“To my great regret, I…” Edward’s hands were clammy. “It’s…” God, it would be better if lightning could just strike him now. “I can’t—that is, I seem to have married your daughter.”
Marshall looked about the yard, as if searching for Free. When he didn’t find her, he turned back to Edward.
“You regret marrying my daughter.” His voice sounded calm, if one could call the cold, black embers after a fire had burnt out calm.
“No,” Edward said. “Never that. She regrets marrying me.”
“Ah, then.” There was steel in the other man’s words, an edge so sharp that Edward could almost feel it slicing into him. “That’s worse.”
“It is.” Edward shut his eyes and tensed. But nothing happened—no blow to the stomach, no fist to his face. He waited, his muscles growing taut, but instead, a bird chirped merrily off in the distance. He finally opened one eye to see Marshall watching him quizzically.
“Aren’t you—that is—having confessed what I just did, aren’t you going to…?”
“To rough you up a little?” Marshall asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m imagining it right now. Give me a moment, and I’ll get through it. Then we can talk like rational beings.”
Edward blinked. “Pardon?”
Marshall shrugged. “Come now. All you’ve said is that my daughter regrets marrying you. I don’t know if she’d regret marrying you less if I beat you to a bloody pulp. She might not; she might feel sorry for you if you were laid up with your ribs broken and your eyes blackened. Then she might end up saying things she doesn’t mean and find herself in a worse spot than she is now. I only strike other men when I think there’s a chance it’ll do some good.”
“That’s…that’s…” It was alarmingly rational.
“Besides, if Free wanted you to have a black eye, you’d have one. When she was twelve, she used to get into fistfights with the boy next door, and we were always being called upon by Mrs. Shapright to come see what Free had done to him.”
Edward felt the corner of his lip twitch.
“So tell me. How is it that a viscount came to marry my daughter without my knowledge?”
“I hadn’t been in England for a long while. I never intended to return, and when I did, I didn’t plan to make myself known. I didn’t want to be a viscount. I just wanted to finish my business and go away.”
“I see.”
“And then my business brought me into Free’s way.” He swallowed. “And… And…”
“And she bowled you over.” There was a glint of a smile on Marshall’s face.
“Precisely. I don’t even know how it happened. One moment, I was standing there, utterly cynical about everything in the world, and the next… I was standing there, utterly cynical about everything except her. It was the most ridiculous thing.”
And yet it wasn’t ridiculous at all. He could remember every instant of their first weeks together. When she’d first told him about the Hammersmith-Choworth prizefight. When she’d knocked on the door of Stephen’s room, ushering in the charwoman, and he’d jumped for the window. When she’d looked him in the eyes and told him that he saw only the river, not the roses. It wasn’t ridiculous that he loved her; it was the most reasonable thing on the planet. He hadn’t realized that he was rifling through those first memories until Marshall gestured for him to continue.
Edward shook his head. “The only thing I knew was that if she knew the truth—if she knew everything about me—she’d never have me. So…I didn’t tell her. And…” He swallowed. “Your daughter can be a bit impulsive sometimes.” He cleared his throat. “Hypothetically, if a man returns from a long absence with a special license and a terrible reason to marry, well…” He shrugged and steeled himself for what was to come. “Mr. Marshall. I don’t know what Free would want, but for God’s sake, don’t let me off. I lied to your daughter. I married her by trickery, and she’s miserable now. It would be much easier if you could just beat me into a bloody pulp.”
Marshall shrugged. “I’m getting old. I never beat a man into a bloody pulp before breakfast anymore. It will do you some good to stew. Come on in and meet my wife.”
Edward stared at him in confusion. “Don’t you understand? I spent the night with your daughter under the color of lies.”
Marshall inhaled, shaking his head. “Have you spent any time at all talking to Free? If I pummeled a man for spending the night with her, she’d be furious with me. She would tell me that it implies that a father owns his daughter’s body, and we’ve had that fight twice already. I’m not about to repeat it.”