Page 31 of Marriage with a Proper Stranger

Mrs. Beacon returned with bread and butter, then the couple left the room, whispering between them.

“Looks appetizing,” Riordan stated. “Perhaps not as fancy as you are used to.”

“The late earl did not care for grand meals. It does look appetizing.” She laid her napkin across her lap.

Riordan raised his wineglass. “To new beginnings. To banishing the past. To…independence.”

She raised hers and gave him a brief smile. “Hear, hear.”

“A small smile as well. My cup overfloweth.” He winked teasingly.

Sabrina was beginning to understand the difference between light-hearted banter and mocking, at least as far as Riordan was concerned. She cut into the tender poultry and took a bite. “Oh, lovely. It has been ages since I have partaken of turkey.”

Riordan popped a piece into his mouth and swallowed. “It is good.”

“Now that we are alone, can you disclose the amount my father settled on me? I will sleep better knowing the details.”

He didn’t answer right away, and a spark of anxiety took root inside her. “It’s ten thousand pounds. William is handling the details. As I mentioned before, we will visit his office and sign the papers before the ceremony.”

She let go of the breath she’d been holding. “Oh, thank heavens. I’m not sure how you managed it, but I am eternally grateful.” Relieved, she ate a few forkfuls of the meal. “I meant to ask: who was the large man with the red hair at your place?”

Riordan chuckled. “When did you happen to see him?”

Sabrina buttered her bread. “I confess; Mary and I went for a walk at dusk a few days past. I was curious if you had returned from your journey. Where exactly is home, by the way?”

“To answer your first question, the red-haired beast is my uncle, Garrett. He is only six years older, so he’s more of an older brother, really. To answer your second question, my home is near Sevenoaks, in Kent. My uncle has already journeyed home.”

“Do you mind if I ask questions?”

Riordan cut his potatoes into bite-sized pieces. “Not at all. Shall I give you a brief biography? I come from a household of men. My father is involved in factory work, my Irish mother died of a heart ailment when I was three. I never knew her.”

Oh. She was genuinely sad to hear he’d lost his mother. Feeling empathy for others—another sign she was reclaiming her life. “I also lost my mother at a young age; I was twelve when she passed. I never did find out from what. She had been ill three years before, never leaving her bed.” It still hurt to mention her. Because her mother had been absorbed by her infirmity and her deep unhappiness, she’d had little time for an emotionally needy daughter.

“She died at the age when you needed her most,” Riordan stated.

“Yes. When it happened, I became angry, feeling abandoned. How could my mother leave me alone with my cold, unyielding father? It took many years for me to realize that she did not die on purpose.” After swallowing a forkful of buttered carrots, she said, “A household of men. Sounds like the Wollstonecraft family. They live in Kent, I believe. Do you know of them? The patriarch is an earl…I forget his title.”

Riordan started coughing. Oh no, was he choking? His face turned red, and he snatched the napkin from the table and covered his mouth. He immediately drank a half glass of water until the coughing ceased.

“Are you all right? Shall I ring for more water?” Truly, she was worried for him.

He shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Thank you. A piece of potato became lodged in my throat. All is well.”

“What were we discussing? Oh, yes, I asked if you knew of the Wollstonecrafts.”

“Do you?” Riordan asked.

“No, not personally. But I have heard of them. There is silly talk of a curse with regards to them finding love or some such. I also read that the young heir had been involved with one scandal or another. They’re champions for the poor, always tied to one cause or another. My father finds them detestable—not that he knows them personally either, but he would scoff and sneer whenever they appeared in the newspaper.” She sipped her wine. “I believe he called them ‘smug, do-gooder attention mongers.’”

“Indeed? I know of the family, but not well. We do not exactly move in the same circles,” Riordan murmured.

“You’re of the middle class? Oh, I am prying, but you’re well educated, your clothes are of a fine quality. Mary heard your father owns a factory. That explains it.” Satisfied with the answers to her nagging questions, she enthusiastically continued her meal. Riordan grew quiet, but the silence was not awkward.

When the dishes were cleared and tea and a plate of raspberry tarts had been served, they were alone once again—this was the last time they would be before the marriage. She should say her piece and be done with it. “Riordan, may I be honest with you?”

“Of course. You must always speak your mind with me.”

“When I first proposed this—let us call it what it is, a mad proposal, I originally thought I could enter into a temporary marriage, and after the ceremony take a room at the inn until an annulment could be acquired. I’d have no contact with the man in question, I’d simply wait it out then move on with my life.” She paused, and caught Riordan gazing at her with an intensity that took her breath away. “You see, I wanted to use a man for my own gain for once, instead of the other way around. I did not expect to like you, Riordan. Not at all. I believe we are becoming…friends.”