"I told you, my reasons?—"
"Not good enough." His voice hardened. "I won’t let you anywhere near her if you do not tell me why."
The duchess’s brows came down, her lips thinned. She was very clearly a woman who rarely, if ever, had to explain herself.
He thought for a moment that she would refuse. The conversation seemed to be over. But just as he went to turn away, she shifted. "No young woman should have to navigate this world without someone standing between her and the wolves. I learned that lesson too late for someone I loved. I don't intend to watch it happen again."
Sebastian thought of the ballroom below. Of Estella in her ill-fitting gown, laughing at a fortune hunter's jokes because he was the only person who'd been kind to her all evening. Of Charlotte at home in the country, too young to understand how precarious her future was. Of Andrew, who would have been here himself if Sebastian hadn't cajoled him into staying for yet another party.
Then he thought of his plan. The simple, clean, utterly insufficient plan to manage from the shadows, see her settled, and then leave London.
The duchess was right. It wasn't enough. One charming fortune hunter had proved that tonight.
"When do we begin?" he asked.
The duchess's smile was small and satisfied…and just slightly terrifying.
"Tomorrow. Tea, at my residence. I've already sent Miss Hale an invitation."
Sebastian stared at her. "You were very confident I'd agree."
Her smile grew as she rose from the settee. "I was confident," she said slowly, "that you care about that girl too much to refuse."
The words hit him like a slap. "I don't?—"
"Oh, I know." The duchess was already moving toward the door. "It's all duty and guilt and a debt to your dead friend. You've told yourself that story for two years, and I'm sure it's very comforting." She paused with her hand on the door. "I'll see you at three o'clock, Lord Blackwood."
She left. Sebastian stood alone in the blue sitting room and stared at the place where she'd been and told himself she was wrong. She was presumptuous, and manipulative, and entirely, categorically wrong.
He did not love Estella Hale.
He was simply going to dedicate every waking moment to ensuring her safety, and rearrange his entire life around her Season, and stand beside her at events, and scrutinize her suitors, and escort her through a world that wanted to eat her alive, and then, when she was settled…
He would leave and never think of her again.
He straightened his cravat as he strode toward the door.
Yes, that was the plan. And that was very clearly not love.
Merely obligation.
4
Estella knew it was rude to squint and stare, and yet, she couldn’t help it. She continued to stare at the woman across the counter. "I beg your pardon?"
The cheerful milliner on Bond Street repeated herself. Miss Hale's account had already been settled.
"Settled in full, miss," she added.
At Estella’s prolonged silence, the milliner consulted her ledger again. "The balance for the two bonnets and the evening cap. Paid last Tuesday."
"But… But…" Estella took a deep breath and tried again. "By whom?"
"I'm afraid I couldn't say, miss. The payment came through a solicitor's office. Quite regular, all very proper."
Estella opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. She felt rather like a fish, which was not the dignified impression she'd hoped to make on her first visit to a London milliner. "But I didn't authorize—I haven't engaged a solicitor to?—"
"Will there be anything else, miss?" The woman's smile was pleasant and immovable. Clearly, anonymous payments were not unusual enough to warrant further discussion.
