Sherbrooke Twins (Sherbrooke Brides 8)

“May I perhaps meet you at the Mayfair for an ice, say tomorrow?” Judith had asked Corrie. The date made, Judith walked away, her step bouncy, infinitely graceful.

“She wants Jason,” Corrie said.

“Well, it might be that he wants her as well, but the truth is, you never know with Jason.”

“I think she’s as beautiful as Juliette Lorimer.”

“So you don’t like her?”

Corrie said, “Yes, I’m afraid I do,” and said nothing more until they’d guided their horses through a gate into Hyde Park. It was too early for the fashionables to be out and seen, which was fine with her. She wanted to gallop. However, James lightly laid his gloved hand on the reins. “Not yet,” he said.

“Oh, goodness, you’re still not well enough, are you, James? I’m so sorry, thinking things were like they used to be before-well, of course we’ll walk the horses.”

He reached out his hand and laid it over hers. “Will you marry me, Corrie? No more excuses about me making this dreadful sacrifice, no more whining about missing out on sowed oats.”

“You don’t think I should do well as a barmaid in Boston? It’s in America.”

“No, you would be a miserable serving girl. You would clout any man who was stupid enough to pinch your bottom.”

Her chin went up. “That’s not true. I could do anything I had to do in order to survive. If you were ill and it were up to me, I could drive a dray. I could make meat pies and sell them. James, I would keep you safe and well. You could always count on me.”

He cocked his head to one side, staring at her. He studied the face he’d known for more than half his life, first the child and now the young woman. “You know, Corrie, I believe you would,” he said slowly, and then he reached out and clasped her hand. “We will do well together. Trust me.”

She sighed, shook off his hand, and click-clicked Darlene into a canter along Rotten Row.

The fact of the matter was, he thought, watching her gracefully sway in the side saddle, firmly in control, she would do anything she needed to do, anything she had to do. To save him. She’d already proved that. He sent Bad Boy into a gallop and was riding beside her within a few moments.

“Say yes,” he said, his eyes between Bad Boy’s twitching ears. Then he gave her a sideways glance. “I could teach you things, Corrie, things that would make you feel quite good.”

Oh dear, she quite liked the sound of this. “What sorts of things?”

“Perhaps it isn’t proper of me to get all into details just this moment, but on our wedding night-ah, yes, I’ll just spit it out-think of me kissing the backs of your knees.”

The knees in question froze on her legs. “Oh goodness, my knees?”

“The backs of your knees. That could be one very small thing I will teach you about. No, no more. You must wait. Now, the truth is, I sent our marriage announcement to the Gazette. No one will cut you now, no one will look at me like I’m a debauched rake. It’s done, Corrie. My mother is likely meeting with your Aunt Maybella even as we ride. The wedding must be soon.”

“If I were to agree, I wouldn’t want it soon. I would want the biggest wedding ever seen in London. I would want to be married at Saint Paul’s.”

He smiled. “All right. Let’s go back and speak to our elders.”

“I haven’t said yes, James. This is all supposition.”

He grinned at

her. “You are tottering close to the edge.”

“Why are you being so damned agreeable? Are you still too ill to argue with me? You must be, because you like to argue and yell and curse. You like to pretend you’re going to clout me. This agreeable side of you isn’t what I’m used to. Are you tired, is that the problem? Oh dear, let me see if your fever has come back.” And she rode Darlene right into Bad Boy, her hand outstretched, but she didn’t touch his face because Darlene, who’d just come into heat, decided she wanted Bad Boy and what followed was a fracas, a good word that meant everything and nothing, the word that Corrie later used to describe to her uncle and aunt what had happened. Actually, fracas didn’t come close to the chaos of two rearing horses: Darlene shrieking, Bad Boy snorting, amenable to what she wanted to do and trying to bite her neck and mount her, and James, laughing so hard he was nearly falling off his horse’s back.

And in the midst of it all, Corrie, barely managing to stay on Darlene’s back, shouted through her laughter, “All right, James. I’ll seriously consider marrying you! I suppose it could be more fun than being a barmaid in Boston.”

“Is that a yes or another supposition?”

She whispered, looking down at her black boots with their lovely heels, “All right.”

“Good. That’s done.”

James wasn’t about to admit to relief. No, he was facing the raw fact that his doom was now formally sealed, his not inconsiderable wild oats now headed for a deep well.