Page 35 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“I’d wager they didn’t know what to do with you.”

With a wrinkle of her nose, she said, “I shall take that as a compliment.”

His response was mild. “It was meant as such.”

Even in the weak light, he could see the beginnings of a pretty blush begin to bloom over her cheeks. “Anyway, when I met Francis, I—”

She stopped speaking with a swiftness that had Grey straightening in concern. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” The words were uncharacteristically halted. “I’m just not sure how to say what I want to say.”

Grey sat by the window as Farah began to pace around the room, looking as pretty as the painted portraits that surrounded her even in her agitation. “Use whatever words you like.”

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip. “It’s only—when I met Francis, I realized how well it—we—would work. Because we need each other. Him for his inheritance, and me for—you know.”

God, so he’d been right. He shouldn’t feel so stupidly triumphant about it, but he was.

“You don’t love him,” he said in a desperate bid for confirmation. “Is that it?”

Farah shifted her focus to the marble tile of the floor. “I don’t love him yet. Because—maybe my story is about coaxing love from my husband after a marriage of convenience.” Her voice fell to a tiny whisper. “It has to be.”

“Does it?”

The melancholy on her face almost pierced his chest. “What else am I to do? I knew I’d reached my limit, what with all the disappointment and waiting. I didn’t—don’t want to wait anymore.”

“Hence the inheritance.”

She nodded. “Hence the inheritance.”

Gentling his tone, he said, “This certainly explains the conversation you were having with Mr. Jennings.”

“It’s not desperate!” Her voice rang out with all the passion in the world, her fists balled up in the pink silk of her skirts. “I want to be loved, that’s all. And—and I want to love, too. I refuse to have the magic I witnessed growing up pass me by.”

A part of Grey wanted to ask what she planned to do if the magic never came, if she could never draw a life-changing romance out of Francis. But he decided against it, even as he doubted his cousin’s ability to give Farah what she deserved—or even wanted.

“It’s not desperate,” he agreed. “Every other person here wants the same thing. You’re just brave enough to say it out loud.”

Her chest heaved with every breath she took, evidence of the strength of her feelings, of how determined she was to see her life be one of utter enchantment. Without any warning, she beamed at him, the light of her joy rivaling that of the moon. “Do you really think so?”

“I’m not one to dole out unearned praise.”

Letting out a long exhale, Farah joined Grey by the window, folding a leg beneath her as she leaned toward the glass. “Well, now you know.”

“Now I know,” he concurred, half-wishing he didn’t. It would be hard to see her settle—and it would be equally hard not to give her exactly what she wanted. Which, for the present, was to execute her mad dash to the altar with his cousin in tow.

When she next spoke, it was to ask, “Are you content with your life?”

No.

“Yes,” he said, unable to match her honesty.

He couldn’t tell her that this was the first time in years he felt sincerely content. Here, in a darkened gallery with a woman he barely knew—but also somehow knew in a way he couldn’t seem to explain.

“That’s one of us at least.” Her gaze met his. “Wouldn’t it be something if you’d ended up dancing with the love of your life tonight?”

He scoffed. “Indeed.”

“And I’d have been responsible for it!” she said with a grin.