Free A Certain Magic by Mary Balogh

single set, except for the waltzes, of course.”
    “Do you think I should marry her?” he asked.
    “Piers.” She looked at him imploringly. “No!”
    “Because I am too old for her?” he asked. “I am not quite decrepit, Allie. I am still capable of a number of activities associated with youth.” He grinned at her bowed head. “I love making you blush.”
    “Your age has nothing to do with it,” she said. “If you loved the girl and she loved you, I would urge you to the marriage. But then, if that were so, you would not be asking my opinion at all.”
    “Perhaps I could love her, too.” he said. “She is pretty enough, as you say, Allie. And she has other charms. And she is very biddable.”
    “Oh, Piers,” she said, resting her right hand on her work and looking up at him. “Does love mean no more to you than that?”
    “Well,” he said, smiling wickedly at her, “if I am to spend the rest of my life looking at a woman and lying next to her at night, her appearance is of some significance.”
    “But that is not love,” she said, exasperated. She picked up her needle again and stitched on.
    “What is, then?” he said. “Tell me, Allie.”
    “It is physical attraction, of course,” she said. “But there is so very much more than that, Piers. If it were only beauty, what would happen when the couple grew old? There has to be a mutual respect and liking, a mutuality of mind, a companionship, a friendship.”
    “And that is it? That is all?” he asked, smiling at the top of her head.
    “And something else,” she said quietly. “Something in addition to all those things. Something that words cannot express. A certain magic.” She spoke more firmly. “And above all, there has to be a determination from the start to make the other happy, to put the other’s comfort and joy before one’s own.”
    “Allie,” he said fondly, “all the world would be bachelor or spinster if your definition held. I might be looking forever and never find a bride. I might never breed those heirs of mine.”
    She said nothing, but stitched on. He finished drinking his chocolate and put his head back against the cushions of the chair. He closed his eyes.
    “What I should do,” he said, “is marry you, Allie. Don’t you think that would be a good idea?”
    “Gracious!” she said, her hand stranded in midair. “No, Piers!”
    But he was grinning at her, his head turned sideways on the cushion. “Have I outraged you?” he said. “I’m sorry, Allie. I was just teasing. I wouldn’t insult you by making you an offer.”
    “Insult me?” She frowned. 
    “I would be a poor bargain, wouldn’t I?” he said. “A fellow like me. After Web. Do you find living without him very hard, Allie?”
    She threaded her needle through her work and folded it neatly and deliberately. “No,” she said. “I cannot dwell on the past, Piers. It would be to deny the wonder of life. I was fortunate to have him for nine years. I have no regrets about those years. I did my best to make him contented, and he devoted his life to my happiness. Even Nicholas I would not erase from my life, despite all the pain of losing him. But all the grieving and pining and moping in the world will not bring either of them back. I have to live on. I have to find happiness with what is left. And I am well blessed. I do not find living difficult.”
    The smile remained only in his eyes. “You and Web had the love you described, didn’t you?” he said.
    She drew circles on her palm. After a while she nodded.
    “And that leaves me,” he said. “I am taking Miss Borden driving tomorrow afternoon, you know. Or I suppose I mean this afternoon. Do you think that after last night at the theater, tonight at the ball, and tomorrow afternoon in the park, old Bosley will be having the banns read?”
    “I do not know Mr. Bosley,” she said, smiling at him. “But I think perhaps he will wait for a more formal offer. Do have a care, though,