‘Sir, this is not seemly.’
She saw laughter in his eyes, heard it in his voice. ‘May I not comfort my distant cousin?’
‘That was not… comforting.’ Henrietta dropped her gaze in the face of the responsive twinkle in his eyes.
‘Hear me out, Henrietta. I would help you,’ he said persuasively, still too close for comfort.
‘What can you do to help me? Winterbourne is yours now. It was never mine at all. You heard Lawyer Stone, the entail cannot be broken.’
‘With your help it can. My heir could break it.’
‘Your son, if you have one, cannot yet be of an age to consent.’ She paused, puzzled. ‘And besides, what can I do?’
‘My heir is as yet unborn.’
What did he mean? Then she saw the question in his eyes and understood. ‘You…you want… you're asking me to..?’
‘We can call the oldest boy Wynter if you like,’ he offered.
‘Do I understand you aright? You are asking me to marry you?’
‘Any other arrangement would be highly irregular, madam. I am shocked you should suggest it.’ The mobile mouth quirked with amusement.
Henrietta knew she had gone white. The wretch was laughing at her. ‘And I am shocked you should jest so. What makes you think your suit would be in any way acceptable to me?’
‘You must marry someone,’ Matthew replied reasonably, dropping to the short-cropped turf at her feet. ‘Please, come and sit and let us discuss this while we have privacy. You were frank enough with me in the long gallery about your need for a husband. Why then are you now so coy?’
She stood for a moment looking down at his dark head, at the long booted legs sprawled easily on the bank. Perhaps it would be better to humour him, at least while she formulated her rejection. Henrietta did as he bid, sinking down in a billow of silk. ‘Indeed I must marry, but I have no shortage of suitors, as you have seen. Why should I accept your suit?’ She was pleased she sounded so calm when all she wanted was to dent that arrogant assumption that she was just another chattel of Winterbourne, his for the taking.
‘You had no shortage when you were an heiress, although as I recollect you were not happy with the choice. You may find you are less troubled now.’ Matthew crossed his booted ankles, apparently giving all his attention to his somewhat dusty toe-caps.
Henrietta shot him an angry glance. This was not how she had imagined a proposal would be. ‘I may no longer be heiress to Winterbourne, but I still have my name and my portion.’
Matthew leaned back on his elbows, watching a fish rise from between narrowed lids. ‘I am sure that if your father and brothers had lived they would have seen you well endowed as befits your station,’ he agreed, ‘but there is no such provision in the will.’
‘I have nothing?’ Henrietta stared at him.
‘Nothing I do not choose to give you.’ He swivelled on one elbow to watch her face. ‘But if you are my wife you will want for nothing.’
For a long moment he held her eyes while Henrietta felt the unpalatable truth sink in. She would not give in to him. ‘I shall go to the Low Countries, to my aunt and uncle. They looked after Francis, they will give me shelter.’ She forced a smile to show a confi
dence she did not feel. ‘I am not without friends, Sir Matthew.’
‘And how do you intend finding the money to travel?’
‘Surely you would not deny a kinswoman the means to establish a new life?’
‘I am offering you a new life – as my wife. You can remain mistress of Winterbourne, and your son will inherit it in his turn. You told me this morning that was all you desired, so why turn your face against it now?’
There was a long, perilous silence. Henrietta let herself be drawn into the deep green gaze and be held there. Her breathing slowed and the warm air seemed to thicken.
Matthew raised one hand and touched the back of it to her cheek. ‘Am I so unacceptable to you?’ he murmured.
He is no fool, Henrietta thought indignantly. He knows the answer to that as well as I do. He is eminently eligible, physically very attractive and he has what I want most in the world. But he needn't think that by inheriting Winterbourne I am his for the taking. I want wooing, she thought resentfully.
Any young woman would. Marriage for people of their rank was a duty, the formation of an alliance, but it should not be a cold business arrangement. ‘And what do you gain by this? You have the estate and house already. And besides,’ she added, ‘why at your age are you not married? You must be all of thirty.’
‘I am twenty eight. And I was married. My wife is dead.’ For a moment all the humour was gone from his face, and Henrietta recognised the memory of a grief as deep as her own. ‘It is time I remarried, and you will bring me all your knowledge of this estate and its people. Besides, I know my duty as your kinsman, your sole male relation however remote, and that is to protect and shelter you.’