Getting remarried had never been of interest for Rumford. If he was honest, the notion hadn't interested him before he got married. His mother had told him, he had to take a bride. The title and the estate could not end with him. His father had been thankful on his deathbed that Rumford would carry on the title, possibly sire an heir, who would then inherit the title and carry on his father's lineage. Even on his deathbed, his father had never considered him anything less than his own son. So after his father's death, Rumford had taken his mother's advice and allowed her to match him.
After Milah had died, his mother had ventured to bring up the subject again. Advising him that Neal needed a mother, 'A governess is not the same as having a mother' she had told him. He had scorned her with a look. His wife had been dead nearly three months at the time. The scars Milah had cut into his heart, had been too fresh at the time to consider the notion and over time, Rumford refused to allow himself to be hurt in such a way. First his real father had abandoned him, then his wife had run away with her lover… He had decided, if it happened again, the shame would be too much for him and he would definitely be a fool.
Yet, here was this beautiful creature, wanting to talk to him about marriage. Rumford stared openly at her, while she waited for him to say something anxiously fidgeting with her fingers. His heart thudded against his ribcage, wanting to be heard over the suspicious voice in his head. The hairs had prickled on the back of his neck, sensing there was something more to this seemingly innocent conversation.
"What about it?" Rumford questioned in a suspicious tone.
When Lady French's demeanour had changed, becoming serious, his mind had raced away from him, conjuring up as many reasons he could think of which may offend him. Had someone said something to her? Maybe her father had learned of them conversing without a chaperone… Or the Baron was outraged, the two of them had been alone in the library. It was the thought of the Baron, which had troubled him the most, disturbed that the other man had threatened her or done something to make her regret it. But when she had said 'Marriage', it had totally thrown him.
"As you're aware, the Baron is adamant about proposing marriage to me." Lady French reminded him, vaguely gesturing with her hands as she spoke. "I overheard this morning, my father and the Baron plan on forcing me into the union, after you and Mr Mandermer have left."
Rumford blinked his eyes at her, his face remaining indifferent, though his gut painfully twisted at the news. "I'm sorry to hear that, my Lady."
"Yes, so am I," She paused, pressing her lips together, her voice conveying her disappointment. "But hopefully, we can do something about it."
"We?" He questioned, surprised.
Her head nodded at him as she explained. "I know, I could refuse the Baron's proposal, but it would ruin my father and our good name in court. I couldn't do that to him."
Rumford rolled his eyes at her. "But your father is willing to support a match, you've made quite clear that you don't favour."
"I understand his reasons for encouraging the union and he thinks of the Baron like a son." Lady French shrugged her shoulders, long ago resigned to her father's bias opinion.
"Then what is it, do you think 'we' can do about the situation?" He asked, studying her face, squinting his gaze at her.
"The only way, I could prevent myself from marrying the Baron, would be to marry another." She shared with him, while the glimmer of hope in her eyes caught his gaze.
The idea of her marrying the Baron made him nauseous. Lady French marrying anyone else? He didn't want to consider it. There wasn't a gentleman, who'd appreciate her intellect and brashness. She was a rare breed amongst ladies. Many of whom, who shared Lady French's inclination, sadly, went unmarried and became spinsters. Rumford was familiar with a couple of ladies, whom had long ago given up finding husbands and were managing their own estates, using him from time to time for complicated dealings or where the gentleman in question was being stubborn.
There would be plenty of men, who would want her for her beauty. There was no denying that. It was probably the reason the Baron was so insistent on marrying her. Lady French possessed a natural beauty. Not like some ladies, who had to be dolled up with makeup, imported from Francia. Attempting to give the look of natural beauty, but often went too far and made the lady look… Rumford wasn't inclined to be rude.
His eyebrows pressed heavily down over his eyes as he considered her statement. Marrying someone else, who she favoured, would solve her problem. Course, it would have to be someone with a nobler stature than the Baron's. Someone who would accept her, for who she was and not try to mould her to some ideal image of a wife. Firmly clamping his lips together, Rumford refused to allow a groan of annoyance to escape him. Though, Rumford really didn't like the idea of remarrying, afraid to be vulnerable again, a part of him really wanted to be that man for her. Be her saviour, from the loveless and dreary wedlock the Baron would offer her. His problem was, he wasn't willing to let anyone get close to him again.
