Someone to Care (Westcott #4)(120)

She had more than a half hour’s acquaintance with him, then. She had the advantage of him. They looked speculatively at each other.

“The question is,” she said when he did not respond to her words, “could you live with this, Lord Riverdale?” She indicated the left side of her face with one graceful movement of her hand.

He gave the question serious consideration. The birthmark seriously disfigured her. More important, though, it must have had some serious impact upon the formation of her character if it had been there all her life. He had already seen her defensive, slightly mocking manner, her surface coldness, her isolation, the veil. The blemish on her face might be the least of the damage done to her. Her face might be easy enough to live with. It would be cruel to think otherwise. But how easy to live with would she be?

And was he giving serious consideration to her offer? But he must think seriously about some such marriage. And soon. The longer he lived at Brambledean, the more he saw the effects of poverty upon those whose well-being depended upon him.

“Do you wish to give me a definite no, Lord Riverdale?” Miss Heyden asked. “Or a possible maybe? Or a definite maybe, perhaps? Or even a yes?”

But he had not answered her original question. “We all have to learn to live behind the face and within the body we have been given,” he said. “None of us deserves to be shunned—or adulated—upon looks alone.”

“Are you adulated?” she asked with a slight mocking smile.

He hesitated. “I am occasionally told that I am the proverbial tall, dark, handsome man of fairy tales,” he said. “It can be a burden.”

“Strange,” she said, still half smiling.

“Miss Heyden,” he said. “I cannot possibly give you any answer now. You planned this long before I came. You have had time to think and consider, even to do some research. You have a clear advantage over me.”

“A possibly possible maybe?” she said, and he was arrested for the moment by the thought that perhaps she had a sense of humor. “Will you come back, Lord Riverdale?”

“Not alone,” he said firmly.

“I do not entertain,” she told him.

“I understand that this has not been an entertainment,” he said, “despite the invitation and the tea and cakes. It has been a job interview.”

“Yes.” She did not argue the point.

“I shall arrange something at Brambledean,” he said. “A tea, perhaps, or a dinner, or a soiree—something, and I shall invite you with several other neighbors.”

“I do not mingle with society or even with neighbors,” she told him.

He frowned again. “As Countess of Riverdale, you would have no choice,” he told her.

“Oh,” she said, “I believe I would.”

“No.”

“You would be a tyrant?” she asked.

“I would certainly not allow my wife to make a hermit of herself,” he said, “merely because of some purple marks on her face.”

“You would not allow?” she said faintly. “Perhaps I need to think more carefully about whether you will suit me.”

“Yes,” he said, “perhaps you do. It is the best I can offer, Miss Heyden. I shall send an invitation within the next week or so. If you have the courage to come, perhaps we can discover with a little more clarity if your suggestion is something we wish to pursue more seriously. If you do not, then we both have an answer.”

“If I have the courage,” she said softly.

“Yes,” he said. “I beg to take my leave with thanks for the tea. I shall see myself out.”

He bowed and strode across the room. She neither got to her feet nor said anything. A few moments later he shut the drawing room doors behind him, blew out his breath from puffed cheeks, and descended the stairs. He informed the butler that he would fetch his own curricle and horses from the stables.