Playing with a blade of grass between his thumb and forefinger, Rumford sat on the edge of the cliff, his legs dangling over the edge, gazing aimlessly out to sea and at the surrounding coastline. The sun rise had been beautiful to watch. The early morning sky had been painted in a warm hue of orange, acting as a backdrop, as the sun had peeped over the edge of horizon, slowly climbing up to take it spot high in the sky, chasing away the lingering darkness of the night. Sitting there, faced with such beauty, should've been enough to shush the persistent voices in his mind. Declaring it was a mistake. Swearing the marriage would break him again. Insisting she would see him for the fraud he was and ruin him, destroy what he had built for his son. He dropped his gaze, for the first time, to the weary blade of grass, refusing to listen to the voices.

The decision had been made, the deal had been struck, the proposal accepted.

He limply threw the blade of grass and watched it get caught by the wind, dancing briefly through the air before it fell helpless to the cliff face below him. Lifting his gaze, observing the waves crashing back down into the sea, pushing it towards the shore, Rumford breathed in deeply, feeling every bit as tired as he did, when he had left the house. No matter how much he had tossed and turned, tying himself up in the sheets of his bed, sleep had eluded him. The countless punches he had buried into his pillow, beating out the imaginary lumps, bleeding the plush feathers out of it, hadn't helped him to fall asleep either. Lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling as his troubling thoughts kept him awake.

Clasping his hands together in his lap, he dropped his gaze to them, wishing Jefferson had done a better job of talking him out of it. Granted, it was normally Jefferson, who was the impulsive one. Relying on Rumford to be his voice of reason. Steering him clear of making huge mistakes. Hoping his friend would return the lifetime of favours, giving him a reason why he was out of his mind and shouldn't do it, was probably too much to ask of Jefferson.

"What do you mean, you're going to ask her father for permission to marry her?" Jefferson had questioned, hastily putting his brandy glass on the nearest table, quickly chasing after Rumford as he left the large sitting room at the back of the house.

Marching through the doorway and along the hallway, Rumford had said over his shoulder. "Exactly what I said."

"Rumford, she's literally betrothed to the Baron already!" Jefferson had to jog to catch up with Rumford.

Rumford had turned his head to look at Jefferson as they had approached the grand staircase. "You were right though; she doesn't stand a chance with him. He won't appreciate her intellect or her strong will. He'll lock her up like some prized animal."

"Yes, but…" Jefferson hadn't been able to think of anything, failing at his new given role: Rumford's voice of reason.

"You don't have to come with me." Rumford had told him as they had passed the staircase on route to Lord French's study.

"Oh, I think I do… Who else is going to back you up, if that brute decides to throw a punch?" Jefferson had said, straightening his coat.

Amused, Rumford snickered at the memory, throwing his gaze up at the bright blue sky before he casted it down the coastal path he'd walked earlier, looking back in the direction of the house. The conversation with her father had gone better than he had expected. It had been easy to persuade the Baron into helping him. Any normal man would've objected his request, but the man's ego had gotten in the way and had aided Rumford in his cause. The man was so vain, he couldn't accept that Lady French, or any woman for that matter, would choose another man over him.

Making the Baron look like the fool he was, would've been payment enough for her side of the arrangement. Rumford had thoroughly enjoyed it. Easing the Baron into the setup, Rumford had let him lead and sway Lord French into doing exactly what Rumford had wanted. His father had always said, he would've been perfect in the House of Lords, but Rumford found his talents were best served behind the scenes. Though, he was a prominent figure, he'd rather have someone else in the limelight, while he sat in the back benches, listening, guiding from the shadows. Controlling and foreseeing the outcome. Except he hadn't seen her coming, hadn't even seriously contemplated a future with her, yet here he was, betrothed to her.

Lifting his hands up to cover his face, Rumford titled his head back, finding it hard to fathom how much had changed. He needed to write letters home – one to Mrs Potts, one to his son – giving them an abbreviated version of what happened. When he got home, he'd have to tell Mrs Potts of their arrangement, so she could field any awkward questions from the staff and because he trusted her as much as he did Jefferson. Lying to her wasn't an option. Whereas his son… he wouldn't understand. Rumford had instilled a belief that marriage was sacred, advising his son to choose wisely and if at all possible, marry for love. Telling his son, he'd married Lady French, because of an arrangement, would go against everything he had taught his son. Dropping his hands from his face to lay limp in his lap, Rumford had to protect him from the truth.

Stopping Neal from making the same mistakes as him.

