It was also unmistakably…charity.
That knot in her stomach grew to a heavy weight that made her feel ill. But that was her pride at work. And there was no place for her pride here. She forced herself to think of Charlotte. Young, sweet, clever Charlotte, who deserved only the best this world could offer.
No, only the best this duchess could offer.
"Lord Blackwood has agreed to serve as your protector for the Season," the duchess continued. "As your late brother’s close friend, it is natural and expected that he take an interest in your welfare. He will escort you to events and ensure that men of…questionable character are kept at a safe distance."
Estella looked at Blackwood. He had not moved, and his gaze was firmly fixed on the fireplace beside him as though this conversation had nothing to do with him whatsoever.
In this light, with the way he was standing, the scars from his burns were difficult to see. She took in his profile, with the sharp jaw, the high cheekbones, and straight nose. When he wasn’t glaring at her, he was undeniably…striking.
No. Handsome. He was undeniably handsome.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, he turned his face, his gaze colliding with hers. And suddenly her breathing felt far too shallow.
She wet her lips and clutched the fabric of her skirts. It seemed both Blackwood and the duchess were waiting for her response.
The Marquess of Blackwood was offering to be her protector.
With his hard eyes locked on hers, the suggestion seemed utterly implausible. "Is this true?"
The words tumbled out. The question had been aimed at him directly, and his eyes widened ever so slightly.
"Your brother would have wanted someone looking out for you." His voice was flat. "I'm honoring that obligation."
Obligation.
The word sat between them like a stone wall. She almost flinched but caught herself.
So that was what she was. An obligation. A debt owed to a dead man. Not Estella, but Andrew's sister.
To the marquess, an obligation. To the duchess, charity.
It was, quite frankly…humiliating.
But her pride had no place here. She turned back in her seat, staring straight ahead at the tray full of biscuits and a still steaming teapot.
She should be grateful. This formidable man was offering to upend his life for her Season. The duchess was offering her name and her influence and her protection. Together, they were handing her exactly what she needed to save Charlotte's future.
And all it cost was her pride.
She pressed her palms flat against her skirts and smiled. "That's very kind. I accept."
The words tasted like dust, but they were the right words. The duchess looked pleased. Blackwood looked…she wasn't sure. He'd turned back to the mantelpiece. His left hand, she noticed, was clenched at his side.
"Excellent," the duchess said. "I've taken the liberty of arranging a promenade in Hyde Park for tomorrow afternoon. Lord Blackwood will escort you. The ton will see a marquess taking a brotherly interest in a friend's sister, and that image will do more for your standing than a dozen balls."
Brotherly. Another excellent word. She was collecting them now. Obligation, brotherly. She wondered what the next one would be. Duty, perhaps. Or burden.
"Perhaps," the duchess added, turning to Blackwood, "it would be wise for Miss Hale to address you by your Christian name. Given the nature of the connection. Practically family, after all."
Estella saw the barest flinch. If she hadn't been watching him so closely, she'd have missed it entirely.
Well. If she’d had any doubt about how he truly felt about being obliged to escort her, she supposed that flinch answered it.
It seemed he was as pleased with this arrangement as she was.
"If Miss Hale is comfortable with that," he finally said.
