crow’s nest.
Thank God it was dark, though he knew several people had watched the scene unfold. They did not see her bare legs. Nor could they mark his red face.
He had been denied. His last hope for his family snatched away.
He had tried gambling for coin, but that was a miserable, hateful existence. He had tried to work for it, but the East India Company was not the place for a moral man. And so he had done what generations of gentlemen did. He had tried to marry the coin. And even that had been refused.
The weight of his failure turned to acid in his gut. Why had he hesitated? He knew Lucy was lost to him.
He abruptly spun around and headed to his cabin. The captain tried to catch his eye, his expression sympathetic. He wanted none of it. He would not accept sympathy from a lowly captain. He was a future earl! And he should not have to beg for his bride!
He spoke to no one after that moment. He paused briefly to think of Lucy, but even her company was not welcome. Nothing could soothe the fury building in his heart. Nothing would stop the coming explosion.
Only one choice then. He had to leave as soon as they made port in a couple hours. He burst into his room, slowing just enough not to brain himself on the spice crates. Damn it, he was going to have to drop to his knees to grab his meager belongings from beneath his bed. He did so, cursing the delay. And when he had finally prepared everything so that he could leave as soon as they made port, he climbed back onto his berth, scooting backwards for his pillow, and lay down with his satchel on his lap.
Or rather, he landed in the lap of the one person he couldn’t bear to think about much less see. Or touch. Or lie in her lap.