The very quiet grumble of his stomach indicated it was time to go back, so Rumford got to his feet, wiping his hands on the back of his coat. He took one more admiring glimpse of the view and set off on the thin dirt path, back to the house. Clasping his hands behind his back, he bent his head forward, watching his step on the uneven path. It wasn't long until he came to the boundary fence. Steadying himself with a hand on a fence post, Rumford stepped up onto the stile and slung his leg over the fence, following it over with his other leg.

"Oh! Lord Gold!" A young female voice called, briefly startling Rumford.

His foot almost slipped off the edge of the well-used stile. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Rumford hid his fright behind his mask, while holding onto the fence with a death grip. A young, dark haired woman was crouched down by the fence. In front of her was the spot Rumford had noticed on his walks, where someone had been laying bunches of flowers. Some had died long ago. Weeks old. The young woman was laying a fresh bunch amongst the older bunches.

"My apologies, young lady, I didn't mean to startle you." He offered her an apology as he descended the stile.

"Not at all, my Lord." She bowed her head to him.

Rumford glanced towards the house, deducing she was part of the household, and said as he turned his gaze back to her. "Would you allow me the honour of accompanying you back to the house?"

"Oh…" She smiled at him, lighting up her face. "That would be very kind of you, my Lord."

"Not at all. My pleasure." He corrected her, whilst holding out an open hand to her, aiding her up from the floor.

"My Lady said, you were a gentleman." She remarked, a knowing glint in her eye.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm going to presume your Lady is Lady French."

Her smile made small lines appear at the corners of her eyes. "Yes, my Lord." She touched a hand to her chest. "I'm Miss Lucas by the way, or Ruby, if you feel inclined."

"A strange spot to be leaving flowers." Rumford gestured to the spot in question with a nod of his head.

She canted her head to glance back at the spot, then told him, turning her gaze on him. "It's not my place to say, my Lord, but it means something to my Lady."

His head inclined slightly, regarding the new piece of information, whilst his gaze moved to the bunches of flowers. "It must mean a lot to her, if you're coming out here frequently to deliver these flowers."

Miss Lucas showed him a small smile. "Rather early for you to be out wandering the coastal path, Lord Gold. You should be careful. You never know who you might meet on this path."

"Then let me have the honour of accompanying you back to the house." He motioned to the path with his left hand, while the left side of his face pulled back into a cheeky grin. "So you may protect me."

Her laugh was short as she rolled her eyes at him and began towards the path he had indicated, telling him. "I very much doubt you'd need help, my Lord. I witnessed you throwing the Baron out of the house."

Clasping his hands behind his back, he fell into step beside her, saying. "With the assistance of Mr Mandermer."

"Hardly!" Miss Lucas challenged his recollection. "You were the one, who sucker punched him."

The incident, she was referring to, took place at the front door. After manhandling the Baron to grand staircase, he had managed to shake off Jefferson, shoving him hard into a wall, dazing him. Rumford had wanted to run after losing Jefferson's assistance. In his younger days at school, Rumford had managed to outrun a lot of the bullies, using his wit to get the upper hand, luring them into a trap. These days, especially being the Earl, he didn't have a choice. He had to stay and fight. Be courageous, even if he did want to hide in the nearest cupboard like his father – the coward. So when the Baron had lunged to grab him, Rumford had thrown an uppercut and connected with the Baron's chin, stunning the large brut into stumbling a couple of steps backwards. Using his shorter height against the taller man, Rumford had forced the Baron out of the house, landing one more swift punch to the Baron's chin, knocking him flat onto his stomach, kicking up a cloud of dust to envelope him.

"It's not something, I'm proud of as a gentleman." Rumford shared with her, bashfully glancing sideways at her.

"You're more of a gentleman than the Baron will ever be, my Lord." Miss Lucas told him as she rubbed her hand over her arm, drawing his attention to the dark bruise on her forearm.

Scowling, he looked away, quietly seething, speculating from her comment and the bruise, the Baron had been the one to give it to her. He tightened his grip on his hand, painfully squeezing the life out of it as if it was the Baron's throat. No man, no matter who he was – bloodline, wealth or stature – should ever put a hand on a woman. On visits to the capital, when he would stay over at the Club, he'd heard husbands laughing at back handing their wives. 'I had to correct her, so I gave her a good smack!'. Rumford would excuse himself from their conversation, whilst the laughter died down with another gentleman recalling how he corrected his wife.

It did not surprise him, if the Baron was part of that crowd, and made Rumford regret, not hitting the poor excuse for a gentleman a few more times. He breathed out heavily, sounding like a very low growl.

"Thank you, though, my Lord." She said, disturbing his contemplation. "I dread to think what would've become of my Lady, if she had married him."

