The Captain and the Wallflower. Lyn Stone

we’ll all be breathing the country air,” Morleigh said, sliding an arm around Grace as if to protect her. “We should leave now.”

      “I haven’t dismissed you, boy!” the earl exclaimed, shaking a finger in their direction. “What provisions did you make her? What of her dowry and such? Agreeable terms?”

      “We are satisfied with the arrangements, Uncle. I’m handling the business matters until your health is restored, so you needn’t worry. Everything’s well in hand.”

      “The estates?” the earl asked.

      “Thriving, sir. Bills paid, rents collected. Everything is as it should be.”

      The earl closed his eyes. “Or will be when you’re wed. She’ll do, then. Got to have a wife to be settled. A helpmate. Eh, m’dear?”

      The countess nodded. Her smile was for the earl. They were still holding hands. Grace felt tears threaten at the sweetness of it all. She thought of all the years these two had been together and the bond they obviously had formed.

      Morleigh quietly guided her out of the room and closed the door.

      “He never dismissed you!” she whispered. “Will he be angry that we left?”

      Morleigh patted her back where his hand rested. “No. He only likes to remind me now and then that he’s still in command.”

      Grace liked the kind way Morleigh handled the delicate situation with his uncle. Here he was doing all the work of the earl and yet allowing the old gentleman to preserve his dignity.

      The earl and countess had not seemed to notice that Morleigh’s future bride looked like a mouse. At least they had not remarked on it. Grace was just happy not to have appeared before them as a molting duck in her old, jaundiced, limp, ruffled frock.

      Grace was glad, too, that the audience with Caine’s family had been a short one, so as not to tire his uncle.

      She and Caine headed downstairs, since she was to leave immediately for the country. Caine had informed her it was a distance of only eighteen miles to Wildenhurst.

      When they were halfway down the stairs, she saw that Lord Trent had arrived and stood speaking to the butler at the open door. He must be a constant fixture in Captain Morleigh’s life. Mrs. Oliver had told her Trent was a born adventurer and a dear friend to Morleigh.

      Trent was handsome, a real head-turner, though Grace had scarcely noticed that until now. He was nearly as large as Morleigh, though his features were slightly more refined. He was of fairer complexion and his chestnut-colored hair had a reddish glint. She quite liked his looks, but not the way he assessed her, as if he worried she might harbor some ill intention toward his friend.

      She had been told he would bring Madame Latrice, the dressmaker, and a trunk full of fabric lengths for the trousseau.

      “Your seamstress and Mrs. Oliver are probably waiting to board the coach,” Caine commented to her as he saw Trent.

      “Everything is happening so quickly,” Grace said as they continued to descend.

      He had hold of her elbow, a firm but gentle grip. “I know, but in a few hours you’ll be settled and have plenty of time to rest and absorb it all.” He patted her arm with his free hand. “I promise you’ll have nothing to worry your little head about but the cut of your gowns and whether tea is on time.”

      Grace decided not to push him down the stairs. He was only a man and they were all taught that women needed coddling. She sighed. “I suppose it’s not your fault, really.”

      “What isn’t?” he asked, and she realized she had spoken her thought aloud. Oh, dear!

      How could she be so ungrateful? Just because she was feeling renewed strength and boundless energy after deep sleep and a few decent meals was no reason to turn uppity. Captain Morleigh had her best interests at heart and he truly could not deny his ingrained, overprotective nature. She should be kissing his feet!

      “Uh, it’s no fault of yours that my shawl was left behind last evening. Is there a blanket in the coach?” And it was not even cool outside this time of year. How ridiculous did she sound?

      “Not to worry. I have your shawl. Trent fetched it, so you’ll be warm enough.” He looked so proud, as if he had already procured for her all he promised her last evening.

      She stopped, halting their progress for a moment. “About what you said as we danced … and all those things I asked you for?”

      “You will have them, Grace. I always keep my promises.”

      “No! What I mean to say is that I was merely playing to what I believed was a jest.” She lifted her hand in question. “Now, what would I do with a phaeton and team? And as for diamonds …” She scoffed.

      He was smiling at her so fondly. “Then perhaps for the nonce, you’ll accept a purse with pin money. It is a wife’s due.” He pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket and placed it in her hand, folding his around hers.

      “I’m not yet a wife,” she reminded him, stunned that he had prepared this just for her. What a thoughtful man he was.

      He laughed softly. “So practical. I’ll deduct this from your first quarterly allowance then if you’ll take it now.”

      She shrugged. “Very well, if you insist. But I must ask what you want from me, aside from the faithfulness you require and an heir, of course.”

      “I never mentioned an heir,” he said, sounding a bit surprised. And confused.

      Grace rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s a given, isn’t it? If you’re to be the earl, everyone knows you’ll need at least one. Isn’t that the whole purpose of marrying?”

      His gaze dropped to the stairs as he seemed to consider it. Perhaps he dreaded the very thought of doing what it took to get the heir.

      Then, without responding to her question, he took her arm again. “You should be on your way so as to arrive before dark. There’ll be plenty of time to address details later.”

      Details? An heir was but a detail? “Yes, of course,” she muttered, doubt setting in that she had made a wise choice after all. He had declared his need for a wife and was taking her without a penny to her name. Her looks certainly had not captured his heart.

      So why had he married her if not to continue his line? A condition of the will, she supposed. Mrs. Oliver had hinted at something of the sort and he had all but confirmed it when they’d spoken of the ownership of Wildenhurst. But surely that was not reason enough to bind himself to a wife he had no intention of bedding.

      She looked up at him, then allowed her searching gaze to travel the length of his body, wondering if perhaps he was incapable of relations due to some unseen injury. Was that why he had chosen her, a woman who would be too grateful to insist on her rights as a wife once the marriage was a done thing? No, she could not imagine him capable of such deceit. She would put that right out of her mind and forget it.

      Madame Latrice and Mrs. Oliver had already seated themselves inside the coach when Caine handed her in.

      “Goodbye for now, Grace,” he said. “Take care you don’t tax yourself these next few weeks and send word if you need anything.”

      Grace nodded and added a simpering smile for good measure. If he wanted a milk-and-water miss who didn’t know bedding from biding, she supposed she could pretend. At least for a while.

      What a pity that was all he desired, since she had spent the entirety of yesterday and last night looking forward to her marriage to him and imagining, even dreaming about, what it might entail.

      Now that she had escaped Wardfelton’s threat, she would be back to her old self in no time. However, Morleigh had arrived in her life as the answer to her fervent prayers and she would try to be precisely what he wanted whenever he was around.

      She could not help but