“Business.” The word sat heavy between them. “Yes, I suppose that’s what this is.”
“Your Grace,” she said carefully, “we both know why you’re here. We both know what has to happen. Perhaps we could dispense with pretense?”
Alexander was quiet for a moment, studying her profile as she gazed out at the chaotic garden. In daylight, he could see things he’d missed yesterday—the faint shadows under her eyes suggesting sleepless nights, the way she held herself carefully still as if movement might shatter something, the white knuckles where her hands gripped each other in her lap.
“Very well,” he said finally. “Let’s dispense with pretense.”
He stood, because it seemed wrong to propose while sitting, then realized standing while she sat made him loom over her, so he took a few steps away, then turned back. The whole thing was already catastrophically awkward.
“Miss Coleridge,” he began formally. “As you’re aware, circumstances have arisen that necessitate a union between our families.”
“How romantic,” she murmured, but so quietly he could pretend not to hear.
“My grandfather’s will requires that I marry you within the year or forfeit my inheritance. Your family’s… interest… in seeing the feud ended aligns with this requirement.”
“My family’s interest,” she repeated. “Not mine?”
“I… that is…” He paused, before saying again, “your interests as well, I presume.”
“Do you? Presume, I mean. About my interests?”
“Miss Coleridge...”
“I’m sorry.” She stood as well, moving to examine a particularly aggressive climbing rose. “Please continue with your business proposal. I shouldn’t interrupt.”
Alexander felt heat rise in his face. “It’s not a business proposal.”
“Isn’t it? You’ve mentioned circumstances, requirements, interests. You haven’t mentioned anything that typically accompanies a proposal.”
“Such as?”
She turned to face him, and for the first time since he’d met her, there was fire in her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Affection? Respect? Even just basic human consideration? But I suppose that’s too much to expect when one is merely solving a problem.”
“You are not a problem.”
“No? Then what am I?”
The question hung between them, and Alexander found he had no good answer. She wasn’t a problem, exactly, but she wasn’t… what? What wasn’t she?
“You’re…” he started, then stopped. “You’re necessary.”
The word landed between them like a stone in a pond. Ophelia’s face went very still.
“Necessary,” she repeated. “Like medicine. Unpleasant but required.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
Alexander ran a hand through his hair, destroying Sinclair’s careful work. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you want me to say. That I’m happy about this? That I’ve secretly harbored feelings for you? That this isn’t the most distasteful thing I’ve ever had to do?”
She flinched at ‘distasteful,’ and he immediately wished he could take the word back.
“I don’t want you to say anything you don’t mean,” she said quietly. “I’d rather have your honest distaste than false affection.”
“I don’t…” He paused, frustrated. “I don’t find you distasteful.”
“Just my family? My circumstances? My birth?”