A short nod of his head was the only recognition he gave her. He didn't like that Miss Lucas was thanking him for participating in Lady French's scheme. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. Perhaps, if he wasn't secretly coveting her, having vivid dreams of her sharing his bed, taking her in different positions, his heart harbouring something he'd rather not knowledge, Rumford would feel better about their arrangement. If they'd had time to actually court one another, spend some time together, allowing sentiments to grow naturally between them and Rumford could've toyed with the notion of marriage.

Instead, he was entering another loveless marriage.

Bowing his head forward, watching his step, Rumford hated he had put himself in this situation again. He supposed, the only redeeming factor was she had been clear, '…I wouldn't expect anything from you'. Was it wrong, he wanted her to want something from him? He rolled his eyes at himself, throwing his gaze out onto the bay, chiding himself for accusing her of having frivolous thoughts, when it was actually him having them.

As they neared the tall stone garden wall, Rumford quickened his pace, getting to the wooden gate before Miss Lucas and opened it for her, motioning for her to precede him. The corners of her lips turned up into the briefest of smiles, silently thanking him, and he followed her through into the grounds of the manor. The worn path gave way to a neatly gravelled path, perfectly edged and maintained. Glancing back through the opening in the wall, Rumford felt more comfortable on the outside of the wall, but closed the gate, knowing he had to be grateful for this life on this side of the wall.

"If you'd excuse me, Lord Gold, I've got to go and attend to my Lady." Miss Lucas informed him, waiting for him, stood on the edge of the path. "Thank you, though, for escorting me back."

He swivelled on the gravel to face her. "The pleasure was all mine, Miss Lucas."

She nodded her head at him. "Mrs Lucas should be serving breakfast very soon, my Lord."

"Bread and jam with some tea, sounds very appealing right now." He told her, inclining himself forward into a bow.

"My Lord." Miss Lucas curtseyed to him, an appreciative smile on her face, and set off at a fast pace towards the house, leaving him to loiter on his own by the garden gate.

Shifting his weight on his feet, Rumford wasn't certain he wanted to go back into the house, even if the call for food made his stomach grumble. The silence at the dinner table last night had been unbearable. Lord French had sat at the head of the table, poking his food with his fork, his gaze on the vacant chair the Baron would've normally occupied. From time to time, Jefferson had commented on the food, random facts, the weather, trying his best to jumpstart a conversation.

Several times, his eyes had sneaked glances at Lady French, who had looked as gloomy as her father, daintily eating her food. Rumford didn't understand why she hadn't been happier. Her father had given his consent. They had thwarted the Baron. She wouldn't have to marry him, or anyone else, and with his ego bruised, hopefully he wouldn't come sniffing around her again. So… Why the sullen face?

With the silence, it was easy for his insecurities to sway him into thinking it was him. Rumford had been her ticket out of her engagement with the Baron, but that didn't mean she wanted to be with him. 'Another loveless marriage', he reminded himself again as he began towards the house, clasping his hands behind his back. At least this time, they wouldn't go through the same rigmarole as he had done with Milah. Physical compatibility was not the same as love. Naively, he had thought they were in love, when in truth, as she had said during an intense fight once, 'I've never loved you'. Rumford doubted he could take being rejected like that again.

Another reason he had to keep his heart protected from Lady French.

Opening the French door to the large sitting room, Rumford slipped into the house and closed the door behind him. A large painting caught his eye upon entering the room. A regal woman sat posed on a chair, hands laid in her lap, gazing at the artist with a soft smile pushing back her cheeks, showing her dimples in her rose coloured cheeks. She had the same eyes as Lady French – confident, vibrant, deep pools of ocean blue, which he'd happily drown himself in, if she'd let him. Narrowing his gaze, he studied the woman's face, he recognised certain features as being like Lady French's. He approached the painting, coming to a stop below her.

"She looks a lot like her mother, don't you think?"

Hastily, Rumford jumped a step back, startled by the voice, and snapped his gaze to the source, stood just inside of the doorway. "Most certainly, Lord French."

After a moment of silence, of them staring at each other, Lord French unclasped the door handle and sauntered around the furniture, coming to stand beside Rumford in front of the painting, hung above the fireplace, and said, looking up at his wife. "Of the girls presented to me, she was prettiest and the only one who'd caught my eye."

Clasping his hands behind his back, hiding his nervousness behind his mask of an Earl, Rumford took a short step to his right, needing some space between himself and Lord French, as he sheepishly glanced at the painting. "She was very beautiful, my Lord."

"Which is why, my Lord." He began to say, turning his head to look at Rumford. "I must stress that as much as my daughter is beautiful, she is also strong willed and when she sets her mind to accomplishing something, there'll be no stopping her."

