endure such questionable company, but I have come with a solution that will free you from continuing as you have been.” Cousin Lyman faced her with the determination of an opposing army general. “Do you have any idea when your father intends to return?”
Maggie swallowed past the knot in her throat. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. In his last letter he mentioned he wanted to inspect a new brewery that was being constructed in Italy before he started for home. And even that doesn’t mean he will sail for England when he’s finished. He may hear of some other destination that takes his fancy.”
“Then I see no point in waiting. Your situation is desperate and as much as propriety demands I speak with your father first, that isn’t possible. So, I will simply have to forego proper procedures and speak to you first.” Cousin Lyman cleared his throat. “Margaret, I’m sure you realize how vital it is for you to turn your back on the kind of life you are leading. I hesitate to mention your age because it is obvious that time is not on your side. Therefore, I’d like to offer you my heart and my name. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She tried not to look shocked but knew she failed. She didn’t know this man. He didn’t know her. How could he ask her to marry him? How could he expect her to accept?
She stared at him with what she knew must seem a very dim-witted expression, but no matter how hard she tried to search for the gentlest way to refuse, she realized that kindness would not serve her purpose. She needed to state her intentions clearly and concisely so when she finished, there wouldn’t be one glimmer of hope for Cousin Lyman to cling to that she would marry him.
“Why do you want to marry me?” she asked, her gaze focusing on his handsome features. Other than his eyes, which were the same pale gray as was passed down from one Bradford to the next, there was little resemblance to any of the portraits hanging in the gallery at Bradford Manor. Lyman Bradford was uncommonly pale when compared to the dark-haired, dark-complexioned Bradfords.
“Because I’m quite fond of you, Margaret.”
“You don’t know me well enough to measure your fondness for me, Mr. Bradford.”
“Perhaps not as well as I will in time, but I know I want you for my wife.”
“Me?” She lifted her eyebrows in the haughtiest arc she could manage. “Or my brewery?”
“How can you suggest such a thing? Do you really think I’d offer for your hand in marriage simply to acquire your father’s brewery?”
“History is riddled with betrothals inspired by far less than what the annual profits from Bradford Brewery will be one day.”
“Let me assure you.” H e stepped so close to her, the intricate weave in his blended wool jacket blurred before her eyes. “Your father’s brewery is not the reason I’ve asked for your hand in marriage.”
He stepped even closer, forcing her to press her back against the wall. With a sense of panic, she realized she was trapped.
“Your father is still a young man and will probably live for many years yet. Even if the brewery goes to you when he passes, as is speculated, it will be years before I will realize any income from owning it.”
Maggie tried to step around him but he didn’t move.
“You are a beautiful woman, Margaret. An ideal choice for a wife.”
He lifted his hand and touched his fingers to her cheek.
She pushed his hand away. “My age doesn’t bother you?”
“Not really. It would be easier to mold a younger woman, it’s true.” He placed his hands on her shoulder s. “But there are certain benefits to wedding an older bride. Benefits for you as well.”
Maggie twisted to the side, hoping she could break his hold but he only tightened his grip. “I see no benefits to marrying,” she said, twisting again. “Even you.”
“Don’t you?” He brushed his thumbs up and down the sides of her neck. “I am in line to inherit Bradford
Maggie swallowed past the knot in her throat. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. In his last letter he mentioned he wanted to inspect a new brewery that was being constructed in Italy before he started for home. And even that doesn’t mean he will sail for England when he’s finished. He may hear of some other destination that takes his fancy.”
“Then I see no point in waiting. Your situation is desperate and as much as propriety demands I speak with your father first, that isn’t possible. So, I will simply have to forego proper procedures and speak to you first.” Cousin Lyman cleared his throat. “Margaret, I’m sure you realize how vital it is for you to turn your back on the kind of life you are leading. I hesitate to mention your age because it is obvious that time is not on your side. Therefore, I’d like to offer you my heart and my name. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She tried not to look shocked but knew she failed. She didn’t know this man. He didn’t know her. How could he ask her to marry him? How could he expect her to accept?
She stared at him with what she knew must seem a very dim-witted expression, but no matter how hard she tried to search for the gentlest way to refuse, she realized that kindness would not serve her purpose. She needed to state her intentions clearly and concisely so when she finished, there wouldn’t be one glimmer of hope for Cousin Lyman to cling to that she would marry him.
“Why do you want to marry me?” she asked, her gaze focusing on his handsome features. Other than his eyes, which were the same pale gray as was passed down from one Bradford to the next, there was little resemblance to any of the portraits hanging in the gallery at Bradford Manor. Lyman Bradford was uncommonly pale when compared to the dark-haired, dark-complexioned Bradfords.
“Because I’m quite fond of you, Margaret.”
“You don’t know me well enough to measure your fondness for me, Mr. Bradford.”
“Perhaps not as well as I will in time, but I know I want you for my wife.”
“Me?” She lifted her eyebrows in the haughtiest arc she could manage. “Or my brewery?”
“How can you suggest such a thing? Do you really think I’d offer for your hand in marriage simply to acquire your father’s brewery?”
“History is riddled with betrothals inspired by far less than what the annual profits from Bradford Brewery will be one day.”
“Let me assure you.” H e stepped so close to her, the intricate weave in his blended wool jacket blurred before her eyes. “Your father’s brewery is not the reason I’ve asked for your hand in marriage.”
He stepped even closer, forcing her to press her back against the wall. With a sense of panic, she realized she was trapped.
“Your father is still a young man and will probably live for many years yet. Even if the brewery goes to you when he passes, as is speculated, it will be years before I will realize any income from owning it.”
Maggie tried to step around him but he didn’t move.
“You are a beautiful woman, Margaret. An ideal choice for a wife.”
He lifted his hand and touched his fingers to her cheek.
She pushed his hand away. “My age doesn’t bother you?”
“Not really. It would be easier to mold a younger woman, it’s true.” He placed his hands on her shoulder s. “But there are certain benefits to wedding an older bride. Benefits for you as well.”
Maggie twisted to the side, hoping she could break his hold but he only tightened his grip. “I see no benefits to marrying,” she said, twisting again. “Even you.”
“Don’t you?” He brushed his thumbs up and down the sides of her neck. “I am in line to inherit Bradford
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