The Proposal. John Pettie, R.A. (1839-1893). Oil On Canvas, 1869.

Proposal scenes can be fun to read and to write. Especially when the hero gets it wrong! I’ve written three in the past month. Here’s the one from The Flavour of Our Deeds (out in March). My heroine demands an accounting:

“What can I do for you, Kitty,” he asked.

She took a sip of her brandy without taking her eyes off him. There was that chin again, lifted in the air as a signal that her calm tone of voice hid a wealth of feeling: trepidation and irritation mixed, if he knew Kitty. And he did. “You said you loved me, and that you couldn’t live without me. You said we would make it work. What did you mean?”

A fair question. The first part was easy. “I love you. I want you to be my wife, Kitty, to have and to hold for the rest of our lives.” His voice had dropped to a low rumble as his love for Kitty and, yes, his desire threatened to overwhelm him. “I thought to wait to propose until I could make a home for you, but if you wish, I will ask this very minute.” He set the brandy aside and fell to his knees at her feet to take her own glass from her unresisting fingers and possess himself of her hands.

She leaned towards him, moistening her lips so that a spear of lust shot straight to his groin, her eyes glowing in the candle-light.

“Will you promise to marry me, Kitty,” he begged. “If I could, I would be a younger man for you, one with greater wealth and a noble heritage. But no one could love you more than I. No one will cherish you more than I. Will you be my future, Catherine Mary Stocke? My wife, my life partner, my reason for my work and my comfort in my leisure, the mother of my children, should God bless us?” He leaned to meet her, and if he was confident of her answer, it was not arrogance. She had given him good reason.

She did not disappoint. “My answer, of course, is yes.” Then, being Kitty, she had more to say, leaning away from his kiss to say. “However, I have some questions.” Her tone hinted that she had better like the answers. He should have expected her to challenge him. He suppressed a smile. How he loved this woman!

He sat back on his heels. “Ask,” he invited.

This one is from The Talons of  Lyon, which will be published in April by Dragonblade Publishing. This is the first proposal, made in front of a courtroom full of people. He has two more go’s to get it right:

The third magistrate took a turn. “One matter remains to be discussed. The guardian appointed in the will is dead. The guardian appointed as a replacement by the court in Norwich has proven unsuitable. The children will be in the custody of their mother, but they need a male guardian. If Lady Frogmore were to marry, the choice would be simple.”

The chief magistrate looked across the room directly at Lance. “Lord Lancelot Versey, you have been dedicated in your support for the lady and assiduous in your attentions. May we expect an announcement?”

Lance threw caution to the wind. “I wish for nothing more, Your Honours, but I thought it wrong to court the lady while she was in such trouble. We have not discussed the matter. My affections are fixed, but I have no notion whether the lady returns my esteem.”

Serafina, who was half fainting on Mrs Worthington’s shoulder looked up at that., her eyes widening. A tentative smile trembled on her lips.

“Well, Lady Frogmore?” asked the second magistrate.

Lance opened his mouth to object to the question, but the chief magistrate did it for him.

“Now, now, Wallace, we must not put pressure on the lady. The question of guardian can wait for another day, though until it is settled, the children and their mother will need to live in the household of a responsible and reliable gentleman approved by the court. Lady Frogmore, you are living with the Barkers, are you not? If Lord Barker is willing, you may have the children with you there.”

There wasn’t a lot more to be said. The magistrates discussed another hearing on the guardianship issue, and agreed with Mr Forsythe that they could make a decision on timing over the next days…

[The scene goes on to talk about closing of the case, but ends with this paragraph.]

Lance had to admit he was disappointed as the lady who held his heart walked off on Barker’s arm. Seraphina had not commented on his proposal? Was it a proposal? He had made his intentions clear, and she didn’t react at all. What did you expect, you idiot? She is desperate to see her children.

And in Perchance to Dream, the last novel in A Twist Upon a Regency Tale, also being published by Dragonblade, the hero asks for the heroine’s hand in his daughter’s sickroom. They’ve been nursing her through diptheria. It’s scheduled for publication nearly a whole year away.

“I think you are right,” John replied. “But I didn’t want to talk about Tenby and Augusta, Pauline. I wanted to talk about us.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean,” she asked.

The words John had been rehearsing all afternoon had gone completely out of his head. “Pauline.” That was as good a place as any to start. “I wondered… that is to say, would you consider…” She was looking at him attentively, her brow slightly furrowed in question.

“I mean,” he explained, “you and I get on very well together, and I would count myself the happiest of men if you would consent to be my wife.” There. It was done. He waited anxiously for her reply.”

If he had to categorise her expression, he’d call it more bewildered than delighted.

“Because we have been alone together,” she said.

“No,” he replied adamantly. “That’s not it at all. I know we have been alone together and Tenby tells me there is talk…” From the way her eyes widened, he should have kept that to himself. “I already intended to ask you, Pauline. I have been unable to stop thinking about you since our kiss.”

“Marrying me?” Pauline’s eyes expressed doubt, but also, if John was not mistaken, longing.

“Yes, you and I,” he said. The silence stretched, until he added, “We deal very well together, you and I.”

***

Pauline’s heart yearned to say yes, but she did not want him looking back and regretting this day. How dreadful to be tied for life to yet another woman whom he did not set out to marry.

“John,” Pauline pointed out, “you were forced into marriage once, because a girl was compromised. I am not a girl, and my life will change very little if my reputation is damaged in some quarters. My family will still love me. You don’t have to do this.”

“This is what I want,” he insisted.

Pauline saw almost everything she had dreamt of within her reach. She could stay with John and Pauline and have the right to call them family. She could enjoy John’s kisses and more, perhaps have babies of her own. But would he come to resent her in time?

“If you are ready to marry, John, wouldn’t it be better to choose someone younger, who could give you half a dozen children? I am thirty, John.”

John rejected the suggestion with a fierce frown and a wave of his hand, as if throwing it away. “I want you. I want my friend, the lady I trust, the lady I can see as a partner for the remainder of my life.” His voice turned coaxing and he possessed himself of her hands.

“I know Cumberland has long winters but we grow good roses. I can build you as many succession houses as you want, and the garden will be yours to do with as you please. As for children, if I have Jane and you, I have enough, but you are still young enough to give me more, if we are so blessed. I will certainly try to fill you with my babies, and enjoy doing so, if you are willing.”

Was the room suddenly warm? Or was it John’s words, and the heat in his eyes, melting Pauline’s core. She would do it, she decided. Perhaps he did not love her, but he wanted her, and she loved him. It would be enough. And perhaps they would be happy after all, for had not Arial once said that it was marrying a friend that led to love between her and Peter?

John was still trying to persuade her. “We can move from Cumberland closer to your brother, if you prefer. Or I could take a house in London so we could spend part of each year there, with Jane and any other children we have, so they can grow up knowing their cousins.”

“Cumberland will do just fine, but I like the idea of visiting London from time to time,” Pauline told him. “Wherever we live, I would be proud to be your wife.”

John whooped, and grabbed her off her feet to swing her around in a circle, so that she laughed out loud. As he bent his head to kiss her, a voice from the bed asked, “What are you doing?” They had awoken Jane.