Grasping at the lapels of his coat, Rumford ran his hands down the fabric as he said. "With the imminent timescale, finding someone, who would be willing to marry you, will be impossible." In thought, his body half turned towards the house behind him. "I could convince Mr Mandermer. He's in a suitable position and is always willing to go against the norm."
Small lines were drawn across her forehead. "Not yourself?"
"Me?" He blurted out, pointing to his chest.
"Why not?" Lady French asked.
"Why not?" He repeated her question, more to himself than to her.
Why not, indeed. Was there a reason he could give her, without admitting the truth to her? Confessing to her, that he was too much of a coward and scared of being hurt again. That the feelings he had developed for her, in such a short amount of time, terrified him. He had no doubt, she could ask anything of him and he would give her anything she wished for, which made him feel weak. Milah never had such a power over him, which was why they had argued most of the time. And this, he couldn't admit to Lady French, or anyone. He was an Earl, a distinguished gentleman, an authority figure in the king's court, a personal advisor to most – Rumford could not be seen as corruptible.
Floundering for an answer, wildly waving his hands in front of him, Rumford lamely told her. "I'm too old for you."
"It's not uncommon for older gentlemen to marry younger ladies." Lady French countered him.
"No, it isn't." He concurred, for a split second, before opposing her again. "But with the short amount of time with known each other, there would be scandalous rumours about you, me," He gestured a hand at her. "Your virtue. It wouldn't look very good."
She shook her head at him. "With how fine of a gentleman, you've been towards me, my Lord, I doubt anyone would think the worse of you."
He made a 'pfft' noise at her comment, rolling his eyes. "You'd be surprised."
"Would be it be so farfetched to say, we've fallen in love?" Her eyes widened, for a flicker of a moment, before a wildfire of a blush bloomed on her cheeks, the deepest red he'd ever seen, and cascaded down her neck, pooling beneath her collar that was exposed. "It does happen!"
Rumford eyed her, his brow pushed up his forehead. "Not in the real world, dearie. It doesn't happen like that. People don't just go around," His hand flailed around in the air. "Falling in love!"
"It might not be conventional, but it happens!" She defended her standpoint, her passion burned in her eyes, briefly distracting him away from their disagreement.
"Such frivolous thoughts inside such a beautiful head, why am I not surprised?" He dismissed her with a wave of his hand and turned to continued their walk, following the path, which led around the kept gardens.
Adamantly his head shook at their conversation. 'Stupid girl!', Rumford said to him, tugging harshly on the lapels of his jacket, frustrated more with himself than with her. She wasn't stupid for thinking such things. To be honest, he really liked the idea of falling head over heels in love with someone. Feeling a connection, an instant connection, which was so strong, there was no way to deny it. To be purely wanted by another person, by a beautiful woman, without judgement, who'd wrapped their arms around him, almost squeezing the air out of his lungs, never wanting to let him go. Rumford would die for that kind of love, yet… It was too much, too much of a risk to put himself out there.
A hand hooked the crook of his arm and yanked him back, nearly toppling himself over, and spun him to face them, coming face to face with Lady French again. "I don't have frivolous thoughts!" Her chest heaved with the fiery breath she took. "Do you think this was easy? Coming to you with this?"
"Why did you come to me with this?" His tone was dark, squinting his eyes at her. "What is it you hope to gain, dearie?" Without thinking, Rumford stepped into her, towering over her slight height, forcing her to look up at him. "Is this some ploy to undermine me? Did your father find out how much I am worth? Is that what it is? Sweet talk me with some tragic story of a helpless Lady, who needs rescuing?"
"No, of course not! He doesn't even know that I'm talking to you!" Lady French exclaimed at him, obviously affronted by his accusations.
Grabbing her by her arm, Rumford yanked her closer, his temper getting the better of him as he seethed into her face. "What am I to get in return for marrying you? My estate is rather large and my wealth supersedes anything your father has, so pray tell, what should I expect?" The left side of his lips curled up into crude smirk. "Apart from your virtue."
The whites of her eyes made her blue irises look like black dots, as she blatantly stared at his lips, mere inches from her face. Lady French panted, her hot breath blew at him, becoming a cool caress when it brushed the skin of his neck. His eyebrows pushed together as his eyes darted between her eyes and her lips. The thudding of his heart urged him to move forward, wanting to close the small gap, keeping them apart, and capture those plush lips of hers and plunder her mouth with his tongue. It would've been simple enough – another yank on her arm and she would be bumped into his chest, and he could sweep down and seize her lips with his own, answering a question, which begged to be answered.
