Talk Sweetly to Me (Brothers Sinister #4.5)(37)

If someone didn’t say something soon, her parents would have the surprise of their lives when they discovered the things she hadn’t told them. She really was going to have to show them one of his columns. If her father discovered it on his own…

“In fact,” Stephen said, “I should like the engagement to be shorter.”

Right. An excellent way to introduce the topic of his reputation to her parents. Rose managed to hide her wince.

Her father stiffened, glaring at Stephen. But her fiancé—oh, how lovely that word was—simply leaned casually back in his chair, as if he’d not announced to the entire room—to both her parents, watching in wide-eyed shock—that he wanted to take her to bed, and soon.

Which, really, her parents ought to have guessed that from the circumstance of his wanting to marry her, but then parents could sometimes be willfully blind about such things.

“You see,” Stephen said piously, “my understanding is that Doctor Wells is expected home any day now. Once he’s back, there will be no need for Rose to stay here. And once her sister has recovered herself from the birth… Well, I think Doctor and Mrs. Wells might enjoy having some privacy.”

“She’ll come home to us in London,” her father growled. “Of course she will.”

“But then how will she work with Dr. Barnstable?” Stephen asked. He reached out and took her hand under the table. “She enjoys her work with him so, and I would hate to see my Rose deprived of something she liked simply because I was loathe to commit to marriage on a reasonable timeline.”

Oh, that was clever.

Her father huffed. “Oh, you’re good.” He glanced suspiciously at his son-in-law-to-be. “A little too good.”

“Oh, no,” Stephen said angelically. “I’m afraid not. You’ll likely hear about it all too soon. It’s the only reason I’m agreeing to four months at all—because if I had insisted on three weeks, the gossip would be too fierce.”

Rose’s father sighed, but before he could say anything more, the front door opened.

Rose heard stomping feet, a dull thud—and then a man stepped into the back room. His dark skin was more weathered than when last she’d seen him. His hair was cut close to the scalp; a light brush of gray at his temples made him seem all the more austere. He wore a scarlet band on his arm over his uniform.

“Rosie?” He blinked, looking around the room in confusion. “What is going on? Where’s Patricia?”

Rose let go of Stephen’s hand and sprang to her feet, uttering a little cry of joy. “Isaac! You’re back. Oh, you’re back. Patricia had the baby—”

“What?”

“And she’s well—and he is well—you must come see them now.”

“Wait,” her father was saying. “We’re not done here. I haven’t agreed yet.”

“Papa,” Rose said, “don’t let him fool you. He’s a rogue and an outrage.” She winked at her father. “And once you know him, you’ll like him very well. I promise.”

Stephen met her gaze, and then, ever so slowly, he smiled. “Ah,” he said with a shake of his head. “I love it when you talk sweetly to me.”

Epilogue

December, 1882

Dear Man,

I do not wish to know what the average man wants in a woman; I wish to know what you want in a woman. Tell me, how is a woman like me ever to attract you?

—Blushing in Bedford

Dear Blushing,

Over the years of my writing this column, I have received literally thousands of letters asking this question. Until now, I have never answered.

I don’t ask for much in a woman. I like mathematics, astronomy, and women who can multiply nine-digit numbers in their heads. The difficult part was convincing her to like me back.

You had all better wish her luck. I think she’ll need it.

Sincerely hers,

Stephen Shaughnessy

Committed Man