"Are you nervous?"
"Aren't you?"
They stood there, two people who'd been thrown together by fate and dead dukes, trying to navigate something neither of them wanted but both were stuck with.
"Your brothers will want a formal proposal," Alexander said finally.
"Probably. They enjoy drama."
"And you?"
She shrugged. "I suppose you should do something. Though perhaps without the brothers present? I'd rather not have my proposal accompanied by growling and possible violence."
"Tomorrow then? I could call again. We could walk in the garden, properly chaperoned, of course."
"Our garden?" She glanced out the window at the chaos of flowers and vegetables. "You'll loathe it. The roses don't know their place, and the vegetables are showing. It's all very middle-class."
"Perfect then. A middle-class garden for a middle-class proposal to a middle-class bride."
She flinched slightly, and he immediately felt like a fool.
"I apologise. That was..."
"Honest." She lifted her chin. "At least you're honest about your disdain. It's better than false flattery."
"Miss Coleridge..."
"We should return to the others before my brothers decide you've harmed me and come seeking revenge."
She moved toward the door, but he caught her arm gently. She froze, looking down at his hand on her sleeve.
"I am sorry," he said quietly. "This isn't what either of us wanted."
"No." She met his eyes. "But it's what we have. We might as well make the best of it."
She pulled away and returned to the drawing room, where the brothers were indeed looking ready to mount a rescue mission.
"Nobody's injured," she announced. "Disappointed?"
"Relieved," Robert said, though his expression suggested otherwise.
"His Grace will call again tomorrow," she said calmly. "We shall walk in the garden. I trust that's acceptable to everyone?"
The brothers exchanged glances.
"Alone?" Henry asked suspiciously.
"With Mama. Or perhaps Mary. Someone suitably responsible who won't challenge anyone to a duel."
"I suppose that's... acceptable," Robert said grudgingly.
Alexander took this as his cue. "Until tomorrow then." He bowed to the room at large, then specifically to Miss Coleridge. "Miss Coleridge."
"Your Grace."
He left with as much dignity as he could muster, which was considerable but somewhat dented by the entire experience.
The carriage ride home was quiet, giving him too much time to think about brown eyes and sharp tongues and the way she'd said 'ribbons' like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.
