accepting my hand in marriage."
It was hardly a conventional announcement. Lord Iveragh met the stares with a level gaze. Roddy wished she could slowly sink through the floor. His touch seemed to turn cold—a result of the hot blush that spread up from her breasts to her face. The wave of consternation and dismay that emanated from her parents and their guests made her want to turn away and bury herself in the earl's hard arms, as if there she might find protection from the others' horror.
Why had he done that? He should have waited, told her parents in private, allowed them time to accustom themselves before they had to face their friends..
But she could guess why. He was afraid that she would change her mind. Or have it changed for her.
And he was right.
Given time to think, she would have grown cowardly. A day of reflection, and she would have found all the reasons to hang back. She was afraid. The future seemed to fall away from before her like a black pit. Yet his hand was firm on her shoulder, and his body a solid reality at her back. Trust me, that comforting presence said. Lean on me.
She managed an uncertain smile.
Geoffrey stepped forward while the rest were still frozen in astonishment. "Congratulations," he said, and reached for Iveragh's hand. Geoffrey's surface warmth did not match his true feelings, which were a confusing mixture of relief and guilt.
The cause
, he was thinking as he bent to brush a light kiss to Roddy's fingers.
The cause, poppet. I'm sorry
.
Roddy blinked up at him, and he recoiled instinctively at the direct look from her unsettling silver eyes, turning away to focus on Mary again. Lady Cashel came forward at his glance, and offered her good wishes in a subdued voice. Roddy realized at once that if there had ever been a possibility she and Mary might become friends, that event was impossible now. The Irishwoman's antagonism toward Lord Iveragh hung about her like a dark fog.
The earl received their approbation gravely. Roddy leaned a little toward him as her father approached.
"Roddy," he said, not even glancing at Iveragh. "This is truly what you want?"
Though the earl's deliberately public declaration had made denial all but impossible without hideous embarrassment, Roddy's father was fully prepared to speak out if she showed the slightest doubt.
She placed her hand over the earl's, a theatrical gesture, and one that made her intensely aware of the hard strength in the fingers that rested so lightly on her shoulder. "It's what I want, Papa."
He glared at Iveragh. In a savage undertone, he said, "Take care of her, damn you. Or you shall answer to me."
She felt the tiny quiver that went through the earl's hand, as if he might have clenched and unclenched it. "Of course."
Her father stepped back, and Roddy looked beyond him in trepidation. She dreaded her mother's response more than any other. Mrs. Delamore was standing stiffly, still staring at her daughter and the dark intruder who had claimed her as a wife. Her mother's anguished helplessness brought hot tears to the back of Roddy's eyes.
Please, Mama
, she pleaded silently.
Please understand
.
Pride came to Mrs. Delamore's rescue. She waged an internal battle of grief and rage, but nothing of it showed on her face. She went to Roddy and kissed her cheek, managing a smile that was brittle with despair. "Be happy, my dear," she said too loudly.
The other guests all left as soon as possible after offering their own congratulations. Lady Elizabeth and the vicar were desperate to start passing the word to the neighborhood, and Lord and Lady Cashel were uncomfortably aware of Mrs. Delamore's barely controlled emotion. Lord Iveragh stayed only long enough to ask if he might call on Roddy in the morning.
She nodded shyly to the request, still feeling the imprint of his hand on her shoulder like a brand.
Roddy had never known anyone who had been engaged before. All of Geoffrey's courtship had taken place far from Yorkshire, and
It was hardly a conventional announcement. Lord Iveragh met the stares with a level gaze. Roddy wished she could slowly sink through the floor. His touch seemed to turn cold—a result of the hot blush that spread up from her breasts to her face. The wave of consternation and dismay that emanated from her parents and their guests made her want to turn away and bury herself in the earl's hard arms, as if there she might find protection from the others' horror.
Why had he done that? He should have waited, told her parents in private, allowed them time to accustom themselves before they had to face their friends..
But she could guess why. He was afraid that she would change her mind. Or have it changed for her.
And he was right.
Given time to think, she would have grown cowardly. A day of reflection, and she would have found all the reasons to hang back. She was afraid. The future seemed to fall away from before her like a black pit. Yet his hand was firm on her shoulder, and his body a solid reality at her back. Trust me, that comforting presence said. Lean on me.
She managed an uncertain smile.
Geoffrey stepped forward while the rest were still frozen in astonishment. "Congratulations," he said, and reached for Iveragh's hand. Geoffrey's surface warmth did not match his true feelings, which were a confusing mixture of relief and guilt.
The cause
, he was thinking as he bent to brush a light kiss to Roddy's fingers.
The cause, poppet. I'm sorry
.
Roddy blinked up at him, and he recoiled instinctively at the direct look from her unsettling silver eyes, turning away to focus on Mary again. Lady Cashel came forward at his glance, and offered her good wishes in a subdued voice. Roddy realized at once that if there had ever been a possibility she and Mary might become friends, that event was impossible now. The Irishwoman's antagonism toward Lord Iveragh hung about her like a dark fog.
The earl received their approbation gravely. Roddy leaned a little toward him as her father approached.
"Roddy," he said, not even glancing at Iveragh. "This is truly what you want?"
Though the earl's deliberately public declaration had made denial all but impossible without hideous embarrassment, Roddy's father was fully prepared to speak out if she showed the slightest doubt.
She placed her hand over the earl's, a theatrical gesture, and one that made her intensely aware of the hard strength in the fingers that rested so lightly on her shoulder. "It's what I want, Papa."
He glared at Iveragh. In a savage undertone, he said, "Take care of her, damn you. Or you shall answer to me."
She felt the tiny quiver that went through the earl's hand, as if he might have clenched and unclenched it. "Of course."
Her father stepped back, and Roddy looked beyond him in trepidation. She dreaded her mother's response more than any other. Mrs. Delamore was standing stiffly, still staring at her daughter and the dark intruder who had claimed her as a wife. Her mother's anguished helplessness brought hot tears to the back of Roddy's eyes.
Please, Mama
, she pleaded silently.
Please understand
.
Pride came to Mrs. Delamore's rescue. She waged an internal battle of grief and rage, but nothing of it showed on her face. She went to Roddy and kissed her cheek, managing a smile that was brittle with despair. "Be happy, my dear," she said too loudly.
The other guests all left as soon as possible after offering their own congratulations. Lady Elizabeth and the vicar were desperate to start passing the word to the neighborhood, and Lord and Lady Cashel were uncomfortably aware of Mrs. Delamore's barely controlled emotion. Lord Iveragh stayed only long enough to ask if he might call on Roddy in the morning.
She nodded shyly to the request, still feeling the imprint of his hand on her shoulder like a brand.
Roddy had never known anyone who had been engaged before. All of Geoffrey's courtship had taken place far from Yorkshire, and
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