Many women took lovers when they were pregnant, since they could not be impregnated twice. She would know that, since her own sister was suspected of taking advantage of that fact. The notion repelled him, but he’d forced himself to face reality.
She shook her head. “I understand men have appetites no one woman can hope to fulfill. But I will be your wife, Gerald. I will not be humiliated or become the center of gossip. I want discretion.”
She faced him, her eyes once more bleak and cold. “My father usually has a mistress, but he keeps her privately and does not parade her before her betters.”
Like a pet. Not even that, considering the number of lap-dogs that had nearly tripped him up recently. Like a guilty secret.
Could he really put Annie in that position?
Every sense in him rebelled. No, no he could not do that to her. Her vehemence that morning made sense. He wished he could tell her he understood, but it was too late. He would never see her again, and the sooner he reconciled himself to his unhappy fate, the better.
“I will speak to my lawyer,” he said, “and see how quickly we may be married.”
He hardly heard her quietly spoken thanks. He was too busy grieving.
CHAPTER NINE
ANNIE WOULD HAVE PREFERRED to spend the day in her office, immured with her books. She had some pages in the account books to check, and a new design for an edging to consider. She needed to discuss the disbursement of offices and workshops in the new building, the one next door. She could knock some walls through, and enlarge the living quarters, too.
If she was still living here. If she was not living in Joseph’s house.
After changing into her usual everyday clothes and visiting her children, she made her way to her office on the ground floor. Mr. Petit, bowed and bade her good morning. She nodded back. Because of the lack of space, they shared this office, but she had never found that a problem before.
Today she did. She wanted to be alone, to weep the dam of tears that had collected behind her eyes, and scold herself for being foolish. She’d accepted her fate a long time ago. There was no sense in bemoaning it now.
Gerald had swept through her life, a whirlwind here one moment and gone the next. The devastation he left behind him was hers to deal with. She should not bewail her fate, like a weeping Greek chorus. She must go on and pray that the wounds tearing her up inside would heal.
One day she would look back on her small adventure and smile, acknowledging her life had not been so bad after all. It was just that at the moment, she seemed to be living a tragedy, and she had nobody to turn to.
Since when had she been so pathetic? Usually, after a setback she picked up her skirts and carried on, marching toward her goal. This time the wind had blown her back so hard she had to rest to regain her breath.
It would get better. She would feel more herself in a day or two. The figures danced before her eyes in a most disconcerting way, but she forced her shattered senses to a semblance of calm.
When the doorbell jangled she jerked awake, not aware she’d been dozing.
Petit showed no awareness, but since Annie valued his discretion she assumed he’d marked her inattention. He left his desk and went to answer the door, returning with Joseph Stephenson. Inwardly she sighed. Outwardly, she smiled and got to her feet, offering her hand.
Now or never. She would answer him and settle her future, praying that would settle her nerves, too. She had made her decision that morning, when truly, there was no decision to be made. If she had no children, then, perhaps, she would consider Gerald’s offer, or near-offer. Even at the risk of disgracing her parents, who she would have to visit soon.
So why, when she wanted to work, had her brain failed to cooperate? Why was it working at twice its normal rate?
Petit took one look at her, murmured, “I’ll arrange for some tea,” and left the office. Wise man.
“Please take a seat, Mr. Stephenson. Unless you’d prefer to come up to the drawing room?”
Joseph shook his head. “We will do very well here. I came for your answer.”
Well that was blunt and to the point. She could only do him the courtesy of responding in the same manner. “Yes.”
“To what, Mrs. Cathcart?”
“To your proposal, Mr. Stephenson. Marriage, if the offer is still on the table?”
He flicked a glance at her, making her feel that she was being assessed. As if she had devalued herself by making him wait. “What made you decide?”
The man she really wanted was unavailable. At least she knew better than to tell him. “I told you I needed to think about it and discuss the matter with my family. I need my sons’ inheritance assured.”
He nodded. “I promise that. In their minority I can manage it together with mine, or appoint separate managers. It will benefit from the same information I am privy to, so it has every chance of prospering.”