Would she taste as good as he imagined? Would she be as consenting as he hoped she would be to his touch? To his kiss? To everything he had to offer her? Would she guard his old battered heart, deeply scarred and marred over the years?
Rumford shook his thoughts away. His mind and his heart were getting carried away with something that could never be. As he released her from his grip, he gave her a little shove, putting a small space between them. Lady French wore a confused look on her face as she studied his face with a crooked eyebrow.
Taking a step back, needing more space between them, he pulled his arms in close to him, fighting the impulse to touch her, to pull her back and trap her within his embrace, devouring her there in her father's gardens. "I'm sorry, my Lady, but I couldn't possibly enter into such an arrangement with you."
"What? Why?" She demanded, propping her hands on hips.
"Because I've no interest in taking on another wife." He informed her, shrugging a single shoulder at her.
"Legally, I would be your wife," Lady French threw her hands up into the air, quickly telling him. "But I wouldn't expect anything from you."
"Nothing at all?" He questioned, dubious, but curious, of her answer.
She balked at his question. "Well… Not nothing." She motioned with her hand towards him. "I would, of course, come and live with you and your son." A thought made her smile. "And I could help with your son. Teach him and the other children." Her hand became a pointed finger at him. "A live-in governess, who you'd never have to pay."
"Mrs Potts tends to all of their needs." Rumford stated, clasping his hands together in front of him.
"Your housekeeper?" Lady French queried.
"Yes." He gave a firm short nod of his head.
Her brow twitched upwards, astonished. "She must be run off her feet, managing your household and tending to the children."
"She manages." He told her, lifting his chin, projecting his Earl persona.
And she did. Mrs Potts ran the household superbly. The house was always presentable. Never a speck of dust or mess in any of the rooms, even with the children causing a ruckus throughout the house, excitedly screaming, knocking into things. Then, an hour of peace would settle over the house, while the children were upstairs in the school room, their bedlam contained to one room, with Mrs Potts taught them whatever was on the agenda.
Pursing her lips together, Lady French gave him a doubtful look. "The letter you received yesterday was from Mrs Potts, worrying about preparations for a ball."
"Yes, but…" Rumford struggled to string a sentence together, dumbfounded by the look on her face, admiring her beauty.
"Surely, if you could use another lady about the house, to help with the children and to assist Mrs Potts with such tasks as organising a ball." Her smirk tantalised him, making him want to reach and trace the delicate lines of her lips.
"If I was interested, in having another lady around the house, as you put it, don't you think I would've already remarried?" He put to her, focusing his gaze on her eyes and not the rest of her face, so he wouldn't be distracted by her beauty again.
She crossed her arms over her chest, determined to argue. "Your reasons are your own, my Lord, but it doesn't dispute the fact, your housekeeper is run ragged and could use the help."
"Exactly," He shifted his stance, slightly turning to walk on again, unclasping his hands to gesture to himself. "My reasons and my housekeeper's problems are mine and mine alone." Rumford told her and walked away from her.
Dignified, Rumford marched away from her, hands clenched into fists at his sides, restraining himself from grabbing her and shouting in her face, shaking some sense into her naïve brain. It wasn't her fault, she had never experienced anything, which had left a mark on her soul. Sadly, Rumford had experienced two kinds of betrayal in his lifetime, so far, and wasn't willing to nurse another wound, deeply gouge into his heart.
When he came to the corner of the garden's path, Rumford carried on walking, ignoring the turn, and strode purposefully across the lawn, heading towards the small gathering of oak trees in the corner of the gardens. It was the furthest, he could go, that would put him well away from the house. He didn't want to see any of them, especially not her or Jefferson. Talking of marriage, twice in one morning, was definitely an easy subject to put the heckles up on the back of his neck. The chances of both of them, bringing it up was a sign that fate was against him and laughing mercilessly at his expense.
Approaching the oak trees and entering the coolness of the shade, he slowed his pace and sighed, feeling calmer in the cover of the trees. It reminded him of the house, he had shared with his real father, before they had been forced to move on. Vaguely, Rumford remembered what it looked like, but he mostly remembered the calmness of the forest. The sweet song of the birds, chirping to each other in the mornings, a pleasant greeting. He smiled at his own silliness, when as a child, he would pretend they were extending their greetings to him. Those few chirps, they had sung to him, had been enough to put a smile on his face back then. Course, his father would slap it off his face as soon as he saw it. 'Get that silly grin off your face, boy! Go and get some water from the river!', would be his father's morning greeting.