The warning caused Rumford to smile. "I have no intention of standing in her way."

"She'll argue, if she doesn't agree with you." Lord French continued with his warning.

"We're all entitled to our opinions, my Lord." He countered, transferring his weight onto his right leg.

"Her intentions are always good, but she has a tendency to run away with her wild ideas without fully thinking it through." Her father said, gesturing absently with his hand.

His smile formed into a sly grin. "Then I'll be there to catch her, sir."

Deep lines embedded themselves into Lord French's forehead as he rounded to face Rumford, waving both of his hands as he spoke. "I don't think you're understanding me, my Lord. You hardly know my daughter or what she is like. Gaston was fully aware of what she was like and was happy to take her on, forgiving these faults." He took a breath. "I'm giving you the opportunity, my Lord, to recant your proposal."

Blinking his eyes in disbelief at his future in-law, Rumford was at a loss for words. When he had been engaged to Milah, her parents had been so proud of her, bagging herself an Earl. Because of their connection, her parents had prospered from their union – invited to prestigious events, royal balls, using his name to get themselves substantial credit with the bank, making themselves at home in the properties he had around the country. They would've dropped down dead before they would have considered asking him to recant his offer of marriage. Having her father suggest such a thing, was so unconceivable for a man of his stature. The benefits of having their names associated outweighed the cons of the situation. Lady French's prospects with him dwarfed whatever the Baron could've offered her, so Lord French offering him a chance to change his mind made Rumford wary of his intentions.

Studying the Viscount's face, Rumford wasn't sure what he saw in the other man's eyes. "I respectfully refute the opportunity."

"The dowry I have for my daughter, will not be adequate for a gentleman, such as yourself, to oppose the trouble my daughter may cause you, my Lord." Lord French confessed, grasping his hands in front of him, his grip stained his hands white.

"Lord French," Inflating his chest, projecting his Earl image, he told the Viscount. "I'm not interested in receiving your daughter's dowry. For all I care, you can give the money directly to your daughter." Rumford glanced to the painting of the late Lady French. "As for your daughter and trouble…" He trained his gaze back on Lord French. "Myself and your daughter will deal with whatever it is together. She is intelligent enough to hold a conversation and I'm sure she will welcome my counsel on any matter."

His face scrunched, deepening the troubled lines, pushing his brows together, as he said. "My Lord, don't you think this is happening rather quickly?"

"Not at all. If anything, my Lord, I've gotten to spend more time with your daughter than I did with my first wife. We were introduced at a ball and were married three weeks later." Rumford shared with him, relaxing his stance, and let his arms hang down at his sides.

"Is there nothing I can say that would sway you, my Lord?" Lord French asked, a desperate look in his eyes.

"As I said, when I came to you yesterday, I can't deny the way I feel about your daughter and she has expressed the same sentiments also. The matters of the heart cannot be ignored, sir." He told his future father-in-law as he clasped his hands behind his back again, hiding his hands and allowing his fidgeting fingers to be free.

After huffing loudly through his nose, Lord French stated. "Then we need to start making arrangements for the ceremony."

"Make whatever arrangements you'd like, my Lord, and I will cover the costs." A thought occurred to him and he told Lord French. "I'm having a ball this weekend. You and Lady French should attend and we can make the announcement, then have the ceremony next week."

"So soon?" He looked sceptical. "You don't want to wait a couple of weeks?"

Rumford shrugged a shoulder at him. "I don't see any reason to wait."

"Right… Course. I'll… I'll go write a letter to local clergy. Excuse me, my Lord." Lord French informed him, aimlessly nodding his head at whatever he was thinking.

Observing the Viscount leave the room, Rumford couldn't quite grasp what was Lord French's intentions were. Was he worried for his daughter's safety? Any father would be in his situation. God knows, if Neal came to him and suddenly declared he was marrying a woman he had only just met, Rumford no doubt would have some concerns about it. Yet, it didn't feel like that was Lord French's concern. Nor was his daughter's happiest.

If he was to take a stab into the dark, he'd be tempted to say that Lord French was more concerned that Rumford was making the mistake in marrying his daughter. That she would offend him or bother him with her ability to think for herself. As Rumford had admitted to Lady French, he found it absolutely charming. It was tiresome to listen to a woman, who had no idea what they were talking about, struggling to make conversation, desperate to hold his attention. It was refreshing to converse with her. It would've offended the Baron for her to be herself, but not him and it irritated Rumford that her father painted him with the same brush as the Baron.

"Should've asked the Baron back off." Rumford grumbled under his breath.