Page 4 of A Necessary Wife

“It’s your plan, my lord, not mine,” she warned. “And a bad one.”

“It’s a good plan,” he assured her, tugging down his waistcoat. “A marriage based on honesty, mutual respect, but not love. A family to grow and responsibilities to share.”

“Lightening your load considerably while you reap the benefits of my lifelong servitude, too, as my brother has,” she replied, with more than a touch of sarcasm in her tone than was wise.

Her brother made good use of her skills in managing the estate and never gave her any real credit.

“Isn’t that what all marriages do for the husband?” he asked, then drew closer by one step to hold out his hand to her, palm up. “A home and a garden to do with as you please, abundant funds to spoil yourself and the children, and a husband who will never demand your heart. You will be mistress of all and more deserving of the honor than anyone else I know. Besides, when your brother does marry, his wife might have other ideas on how the garden should look, and you likely won’t be consulted if you stay.”

She winced, but knew she did not have to stay. She had her cottage to escape to before that happened. “That is true. A wife should take control of her husband’s household and gardens. That is why women of sense marry.”

“And you are the most sensible woman I have ever met,” he promised.

Chatham had made a good argument for marriage, but it surely couldn’t be so simple or easy to wed an earl who was destined to become a duke.

Amelia had one remaining argument up her sleeve to deter him. An impediment that would dissuade any widower who claimed his children were dear to him. “What if your family dislike me? Will you regret the match and blame me?”

“I expect you to do your best, and that is all any man can expect in a marriage. The children might dislike you in the beginning, but only until they get used to the idea of having a mother again.”

“Lucy and Adam,” she murmured, citing the names of children she’d never seen. Chatham left them behind when he visited Upper Folly and barely spoke of them.

How could she be a mother to strangers?

She rubbed her arms briskly, feeling anxious. She’d had no warning, no hint, that Chatham was considering her worth. She was smudged with dirt, her hair likely a mess escaping its pins, and still Chatham wanted to marry her.

She moved out from under the tree to soak up the warmth of the sun. Chatham followed, falling into step with her again and saying nothing as she considered his offer as they walked farther away from the manor.

She would have to share his bed to have those children he had dangled before her nose.

She risked a peek at him again now, considering his appeal as a potential lover. There was nothing about Chatham that repulsed her, or encouraged her, either. He was a fine-looking man, healthy and fit, and if her heart had not been broken by another, and she was younger, she might have been offended by his offer of marriage without any real affection between them.

And yet she wasn’t.

Most women expected to be swept off their feet. To hear declarations of undying love and devotion from their beau before marriage. To receive tokens of their affection, flowers and love notes. To be envied by other women and made a fuss over.

But Chatham was no besotted beau.

He proposed a practical arrangement with a spinster who had no trust in men or expectation of marriage in her future. He was not offering to wed her because she was a beauty. His late wife had been declared a diamond of the first water by the queen herself, and she had been much sought after before and during her marriage.

Chatham did not ask for her hand to claim a large dowry either, because Amelia’s was adequate but hardly exceptional.

He was choosing her because she was as unromantic as him and matched his immediate need for a spouse. And that was more honest than the man who’d broken Amelia’s heart.

So far, Chatham matched Amelia’s requirements fairly well.

But if he came to his senses on his way to London and never returned to keep his promise to marry her, Amelia would not be surprised or disappointed. She would never tell a soul what he’d failed to do but would likely never speak to him again.

Not that he would care by that point.

And if he didn’t come back, Amelia did have her little cottage to take up, with its neglected garden and two small bedchambers, where no one would ever break promises again. She would claim her inheritance and make all her own decisions and forget the whole wretched business of love and marriage.

It was time to move on, one way or another. One day her brother would find the courage to ask for a lady’s hand in marriage. Leaving might even speed up the process.

Chatham offered an alternative that was more appealing than endless solitude for the rest of her days.

She glanced at Chatham. “When can I meet the children?”

“After we marry.”