Page 8 of The Duke and His Jilted Bride

Miss Knowles sighed, obviously tired with him already. Evander leaned back in his seat, watching her think. He hoped she was more practical than romantic after all.

“You are asking me,” she said slowly, “to become your wife, the Duchess of Sandacre… just like that?” She shook her head, and her earrings dangled, catching the light. “How can you be so flippant about all this?”

He looked aside, confused. “Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg? Is that how Frederick asked you to become his betrothed?”

“You know how your brother asked me,” she replied with a little moue. “You were there that night. He asked much in the same way that you did, only he had the courtesy to pretend it was not a chore to him, while you qualified it as such, as a task, from the first.”

Something about what she said seemed to give her pause. She let out a shaky breath, moving to the mantle, where she began adjusting the placement of the ornaments there.

“We have spent time in one another's company,” he added, to the back of her head. “We are not strangers. That is more than many marriages begin with.”

“Strangers? No, we certainly are not.”

She turned again then, and she looked at him the way she had in the chapel, briefly, before everything fell apart – when he had pretended he had not noticed her. A way that suggested she was noticing things he hadn't chosen to display. It was, he thought, a slightly unnerving thing in a woman he was about to propose a practical arrangement to, who he intended to ignore for the better part of their lives. He would provide her everything she needed and wanted. But not himself. Not even if she continued peering into his soul the way she was doing now.

“I am not,” she said carefully, “what you would have chosen for a bride.”

“Maybe not,” he said casually. “I can hardly say myself. But I am not what you would have chosen either. And yet here we are.”

He meant what he was saying. They were here. That was the fact. What they did with it was the only remaining question between them – and his proposal, though had that even been a question?

“Then, yes,” she gave by way of an answer – at least he thought.

He looked at her. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Something in her posture changed. “I agree to becoming your wife, so long as I can make my own terms known to you as well.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, smiled slightly. The expression, despite himself, made his neck hot. “So much has happened today. How did we get here? Before you arrived, I was telling my aunt I intended to be a spinster all my life.”

“You have money.”

She scoffed. “You are a strange sort of gentleman. Most men would never ask a woman about her finances.”

“If we are to be married, it seems an important consideration. Though I know about your dowry with my brother, the house in Scotland… But you mentioned terms. Name them. Then we will decide whether you will become duchess or a spinster.”

She nodded then began listing them carefully. “First… It seems a melodramatic and poetic thing to ask, really, but you must respect me – if we are really to be married.”

He bristled at the word must, but mostly held his tongue. “Did you think I would not have? Have I struck you as disrespectful so far?”

“Not at all, Your Grace.” She looked at her shoes. “But from what I have heard and read, men can be much different creatures in their marriages and lose even the basest grasp of civility. You will need to respect me, my wants and wishes, my thoughts, even if they seem benign or wrong to you, for me to live happily. I would want to be consulted on matters that concern me, the real decisions.”

He swallowed but nodded. “I would not have a marriage any other way.”

“Thank you. Now that’s done…” She breathed a sigh of relief, stopping herself with visible effort. “I understand this would be a marriage of convenience. But I would not want to be made to feel merely convenient – or inconvenient – absent, half a person. I feel I could not succeed in my role if I was made to feel like I was a second choice, wearing the costume of a first, if you understand the simile.”

“I do.”

“Then… what do you think to do about it?”

He held her gaze, somehow impressed by her. “I think to say that they are reasonable demands.”

She lifted her brows. “Do you think?”

He nodded. It was, he thought, the strangest engagement he had ever heard of. “A more reasonable future than becoming cautionary tales. The less I am spoken about, the better. I will begin the process of acquiring the license today, if you have agreed, which I believe you have,” he said. “You will hear from me by tomorrow morning, I think, with the particulars.”

Miss Knowles’s neck bobbed, but she nodded nonetheless. A moment of silence, and then, “Well, then, yes. My answer is yes. Do you require anything else from… me?”

He shook his head. “Do not run off to Gretna Green?”

A smile tugged at her mouth. “That, I believe I can manage.”