Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Gregory's townhouse was far grander than Anthea had expected. She had known, intellectually, that he was a duke with considerable wealth. But knowing and seeing were different things entirely.
The entrance hall alone could have swallowed her family's drawing room whole.
Marble floors gleamed beneath her feet. A chandelier dripped crystal above her head.
Portraits of stern-faced ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow her progress as a butler led her deeper into the house.
"His Grace is waiting in the dining room, Miss Croft."
The butler opened a door, and Anthea stepped into a room that managed to be both impressive and oddly intimate.
The long mahogany table could have seated twenty, but only two places had been set—one at the head, one to its right.
Covered dishes lined the sideboard, and the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread made her stomach clench with unexpected hunger.
Gregory stood near the window, his back to her. He had removed his coat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows in a way that suggested he had been here for some time. When he turned, his expression was unreadable.
"Miss Croft. You are prompt."
"You sent a carriage at the appointed time. It would have been rather difficult to be late."
His mouth twitched. "Fair enough. Please, sit."
He pulled out the chair to the right of the head of the table—close enough for conversation but not so close as to be improper. Anthea sat, hyperaware of the way his hand lingered briefly on the back of her chair before he moved to his own seat.
"I have arranged for several courses," he said, gesturing to the sideboard. "The cook has prepared variations on each dish. You will tell me which you prefer, and we will finalize the menu accordingly."
"That seems... elaborate for my opinion."
"It is your wedding breakfast." His gaze was steady. "You should have a say in what is served."
A footman appeared, setting a plate before each of them. Some sort of fish in a delicate sauce, garnished with herbs Anthea could not name.
She took a small bite. It was excellent—perfectly cooked, subtly seasoned. "This is very good."
"But?"
"No but. It is genuinely very good."
Gregory studied her for a moment, then nodded to the footman. "Bring the alternative preparation."
The fish was replaced with another version—different sauce, different herbs. Also excellent. Anthea dutifully tasted it and declared it equally good, which earned her a look that suggested Gregory found her diplomatic approach frustrating.
"You must have a preference," he said.
"I prefer not to cause unnecessary work by being particular."
"You prefer to be accommodating even when it means ignoring your own preferences," he corrected. "That will not serve you well as a duchess."
She stiffened. "I am simply being practical."
"No. You are being passive." He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp. "If you cannot tell a cook which fish sauce you prefer, how will you manage a household? Make decisions about staff? Navigate the complexities of hosting dinners where every choice carries social weight?"
Anthea set down her fork with deliberate care. "I liked the first one better. The lemon in the sauce complemented the fish without overwhelming it. Is that particular enough for you?"
"Yes." He looked satisfied rather than offended. "See? You have opinions. You simply need to voice them."
The footman cleared their plates and brought the next course. Then another. Each time, Gregory pressed her for her true preference, refusing to accept diplomatic non-answers. It was exhausting and oddly exhilarating in equal measure.
By the time they reached the soup course—a rich consommé that Anthea genuinely could not find fault with—she felt brave enough to redirect the conversation.
"The food is excellent," she said carefully. "But I confess, I did not expect such... thoroughness for a simple menu selection."
"It is not simple. It is your wedding breakfast. Every detail matters." He set down his spoon. "But you are correct that this is not the only reason I invited you here."
"It is not?"
"No." Gregory leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting to something more businesslike. "We are to be married in six days. It would be foolish not to establish clear expectations before the ceremony."
Anthea's heart began to race. "I agree."
"Good." He gestured for the footman to clear the soup course, waiting until they were alone again before continuing.
"Then let me be direct. As my duchess, you will manage this household.
You will host dinners and balls as necessary.
You will accompany me to social events and help me navigate Society—introduce me to the right people, warn me away from the wrong ones, ensure I do not commit social catastrophes that would damage my business interests. "
"That is... extensive."
"It is what I require." His tone was matter-of-fact. "In return, I will provide you with financial security, social position as a duchess, and—" He paused. "I will ensure your sisters are properly provided for."
Anthea's breath caught. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that securing suitable futures for Miss Veronica and Miss Poppy has always been part of this arrangement from my perspective." He said it as though it were obvious. "They will need proper dowries to make good matches."
