Free B005R3LZ90 EBOK by Cheryl Bolen Page B

compares to Mr. Higginbottom's."
    Sally giggled. "Trust me. You have many more attributes than does Mr. Higginbottom."
    "But you said your brother was particularly anxious for you to marry money."
    She laughed again. "My brother is a most parsimonious man and has, therefore, done very well for himself—partly by marrying a woman possessed of some property. He doesn't need money. And I don't require money. I believe Edmund wished me to marry Mr. Higginbottom because he thought it would increase his own consequence to say, `my sister, who married into the Higginbottom beer fortune, you know.'"
    George could not help but laugh. His Sally was most acute in her perception of human behavior. He had never actually met the pompous Edmund Spenser, but Blanks had, and Blanks mimicked the man's pretentious airs in a most humorous manner. If the man's own sister—who was a most amiable lady—could barely tolerate her brother, the man's behavior must be quite obnoxious.
    "Should you wish me to impart any information to your brother or mother?"
    She puckered his lips in thought. "Only tell them I'm in favor of the match."
    "Should you like me to carry a letter?"
    She shook her head. "That won't be necessary. As I told you, I'm rather out of charity with Edmund—and somewhat out of charity with my mother for always siding with her firstborn. I vow, when I have children---" Her lips clamped shut. After taking several strides while contemplating the pavement with great interest, she said, "How silly of me. I shall never have children of my own, though I assure you I shall count yours as my own."
    George winced. "Forgive me, Sally. I feel wretched for depriving you of children of your own."
    "Don't spare another thought on it. I'm perfectly happy. Besides, I could never love any other children as much as I love Georgette and Sam."
    For the second time in the same day, he was indirectly speaking of the most intimate blending known to man, yet it was a blending Miss Spenser would never come to know. He felt guilty for depriving her of it.
    And depriving her of so much more.
    They covered the next two blocks in silence.
    "After I visit your brother I shall obtain the special license, and I plan to visit with my London solicitor to make the marriage settlements. I shan't return until Monday."
    "May I see the children while you are gone?"
    "Please do." He covered her hand. "My daughter never told me until today that each time she saw a star, she made a wish on it. Do you know what she wished for?"
    Sally looked up at him with a puzzled expression on her face. "What?"
    "She wished she had you for her mother."
    He watched Sally and was utterly touched to see her eyes moisten and a single tear roll down her tawny cheek. He stopped under the street lantern and gazed into her solemn face. He thought she had never been lovelier. He gently brushed the tear away. Then he did a most peculiar thing. He lowered his face to hers and settled his lips on hers.
    He would have wagered she had never been kissed before, but in no way did her kiss feel like that of a befuddled first kiss. Her lips were soft and pliant, and she melted into his chest as if she were long familiar with such intimacy.
    Good lord! What was he doing? He snapped away from her. "Forgive me," he said in a shaky voice. "I don't know what came over me. The tear . . . it was so pure . . . such a betrayal of affection for those I hold most dear."
    She placed a steady hand on each of his shoulders. "As dear as I hold them. The darlings."
    He chuckled and set off walking again. He felt deuced awkward over that kissing business. It was best that he not mention it again.
    Or repeat it. Ever. After all, Sally wasn't his Diana.
    "While I'm in London I should like to get you a wedding present," he said. "Is there something you desire?"
    She shook her head. "What I should love above everything is a piece of jewelry that has been passed down for generations of Sedgewicks. Only upon receiving something