“I understand that I have not been the easiest daughter in this matter, and I know that you are only trying your best to help me. I promise to take this seriously and keep my mind open to marriage. If Edmund should propose, I will not dismiss it out of hand,” she said.
Margaret and Thomas beamed at this, and Rose almost felt guilty for misleading them, because she already knew that no proposal would be forthcoming. However, they were placated, and that was enough for now.
During the afternoon, when Rose was reading in the drawing room, they received a caller. Having assumed that it was someone wishing to speak to her parents, Rose was surprised to hear the door open.
“His Grace, the Duke of Stonewood,” the butler announced.
Rose almost dropped her book.
Her parents stood up to greet him. They gave her a knowing smile and an encouraging look, then left the room. They left the doors to the hallway open, but clearly wanted to show that they trusted Edmund and would not interfere in the courtship.
Edmund moved into the room as though he was familiar with the terrain. The sunlight that poured through the window illuminated him, making the buttons on his coat shine and adding a glow to his eyes. It was almost maddening how handsome he was, and it was no wonder that lesser women than her had fallen under his spell.
At least she would not fall prey to such shallow matters. After all, beauty was a fleeting thing, always shifting and fading with age.
“Your Grace, good day,” she said, closing the book and placing her hand upon it.
“I thought I told you to call me Edmund,” he said, stepping closer. “What are you reading?”
Before she could answer, he reached for the book—but paused just long enough for her to hesitate—then took it from her hands.
Rose blinked, startled more than offended.
He flipped a few pages, not roughly, but without much care. The spine bent slightly, and she winced.
“Please be careful,” she said quickly.
He glanced at her, then adjusted his grip a little. “Is it worth such concern?” he asked. “Who even speaks like this?”
“It’s not the best book,” Rose admitted, “but that does not mean it deserves to be mistreated.”
Edmund studied her for a moment, then gave a small breath of amusement. He closed the book and handed it back—this time properly.
“You are very loyal to it,” he said. “Even when it does not deserve you.”
Rose took it from him, still a little tense. “Books matter,” she said. “Someone took the time to write it. That should count for something.”
“Lydia said it wasn’t very good,” he replied. “I don’t see why you would spend your time on something you do not enjoy.”
“Because I have started it, so I might as well finish it.”
“Life is far too short for that. There are far too many things to do and see and feel than to fritter it away on boring things.”
“You don’t seem to like that quality, do you?”
“Being boring? No, in fact, the way I see it, it’s the worst thing a person can be. Life should be exciting. And why you should choose to be bored… I cannot understand it,” he shook his head. “Especially when it’s such a beautiful day outside,” he said, gesturing to the window.
“It’s a beautiful day inside as well. Besides, if I am to offer a fair critique of the book, then it deserves to be read in full. Otherwise, our reading circle will be silent.”
Edmund frowned.
“Wait, you actually discuss books there?”
Rose recoiled, placing the book beside her, making sure it was out of his reach.
“What else would we do at a literary circle?”
Edmund rolled his shoulders. “I always assumed it was just an excuse to get together and speak about whatever things young women speak about… young men, I suppose,” he said, flashing her a smile.
