A Christmas Promise Read Free Page A

suggested.”
    “Debtors’ prison,” the earl said curtly. “That is an alternative, sir.”
    “You have not even seen my Ellie,” Mr. Transome said. “How can you be sure you would prefer prison, my lord? And I cannot believe you are serious. It is bravado. But even without prison, what is there ahead of you in life? You have not been able to offer for Miss Lovestone, have you, my lord, even though you have the title to dangle in front of her papa’s eyes? You are too proud to offer her marriage while you are debt-ridden. But if you will pardon me for saying so, you will be an old man or perhaps even a man in his grave before you are free to offer. It is doubtful that her papa would accept you anyway, since he is not himself a wealthy man.”
    “My relationship with Miss Lovestone is entirely my own concern,” the earl said.
    “Quite so,” his visitor agreed. “But you were the first to mention her name, my lord. Let me be brief, since I see that you are eager to bring this interview to an end. You must marry my daughter within the month, my lord, or I shall call in my debts within the same month. I would hate to do it, but business is business.”
    The earl set his hand on the knob of a door. “Allow me to show you out,” he said.
    “I shall call tomorrow, my lord,” Mr. Transome said. “I cannot wait any longer. I trust you will think carefully of your decision.”
    “There is nothing to think of,” the earl said, opening the doors and motioning his guest to precede him into the hallway. “You will be wasting your time returning here, sir. I will bid you a good morning.”
    “Until tomorrow, then, my lord,” Mr. Transome said, taking his coat and hat from a footman. “I believe that in the course of one whole day and one whole night you will see that in all wisdom you have only one possible course. And it will be a good one, I can promise you. I have chosen you with care, since I will be entrusting to you my dearest fortune of all.”
    “Good day to you, sir,” the earl said, and he nodded to the footman to open the door and turned away himself to climb the stairs.
    He felt rather, he thought, as a condemned man must feel when climbing the steps to the scaffold.
    E LEANOR T RANSOME WAS NO longer reading the letter that lay open on her lap. She was seated sideways on the window seat in her bedchamber, her legs drawn up before her, staring out at the dreary November day. But she saw nothing.
    That was that, then. Wilfred did not want her. He did not love her. Oh, he said in his letter that he both wanted and loved her. He said it more than once. He said that he would always love her and always want her. But he would not marry her.
    His reason was a noble one. He would not take her from the life of luxury to which she was accustomed, he wrote, in order to make her the wife of a struggling shipping clerk who might never make his fortune. And he would not accept help from her father even if it were offered.
    “A man has his pride, Ellie,” he had written—she had read the letter enough times already to have it memorized. “And in some ways pride is stronger than love, for I would be consumed with shame if I begged your father for you with a sizable dowry and owed everything to him instead of to my own efforts.”
    Eleanor closed her eyes. Men and their pride! She had written to him, improper as it was for her to make the move, explaining the situation to him, begging him to believe that she loved him, that for her love was all, that fortune and position meant nothing. After all, he had already expressed his intention of marrying her at some time in the future.
    “I must set you free,” he had written. “I would have worked and waited forever to deserve you, Ellie. But everything is changed now. I am sorry about your father. I had not realized that things were quite so bad. But he has tried to make provision for you. You had better bow to his wishes. At least you will be set for life—as you have