Page 34 of Duke of War


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This was what Phoebe got for trying to attend to her father’s sensibilities. She should have stayed inside, propriety be damned.

But she was not going to start this potential marriage by giving the Duke a chance to sayI told you so, so she persevered until they made it to the questionable shelter of the gazebo.

She turned to face him and—oh, there it was. TheI told youwas written all over his face.

She sighed a theatrical sort of sigh that put all of her father’s moping and whining to shame. Apparently, such things were heritable.

The Duke’s smile was infinitesimally small, but it was there.

“Right,” Phoebe said. “What did you want to discuss then?”

The smile vanished, though he somehow looked more comfortable with this return to business rather than any camaraderie—fragile though it was—between them.

“I’m glad you asked,” he said briskly. “I have come to discuss the terms of what any potential marriage will look between us.”

He said this with such businesslike aloofness that Phoebe felt her eyebrows creeping up her forehead.

“Theterms?” she repeated.

A slight nod of his head. “Just so. You have assured me that there is no scandal poised to break over your head—” Phoebe was not at all certain that shehadreassured him of any such thing, but this didn’t seem to be the time to bring it up. “—but I nevertheless must express my sincere concerns about certain aspects of your conduct.”

Fascinatingly, he did not seem to realize that this was rude. That and only that made Phoebe interested enough to see where things would go next.

To that end, she only offered him a noncommittal, “Oh?”

“Indeed,” he said in that same tone. “Once you are my duchess, you shall have to behave with unimpeachable behavior. You will do duty to your name.”

“Will I?” Her tone was slightly less noncommittal this time. He still didn’t notice.

“Yes.” He seemed pleased with how this was going. That made for one of them.

“So, I shall, what? Host balls?” Her words were clipped. Her iciness could have put the Duke’s usual tone to shame.

“That would be a typical duty of a duchess, yes,” he said. “Really any Society wife, but a duchess is included in those ranks.”

Phoebe didn’t have the impression that the Duke was a foolish man—she hadn’t thought so before, and she didn’t think so now—but she was rather amazed at his tenacity. It was like he was wearing those blinders he put on horses. Truly remarkable. Nothing she waved at him could distract him from his course.

“And I’m sure I shall do other duchess-like things,” she observed. “Speak only when spoken to, carp and bow at your every word, sit quietly and wait for orders, and move only to ply thread to cloth in lovely, pointless patterns?”

“That sounds—” He paused. Ah. She’d gotten him. Finally. “You’re being sarcastic.”

“Yes, of course, I am!” she said, throwing up her hands. “I beg your pardon, but are you listening to yourself?”

He frowned. “I feel as though the requirements I’ve listed are perfectly reasonable?—”

“Requirements,” she interjected. “You seem to think that this is a circumstance in which you can issue orders—in which you can set forthrequirements.” She gave him a closed-lipped smile. “But this, Sir, is not a situation in which you are doing me a favor.”

He looked almost curious.

“Is it not? I am protecting your sister’s reputation?—”

“Fromyourself!” she countered. “The matter is this: you want a wife. I am meeting that need in exchange for you keeping my sister’s name out of it. We are, therefore, equal in this. So.” She folded her hands neatly. “Here is my counteroffer. I get complete and total freedom to do as I wish, and in exchange, I will not embarrass you.”

He regarded her carefully. There was a spark of interest in that gaze.

“You will agree to serve as hostess four times per year, will attend Society events with me as requested, and will speak in a manner that promotes the Redcliff name,” he returned.

As annoying as she found him—and God help her, he wassowretchedly annoying—she felt the corner of her mouth kick up in a smile. He was negotiating with her. Treating her like an equal—as she’d demanded.