Rumford moseyed to a stop and noticed the base of a tree near him. Shrugging off his coat, he shuffled over to the tree as he folded his coat in on itself, preserving the outside of his coat, and placed it on the ground before he sat down onto it, leaning back against the tree. From where he sat, he could see the manor in the distance. Though, he had visited many estates, such as Lord French's, and had been an Earl himself for fourteen years, Rumford still didn't feel like he belonged in their world.
He certainly didn't belong in her world.
Lady French was asking him to do this, because she didn't have any other choice and time was against her. Stretching his legs out in front of him, crossing them at his ankles, Rumford crossed his arms, getting comfortable as he considered their conversation. She was appeared to be adamant that he would be the more suitable choice, out of him and Jefferson. That could merely be, because he had his title and estate, and Jefferson hadn't inherited his title yet. To her father, Rumford would be the more suitable choice – title, estate and 'supposed' heritage was superior to Jefferson's. She must have considered these things before she presented him with her plan. Which in turn, would mean Lady French had been having tea with Jefferson, seeking to get information out of him. Had this been her ploy since they'd arrived?
'No, she's not like that.' Rumford argued with himself. 'She hasn't been plotting. The Baron's forcing her hand.'
Letting out a heavy sigh, he hated his suspicious nature and cautiousness, when it came to trusting people. As much as those traits had served him well in the past. There had only been one occurrence, when he hadn't listened to his gut and that was when he'd given his late wife the benefit of the doubt. The betrayal had taught him the cruellest lesson, to always listen to his gut, but right now Rumford felt he couldn't trust his own gut. He could feel the heavy ache, deep in the centre of his gut, telling him that Lady French was after more than just marriage. Money? Status? No, these were not things, he could believe she was after, which was why it was so hard for him to listen to his gut.
Rumford leant his head back against the tree, looking up at the thick branches above him, wishing he could be different. That he was more like 'the Earl' he pretended to be. Confidant, strong, regal – Someone his son could look up to and be proud of. Someone, who Lady French would fall hopelessly and madly in love with, and would want to marry him, because of love. Instead of him being her escape plan.
Love… What did he know about love? Apart from his parents and Neal, all love had ever brought him was pain. His father, his wife… Did he really want to do it again?
Although, Lady French had mentioned nothing about love. She was seeking companionship with him, wasn't really looking to become his wife. She purely wanted to escape the impending proposal of the Baron, while also saving her father from embarrassment and ridicule of their society. There was no need to tell her of his feelings. The wants and fantasies he had about her. Selfishly, Rumford could keep her, as his wife, preventing anyone else from marrying her, coveting her under his own roof. They might not share a physical relationship, but she could be his wife out in public, an asset at his side, while also warding off those who intended throw themselves at him, using their wife's affections to gain the upper hand. With his lips pouted in thought, Rumford realised, he'd let his emotions get in the way, when he should've seriously considered her scheme.
The real question was whether Rumford could control his feelings for her. Already she was a resident in his nightly dreams, his fantasies, his thoughts. Living permanently together, under the same roof, of all hours of the day - Would he be driven mad by her presence? Could he prevent himself from sneaking a touch or two? Control his animalistic impulses to have her, take her as if she was his wife? 'Legally, I would be your wife.', but it didn't mean, she would welcome his advances and he wasn't one to take his wife unwillingly. He hadn't with Milah and he certainly wasn't going to do it with her, if he agreed to marry her.
Maybe that was what they needed. A legal document, stating clearly what the marriage would entail. In the fine print, Rumford would put in a clause, protecting his estate and money from her. If she didn't accept his terms, then his gut would be right and Lady French was after the estate. His heart though, he couldn't protect with a piece of paper, but if he treated it as a business arrangement, then he could keep his personal feelings out of it. (He hoped). Then Rumford would have the best of both worlds – a new associate and a wife, he would secretly crave.
Whether it was wise of him or not, he guessed he'd have to find out. Because the one thing, they both agreed on, was Lady French shouldn't be marrying the Baron and she wanted his help. Rumford clambered up onto his feet, picked up his coat and shook it out, and was putting it on as he finally decided to do something about it.