The Last-Minute Marriage. Marion Lennox
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my brothers,’ she told him. ‘Daniel, Christopher, William and Harry. Twenty, eighteen, fifteen and twelve in that order. All students. The farm supports them all.’ She caught herself. ‘Or, I guess, I support them all. They help. They’re great kids but it’s mostly over to me. Until now. Now I guess the capital will pay for their education but heaven knows where we’ll live. The university vacations are four months long. That’s when we’re a family. And Harry loves the farm so much. It’ll break his heart if we have to leave.’
Silence. Marcus stared at her in disbelief.
Four brothers? She was supporting four brothers?
Good grief! So great a load on such slim shoulders. He winced and she managed a smile. Her laughter had gone again. The burden was back in place.
‘I’ve said it before. It’s my problem. Not yours.’
‘You could always marry.’ His voice was still faint with shock and she gave a rueful smile.
‘By Wednesday? I don’t think so. It was a crazy codicil made by a confused old woman who would have been desperate to make things right for everyone. Which was always going to be impossible.’ She took his hand in hers and shook—a warm, firm handshake that was a shake of dismissal. ‘Thank you very much for helping me, Mr Benson. You’ve done more than enough and I’m really grateful. Goodbye.’
And that was that. She turned and manoeuvred her crutches away from him, limping down the pavement, which was crowded with late afternoon shoppers.
She stood out, he thought, and it wasn’t just her crutches. In truth, it wasn’t her crutches at all. It was her flame hair. Her figure. The lovely curve of her slender neck. And her strength. The way she braced her shoulders, as if expecting to be struck.
It was so like David and Goliath, he thought again, but she had no slingshot. She had no weapon of any kind.
He stood and watched her go. He’d been dismissed. She was asking nothing of him.
She was on her own.
He couldn’t bear it. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing—what he was saying—but he knew only that he had to do it.
‘Peta, stop,’ he called, and she paused and half turned towards him.
‘Yes?’ She had the air of someone who’d already moved on. She looked slight and pale and somehow almost ethereal. As if any moment she’d vanish.
She could, he realised. He had this one moment to prevent it or she’d be gone and he need never see her again.
Which was what he wanted—wasn’t it? He didn’t get involved. He never got involved. He’d made a vow a long time ago and he’d never been tempted to break that vow.
Until now. Until the choice was to break the vow or to watch Peta take the next few steps and take her burden back to Australia.
He didn’t even know what her burden was. He hardly knew her. He had a corporate deal to stitch up; he had a date tonight with a woman most men would kill to be seen with; he had a life in New York…
Peta was watching him, her pixie face questioning. Waiting. Waiting for release so she could disappear.
He couldn’t give her that release. And there was only one way to stop her disappearing.
‘There is a way you can be married by Wednesday,’ he called, and the shoppers around them paused in astonishment.
Peta paused in astonishment.
‘How?’ she called, but maybe she hadn’t called it. Maybe her voice was a whisper. They were twenty yards apart and there were people between. He saw her lips move. He saw the thought in her eyes that he was holding her up for nothing.
But he wasn’t. He knew what he had to say and when he said it, it sounded right. Even inevitable.
‘You can marry me.’
CHAPTER THREE
SHE couldn’t believe what she’d heard. One minute she was looking defeat and despair in the face. This was the end of the world as she knew it. Tomorrow she’d have to bury Aunt Hattie with all the love and honour she deserved, trying to block out the hurt caused by this appalling last will. Then she’d climb on to an aeroplane and go home to face the boys and tell them that she didn’t have a clue what their future held.
As opposed to…what?
As opposed to facing the man twenty yards away from her and trying to make sense of his crazy statement.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said at last and there was general laughter among the passers-by. Marcus’s words hadn’t just shocked Peta. More than one person had stilled to listen—to hear her response to this fascinating question.
‘He’s asking you to marry him, love,’ an elderly woman told her. ‘He looks a good sort of catch. I’d think about it if I were you.’
‘She’s young,’ someone else proffered. ‘Plus she’s pretty. She’s got plenty of time to play the field.’
‘No, but look at that suit,’ the older woman retorted. ‘The guy’s obviously loaded. You do it, love, but don’t go signing one of them pre-nup agreements. You take him for all he’s worth.’
‘Pretty funny proposal, if you ask me,’ someone else said. ‘You think she’s got leprosy or something, that he has to stay two shops away from her to ask her to marry him?’
‘Your girl got leprosy?’ someone else demanded. ‘Is that why the crutches?’
Even Marcus smiled at that.
So did Peta. It’s a joke, she thought. It’s a joke in appalling taste, but it’s a joke for all that.
‘Thanks,’ she called, with what she hoped was a vestige of dignity. ‘It’s a very nice proposal but I have a funeral to go to, and then a trip home to Australia. I can’t fit you in.’
‘I’m serious, Peta.’
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