Only Beloved (The Survivor's Club , #7)

by Mary Balogh

there had been a new and unfamiliar glow about her that had warmed George’s heart.

He was forty-eight years old and, after eighteen years of marriage, he had been a widower for more than twelve years.

He was quite certain too that they had all made happy marriages.

despite some early misgivings, he liked Percy too and thought it probable he was the perfect husband for her.

He was lonely, damn it. To the marrow of his bones and the depths of his soul.

cornetcy,

: the office, rank, or commission of a cornet https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/cornetcy

He had asked himself if perhaps he loved her himself. Well, yes, he did, he had concluded after some frank

consideration. There was absolutely no doubt about it—just as there was no doubt that his love for her was not that kind of love. He loved her exactly as he loved Vincent and Hugo and the rest of them—deeply but purely platonically.

the notion had popped into his head, seemingly from nowhere, that perhaps he ought to marry. Not for love or issue—he was too old for either romance or fatherhood.

soul mate.

ANACHRONISM??? The earliest known use of soul mate is found in an 1822 letter from English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge to "a Young Lady https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/soul%20mate

He had been celibate a little too long for comfort.

It would be madness to tie himself down with a wife again, especially one who was a virtual stranger.

had much to offer any woman, even apart from the obvious inducements of a lofty title and fortune.

her independent employment and lonely existence. No, not lonely—solitary.

it struck me,” he continued when she did not fill the short silence that succeeded his words, “that I really do not want to be lonely. Yet I cannot expect my friends, no matter

how dear they are, to fill the void or to satisfy the hunger that is at the very core of my being. I would not even wish them to try. I could, however, hope for such a thing, even perhaps expect it, from a wife.”

“I thought that perhaps you are a little lonely too, Miss Debbins,” he said, half smiling.

His words, though, had wounded her, humiliated her.

“I live a solitary life, Your

Grace,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “By choice. Solitude and loneliness are not necess...

“It occurred to me after I had given the matter some thought,” he said as he seated himself, “that what I most need and want is a companion and friend, someone with whom I can be comfortable, someone who

would be content to be always at my side. Someone . . . all my own. And someone to share my bed. Forgive me—but it ought to be mentioned. I wished—wish—for more than a platonic relationship.”

“Ah,” he said and half smiled again. “I have the effrontery, then, to be asking you to marry an older man. I am nine years your senior.”

“It is a companion I want,” he repeated. “A friend. A woman friend. A wife, in fact. I do not have grand romance or romantic

passion to offer, I am afraid. I am past the age of such flights of fancy. But though I do not know you well or you me, I believe we would deal well together. I admire your talent as a musician and the beauty of soul it suggests. I admire your modesty

and dignity, your devotion to your sister. I like your appearance. I like the idea of looking at you ever...

“Are you happy, Miss Debbins?” he asked. “I recognize that you may well be. You have a cozy home here and productive, independent employment doing something you love. You are

much appreciated both at Middlebury and, I believe, in the village for your talent and for your good nature.” He paused and met her gaze again. “Or is there a chance that you too would like a friend and companion all your own, that

you too would like to belong exclusively to one other person and have him belong to you? Is there a chance that you would be willing to leave your life here and come to Cornwall and Penderris with ...

He had smiled at her and she had smelled his cologne and sensed his masculinity. She had dared to dream of love and romance that day and ever since. But only to dream.

Sometimes—oh, just sometimes—dreams could come true. Not the love and romance part, of course, but he had companionship and friendship to offer. And marriage. Not a platonic marriage.

George had been taken rather by surprise when he first stepped

into the room and set eyes upon Miss Debbins once more. He had thought he remembered her clearly from last year, but she was a bit taller than he recalled her being, though she was not above average height. And he had thought her a little plumper,

a little plainer, a little older. It was strange in light of his purpose in coming here that she was actually more attractive than he recalled her being. One might have expected ...

woman for her age despite the primness of the clothes she wore and the simple, almost severe style of her hair. She must have been very pretty as a girl. Her hair was still dark, with no discernibl...

fine, intelligent eyes. She also had an air of quiet dignity that she maintained despite the shock of his unexpected appearance and his sudden, abrupt question to her. Overall, she looked like a woman ...

what it was. It was that air about her, he recalled, that had drawn his admiration last year. It had not been just her musical talent or her sensible conversation or her pleasant looks....

know why his sudden idea of marrying and the image of her had come to him simultaneously, the one inextricably bound up with the other, neither one possible without the other. But he did know w...

have come easily to her. There were doubtless some women who remained single purely from choice, but he did not believe Miss Debbins was of their number. Spinsterhood had been ...

them from her sister. She had, however, made a rich and meaningful life for herself despite any disappointment she may h...

“Thank you,” he said. “I will do my utmost to see that you never regret your decision. It is unfortunate that in almost any marriage it is the woman who must relinquish her home and

friends and neighbors and all that is familiar and dear to her. Will it be very difficult for you to give up all this?”

suddenly difficult to picture himself kissing her, making love to her, becoming as familiar with her body as he was with his own.

It was Miss Dora Debbins and the strange, unexpected yearning to be married to her.

“Shall we dispense with a lengthy betrothal? Will you marry me soon?”

“In a month’s time if we wait for banns to be read,” he said, “or

sooner if you would prefer to marry by special license. As to the where—the choices would seem to be here or in Lancashire or at Penderris or in London. Do you have a preference?”

Miss Debbins undoubtedly

had a few ghosts to put to rest as far as London and the beau monde were concerned. Perhaps now was the time.

He was a duke. The only higher ranks were king and