Page 39 of The Music of Love

“Trapped is not the word I would use to describe my feelings on the matter . . . Portia.” His words were a dry echo of hers. Her lips parted, as if she might say something, but she remained silent. He continued. “I know we are not well-acquainted, but I believe we would deal well together. I would never expect you to bury yourself in the country merely because I do not prefer to go into society. I would understand if you wanted to travel. I will be generous and you would be an independent woman in many ways.”

Her prolonged silence made him uneasy. What was she thinking? Was she frightened? Disgusted? Worried?

“And what will you get out of the marriage, Mr. Harrington?”

He blinked. Surely she was not serious? Stacy opened his mouth, but then found he could not speak the truth and expose himself. So instead, he smiled faintly and said, “Perhaps a special rate for piano lessons?”

She shook her head, her expression grave. “No, I’m afraid I’ve given you lowest possible rate I feel comfortable offering, Mr. Harrington.” She laughed at whatever she saw on his face and the sound soothed his tense nerves.

“Call me Stacy.” He wanted to bite his tongue at the haughty tone of command.

Her dark, velvety eyes searched his face as if she could see every part of him, parts that weren’t visible, parts that might not exist.

“Stacy.” She reached up and cupped his jaw and he laid his hand over hers, his heart pounding at her sweetly intimate gesture. “I must tell you something, Stacy.”

His heart skipped and stuttered. “Yes?”

“I’ve been pregnant before but I miscarried within the first three months. It’s possible you might marry me for no reason.”

Stacy swallowed the inappropriate urge to laugh. He didn’t want to laugh because she’d suffered a miscarriage, but because she’d not confessed to something insurmountable—like already having a husband or being a mad, escaped convict.

“A child would be wonderful, Portia, but I believe we might find other reasons to enjoy our marriage.” He could only hope his words of assurance would soften his stiff, cool tone. He released her hand and she, lingeringly, he thought, released his face.

“I must also confess the last time I was pregnant I was even more emotional and temperamental than I usually am. Which, as my father would have warned you if he were still alive, can be quite excessive even at the best of times.”

“Ah, unreasonable. I see. Well, I shall consider myself forewarned. Was there anything else?” he asked lightly.

She smiled and the expression brightened the room. “I agree with what you’ve said. We are compatible in several ways and I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve spent with you. I know I should want more time to get to know one another—”

“A few more weeks would not cause any scandal when the child is born.”

“I said I should want more time, but I don’t. I would very much like to marry you . . . Stacy.”

Her gracious acceptance of his offer left him dazed and pleased. “I will do my very best to make sure you never regret your decision, Portia.”

“I will do the same, Stacy.”

And just like that, they were engaged to be married.

Chapter Twelve

When Portia entered the music room the following day she couldn’t help thinking about yesterday’s lesson and her face heated.

She’d not seen Stacy since dinner last night, when he’d told his aunt about their engagement. Although Miss Tate had given the proper responses and appeared pleased, Portia was not entirely convinced. In any event, she’d gone to bed not long after playing for them. Even if Miss Tate wasn’t appalled, the two would need time to talk without her.

This morning she’d been alone at breakfast and hadn’t seen either of the Harringtons until now.

When Portia shut the door Stacy turned away from the piano, where he’d been playing some scales. A very wicked smile curved his lips.

“If you give me such looks your playing will never progress,” she scolded.

His pale eyebrows rose and he wore the inscrutable expression that made her heart pound. “But perhaps my other skills will benefit, ma’am?”

“I think your other skills need no work.”

That made him smile. “I posted your letters today—are you sure you don’t wish to put the date back, just in case your friends are able to attend?”

Portia had written separate letters to all six of her friends, telling them her news. She’d extended invitations, but she knew how hard her friends had to work. If she asked them, they would find a way to come, but she did not wish to beggar her friends just so she wouldn’t feel lonely.