Page 6 of Married to the Duke By Midnight

“United public front. Miss Josephine Hawkins will assist her husband in his pursuits as best she can as long as it does not interfere with the aforementioned demands.”

Jo held her breath as she waited for his verdict. Lord Riddlesmarsh crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the stone balustrade behind him. He was still holding her list in one hand.

“How would it even be possible for you to marry before dawn tomorrow? Unless you wake the archbishop to obtain a special license that is.”

Jo’s throat made a strangled sound at his words. Did that mean that he agreed? He had asked how she would marry. Not them. Was he simply appeasing his curiosity? Perhaps amusing himself until it was too late.

“I have a special license,” she croaked. “And a priest. He is waiting in the carriage. Along with Mr. Oakley, who has the financial contract and will act as a witness as well.”

Lord Riddlesmarsh rubbed his mouth while he tried to hide a smile behind his hand.

Blast it all, he was laughing at her. He was going to turn her down. Perhaps she could live with Mr. Harborn reminding her of her uncle, perhaps with two sons he would not be interested in more children, and she would not have to perform her marital duties. She could probably live with him then, but it would take an extended amount of time to negotiate that. Time, she did not have, if Lord Riddlesmarsh kept talking but ended up rejecting her.

“You have certainly thought of everything,” the duke stated in an unreadable voice.

“I always do,” Jo told him and could not help but feel a little proud.

Lord Riddlesmarsh met her gaze for a long moment again. Jo squared her shoulders, sensing that she was being scrutinized. Would he see what everyone else did? A woman of mediocre looks who tried to make sense of the world by making lists? She could not let that happen.

“I would be a good duchess,” she blurted. “I am highly organized and reasonably likeable. It would be little work for me to arrange balls and political dinners, if you desire it. Or manage charitable work at your estate. Or oversee renovations for that matter.”

“Reasonably likeable,” she thought she heard Lord Riddlesmarsh mutter under his breath, but she was not certain.

He studied the list again for several minutes. Jo could feel the second hand on the clock ticking against the fabric as if she was carrying a beating heart.

“You are very bold, Miss Hawkins.”

“I suppose more desperate than bold, Your Grace,” Jo admitted and met his eyes again. His face was impossible to read.

He huffed a laugh at that.

“And it doesn’t hurt that I am a duke, does it?”

“Well, I can hardly hold it against you, can I?” Jo retorted before thinking.

“What do you mean?” he asked and she could sense from his voice and the way he straightened slightly that she had piqued his interest.

“I… would have preferred a man without a title,” Jo squirmed under his gaze, hating having to admit it. She did not dare look at Beatrice, who could no doubt hear every word.

“Then why did you choose me?” he asked with a frown between his brows.

“Because you seem… steady… and kind.”

It was what she had thought in the ballroom, but now she was not so certain. She had based her assessment of him on one smile he had shared with a friend. Perhaps Ambrose was right to question her sanity.

“Steady and kind,” Lord Riddlesmarsh repeated.

Jo could not tell whether he agreed with her judgement of him, let alone liked it. They stared at each other and Jo made certain to meet his eyes, hoping he would be able to read something in them, anything that would help persuade them.

When the duke looked down and rubbed his chin in thought, it felt like a loss. He was going to say no. He was thinking of a way to let her down gently. It had been asinine of her to approach him and even more so to expect him to say yes.

Jo chanced a glance at Beatrice.

Forty minutes, she mouthed.

The duke nodded to himself a couple of times and took a deep breath. Jo fought the urge to look away as he would say the damning words and Jo would have to rush into the ballroom and drag Mr. Harborn or, God forbid, Mr. Sedgwick out here.

“The duchess will manage her own money,” the duke said as he reached into his coat and found a pencil. He turned the paper over and rested it on the stone balustrade.