"I find it saves time."
Julian’s gaze did not shift, though there was the faintest suggestion of something more attentive in it now. She took a small step closer, not enough to intrude, but enough to remove any remaining sense that this was an accidental encounter.
"You require a wife," she said.
"That is not anything I have said."
"It is true," Eleanor replied. "Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not."
"And you have taken an interest in this?"
"I have, yes."
"For yourself?"
"Yes, though it presents an opportunity," she replied.
"For whom?"
"For both of us."
He was silent for a moment. Eleanor wondered if he knew what she was about to say.
"You assume a great deal," he said.
"I do not assume," Eleanor answered. "I observe. You require a wife for practical reasons. I require a change in circumstances. In spite of what you might think of me, neither of us are inclined toward unnecessary complication."
"And you believe those requirements align."
"I do, on the basis that neither of us expects what the other has no intention of giving."
The words settled between them. Lord Harrowby did not respond. Eleanor held his attention for a moment longer, then spoke, just as plainly as before.
"You should marry me."
CHAPTER 4
Julian did not answer at once.
For a moment, he simply looked at her. He did not know what had gotten into Miss Whitcombe, but there was no uncertainty, no trace of humor to soften the words. She was entirely serious.
"You cannot mean that," he said at last.
Miss Whitcombe did not look away.
"I do."
He searched for a flicker of doubt, a suggestion of provocation, some sign that this was merely her trying to get a rise out of him again.
There was none.
"Have you lost your senses?" he asked. "Or do you expect me to believe that you mean this?"
"I expect you to understand that I would not say it otherwise."
Julian exhaled, and not half as lightly as he intended.
"This is not amusing," he said.