Mariah sighed and capitulated, not least because she secretly loved how much he fussed over her.
They entered the library and she felt the familiar feeling of home as they stepped inside. The previous Christmas, after his wonderfully romantic proposal, Brandon had told her that the library was hers. He had decided that he would keep it for her alone.
"Either you would have consented to marry me and therefore enjoyed it any hour day or night," he had said with a charming smile that curled her toes, "or I would have used it to buy me some time to convince you."
"You would have given it to me even if I'd said no?" Mariah asked shocked that something so precious and expensive should be hers.
"Who else could it ever have belonged to?" he had asked.
It was a good thing they'd already agreed to marry at that point because they anticipated their vows right there on the old chaise by the fireplace.
Mariah could see now that Brandon was thinking of that day just as she was and she would have felt excited about it except the blasted pain was back.
Suddenly, it hit her.
Dear God, she was in labour.
"Darling" she said, trying her very hardest to remain calm, "could you possibly ring for Dora and ask your mother to come in here please?"
"Why, sweetheart?"
"I don't want you to panic."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, just—"
"Tell me. What is it? Are you sick? Is that it? Do you need to lie down? I'll carry you."
He was becoming hysterical, which was exactly what she didn't want. Honestly, he was worse than a hormonal woman sometimes.
"Brandon," she shouted and he stopped his dramatics. "Your child is about to arrive. Get Dora before you faint."
Afterwards, they would argue about whether or not he had burst into noisy, tearful wails. Mariah was adamant that he had, Brandon quite fierce in his protestations that real men didn't wail.
But one thing they both agreed on was that their daughter, Faith Daphne Haverton had made quite an entrance.
Brandon had never asked why Mariah insisted on the name Faith.
Mariah knew it was because she had had faith that her wish would come true. And it had.
The End.
FOR THE LOVE OF A LADY
by Kristin Vayden
PROLOGUE
"Pardon?" Elise asked breathlessly as her heart pounded in her chest. He couldn't have said what she thought he had.
Jefferson Markfield, Viscount of Trighton tilted his head in a familiar way. It should be familiar; after all, he was her betrothed.
At least she hoped he was… a few minutes before she had been so sure about everything.
Not anymore.
Fear chilled her heart, making every heartbeat painful.
He took a deep breath, drawing her attention to his shoulders and the way they rounded and tapered to his folded hands. "I simply wish to spare you any heartache. While it was certainly a brilliant plan at first, I don't see the continuation of our betrothal to be mutually beneficial any longer." He shrugged, as if he weren't crushing her hopes and dreams with every word. Taking a deep breath, he continued, but his posture shifted. "After all, it's not as if we are firmly attached. Better to end it now before it becomes too… involved." He leaned back on the stone bench, appearing utterly at ease and even pleased with himself. It was a strange contradiction. His actions spoke of indifference, but Essie was not fully convinced. "And since I wish to part ways as amicably as possible, I'll need you to cry off. You understand. Neither of us wants to deal with the scandal of a breach of promise suit."
Elise didn't know which part of his miserable speech was more painful. The fact that he had no attachment to her, or that he expected her to end it.
As if it were her idea all along!
Through with his current disposition, his idea was becoming rather attractive. Of course, she didn't have to agree with him. The banns had been read and the betrothal signed; she could hold him to his word and he'd have no choice but to marry her.
But is that was she wanted? To force a man to marry her? To be forever trapped in a loveless marriage? Glancing down she willed the tears of anger and hurt to remain hidden. She wouldn't appear weak or heaven forbid, attached! What a folly! To be attached to the man one intended to marry.
What utter rot.
A betraying tear slid down her nose.
"Essie, you always were so sensitive, I didn't want to hurt you so that's why I went along with it as long as I did." Trighton reached out and patted her shoulder. As if she were a toddler in need of reassurance. His patronizing smile made her blood simmer.
It was maddening.
She shrugged and his arm fell.
How had she been so blind to not see this facet of his personality before?