“But ... but my word is pledged already.” It was a straw at which he clutched, desperately. And it was not a very fortunate one, for it suggested that his pledged word was the only obstacle.
The effect was to bring her closer still. She was almost touching him, as he stood there, still half averted, and she actually leaned against him, and set a hand upon his shoulder as she spoke, coaxingly, persuasively.
“But it was pledged before ... before you knew of this. His grace will understand. He’ll never hold you to it. You’ve but to explain.”
“I ... I couldn’t. I couldn’t,” he cried weakly.
“Then I can.”
“You?” He looked at her.
She was pale, but resolute. “Yes, me,” she answered him. “If your pledge is all that holds you, I’ll take coach at once and go to Whitehall. George Monk’ll see me, or if he won’t his Duchess will. I knew her well in the old days, when I was a young girl, and she was a sempstress glad to earn a groat where she could. Nan Clarges’ll never deny herself to an old friend. So if you but say the word, I’ll soon deliver you from this pledge of yours.”
His face lengthened. He looked away again.
“That is not all, Mrs. Quinn,” he said, very gently. “The truth is ... I am not of a ... a nature to make a woman happy.”
This she deemed mere coyness, and swept it briskly aside. “I’d take the risk of that.”