Never Fall for Your Fiancee

“You proposed?”

“I proposed we conduct an experiment to see if I should propose one day. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Well, not in those exact words.”

“Might I ask which words you used?”

“It wasn’t so much a proposal, really, as a declaration of sorts that I might well be amenable to pursuing a serious attachment if she was. Although obviously, given my history I was not in a position to ask outright…” Payne watched his gesticulating left hand with interest. “Because I am well aware I am not a sound bet. I certainly recall telling her I felt attraction, passion, and a deep affection for her. And I definitely suggested in the strongest possible terms, whilst I couldn’t make cast-iron promises I wouldn’t return to my old ways—because let’s face it, the Standish male makes a notoriously bad husband and all that … but I would certainly endeavor to do my damndest to be worthy of her affections and eventually…” Payne held up his hand and shook his head.

“That is a lot of words.”

“I was thorough.”

“Not necessarily clear words.”

“They were as clear as crystal, Payne. I laid all my cards on the table. Bared my soul. Warts and all.”

“But did you say the word, my lord? The actual word? The one which would have made all those other words quite superfluous?”

“If you mean the dreaded ‘L’ word, then not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

“I used the words ‘deep affection’ rather than the dreaded ‘L’ word. It had all come on so suddenly, you see. I suspected it but I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready for it at the time.” Was he ready for it now? Love was a huge commitment. A much bigger commitment than deep affection. He took a big slug of his brandy and plopped heavily on the mattress, because the solid oak floor felt oddly unsteady. “But it was certainly implied.”

“I see.” Payne shook his head again and walked to the door. “It’s a miracle you haven’t driven me to drink.”

“Is that it?”

“It’s midnight. I am going to bed.”

“Is that all the counsel I am to receive in my hour of need? I am a broken man, Payne!”

“You are an idiot, my lord.” His more-annoying-than-usual servant turned the handle and smiled. “But I am sure you will work it all out in the end.”

Hugh nursed the brandy for a few minutes, trying to work it all out, and then decided he couldn’t. What was there to work out? Because once you scraped back all the other complications, it all boiled down to one depressing thing.

He wanted her and she didn’t want him.

It was that simple and that tragic and he couldn’t change a damn thing about it.

But she was miserable, too, for entirely different reasons, and he could at least apologize for everything he had done to cause it. And if she wouldn’t talk to him, he might as well write it down because, if nothing else, a heartfelt and genuine apology would go some way toward letting her know he wasn’t entirely the selfish and callous brute she accused him of being. If she didn’t accept it, so be it, but she would read it, and that would have to do.

He strode to his dressing room and grabbed the stationery, then sat at his dressing table only to stare mournfully at the blank sheet. He needed a good opening sentence. Something strong.