Unclaimed (Turner, #2)

Mr. Carlisle, after all, was the one who had declared Jessica dead. He was the one to whom she addressed the letters she sent—the ones that had gone unanswered. He had banished her and lied about her.

And yet the man in front of him didn’t seem like a monster. He had graying hair, a narrow face—and an expression that was exasperated and embarrassed, but not stern. He had Jessica’s lips. Surely, that lift of her chin had come from him.

Mark strode forward and offered his hand. “Sir Mark Turner.”

The man shook it. “Alton Carlisle. At your service, sir. Your book—it’s been a pleasure to be able to quote from it in my services. An even greater honor to have you in my home. You’ll stay to dinner? There will be no repeat of that foolishness.”

“You’ll have to excuse Miss Ellen,” Mark said quietly. “She’s merely overcome. You see, I have decided to marry your daughter, and Miss Ellen has just discovered it.”

“Marry my daughter.” Mr. Carlisle stood, his face going slack. Mark could tell precisely when he began to think again—when the advantages presented themselves. The connection to a duke, a son-in-law who had the favor of the Queen. There followed a small, proud smile as he realized that somehow, his offspring had landed the most desired bachelor in five counties.

It took only a few seconds before the man was nodding. His breath rushed out. “My permission—of course. You have it.”

“I’ve already settled five thousand pounds on her,” Mark said conversationally. “For her separate use, and for our children, should we have any.”

“Yes. Of course.” Mr. Carlisle shook his head. “Pardon my stupidity—but I am convinced this must be a dream. I had not even known that you were acquainted with my daughter. Certainly, you and I have never been introduced.” He scrubbed his hand through his thinning hair. “Next, you will tell me that you wish to marry her by special license, in a grand ceremony held in St. Paul’s. This…this can’t be happening.”

“There your dream ends,” Mark said. “I don’t want to marry by special license. I want you to call the banns in your church. I want you to tell your entire parish that your daughter is marrying me. I want you to acknowledge her by name.”

At Mark’s feet, Ellen began to cry softly.

“Of course, of course. It will all be as you wish. Precisely as you wish.”

“One last thing,” Mark said.

“Whatever you say.”

“From now on, when she writes you letters, I want you to answer them. And when she arrives on your doorstep, which she should do in, oh…” Mark peered over his shoulder at the watch on the table. “In two minutes, then I want you to welcome her inside.”

Mr. Carlisle swallowed hard. He looked at Mark. He looked at Ellen, where she’d curled her legs about her on the floor. He looked back at Mark.

“You surmise correctly,” Mark said. “This is no dream. I’d never met Miss Ellen before today. I mean to marry your eldest daughter, Jessica.”

Mr. Carlisle pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. “I can’t announce banns for Jessica. Every one thinks she died.”

“Everyone will have to be disillusioned. How you go about it is, quite frankly, not my problem to solve.”

“I had to think of my other daughters. They—they wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere if it had come out that their sister had been so ruined. I—”

“I do understand,” Mark said. “You were frightened. You had to think of your position, your reputation. But as for Miss Ellen’s prospects—we rather thought the Duchess of Parford might sponsor her Season. I don’t think you understand what I am offering you. I am going to marry your daughter. My brother is going to welcome her into the family with open arms. If you think that the two of us cannot counteract any scandal you can imagine, you are greatly mistaken.”

“Sir Mark, perhaps you don’t understand—”

“You don’t understand. I did not come to ask permission to make your daughter my wife. I am asking if you would like to make my wife your daughter once again.”

“Yes.” He stood up, his voice breaking. “Yes. Yes. You have to ask? You think I didn’t read her every letter and hope that I could find a way? Do you think that a single night passed in which I didn’t regret what had happened? I didn’t know what else to do. And by the time I’d acted, it was too late. Too irrevocable.”

For a moment, Mark thought of reminding the man that he’d had seven years to act. That he’d let it all slip away, knowing what his daughter had faced out there. But now was the time for reunion.

“It’s not too late now. She’s waiting at the door. Come on, now. She’s missed you.” He glanced at Ellen and gave her a smile. “She’s missed all of you.”

Three weeks later.