"We have dowries. My father left—"
"Your father's estate has been badly mismanaged," Gregory interrupted, not unkindly. "Your stepmother's spending habits have depleted what little remained. The funds that should have been set aside for your sisters have been... redirected."
Anthea's hands clenched in her lap. She had known, of course. Had watched Beatrice spend freely on new gowns and renovations and entertainments while the household accounts dwindled. But hearing it stated so plainly made it real in a way it had not been before.
"I have already instructed my man of business to establish proper settlements for both your sisters," Gregory continued.
"They will each receive sufficient funds to attract respectable suitors.
The exact amounts will be determined by what is appropriate for their stations, but I assure you it will be adequate. "
"You have already arranged this?" Anthea's voice emerged smaller than intended.
"I began the arrangements three days ago. As soon as I knew we would marry." He tilted his head slightly. "Did you think I would allow my wife's sisters to enter the marriage market without proper support? That reflects poorly on both of us."
It was so practical. So businesslike. And yet—
"Why?" The question escaped before she could stop it. "You do not know them. You have barely met them. Why would you concern yourself with their futures?"
"Because removing that burden from your shoulders allows you to focus on your responsibilities as duchess without that particular worry consuming you." He paused, seemed to catch himself. When he continued, his voice had softened. "Because they matter to you."
Anthea felt something crack open in her chest. She had been so focused on what this marriage would cost her—her independence, her carefully maintained distance from emotional entanglement—that she had not fully considered what it might give her. What he might give her.
Security. Protection. Someone who cared enough to think of her sisters without being asked.
"That is..." She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "That is remarkably generous."
"It is practical," he corrected, but something in his expression had softened. "Once we are married, they become my responsibility as well. I take care of what is mine."
The possessiveness in those words sent an unexpected shiver through her. Anthea reached for her wine glass, needing something to do with her hands.
The footman returned with the next course, but Anthea barely noticed what was placed before her. Her mind was spinning, recalculating everything she thought she understood about this arrangement.
Gregory was not some distant figure offering marriage out of duty or scandal avoidance.
He was a man who planned ahead, who considered the needs of people he barely knew simply because they mattered to his future wife.
A man who spoke of taking care of what was his with a certainty that should have been alarming but somehow felt. .. safe.
"Is there anything else you wish to discuss?" Gregory asked, watching her with that steady, penetrating gaze.
This was it. Her opportunity to establish the final boundary she needed. The one that would protect her from the vulnerability she feared most.
Anthea set down her wine glass and met his eyes.
"I would like this to remain a marriage of convenience."
The words hung in the air between them. Gregory went very still, his expression unreadable.
"What exactly do you mean by that?" His voice was carefully neutral.
"I mean..." Anthea took a breath, forcing herself to continue.
"I understand we must present a united front publicly.
That we will share a household and attend events together and fulfill our social obligations.
But privately, I would prefer to maintain.
.. separate arrangements. Separate bedrooms. Separate expectations beyond what we have explicitly agreed to. "
Silence stretched between them. Gregory's gaze remained fixed on her, intense and searching in a way that made her want to look away. But she held his stare, refusing to show weakness.
"A marriage in name only," he said finally.
"A marriage of mutual benefit," Anthea corrected. "You receive help with Society. I receive security for myself and my sisters. We both achieve what we need without—without complicating matters with expectations that neither of us truly wants."
"You assume I do not want more."
The words were quiet, but they landed like stones in still water. Anthea's pulse quickened.
"Do you?" She tried to keep her voice steady. "Want more?"
Gregory leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his gaze never leaving hers. "I want you to feel safe. To know that what you give is freely given, not demanded or expected. To have the space you need to adjust to this marriage without feeling pressured or obligated."
It was not an answer. Or rather, it was an answer that carefully avoided the actual question.
"So you agree?" Anthea pressed. "To keeping this arrangement purely practical?"
Gregory's gaze remained fixed on her, intense and unreadable. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things.
Anthea's heart hammered against her ribs as she waited for his answer.
This was what she needed. What she had to have to feel safe entering this marriage. Surely he understood that. Surely he would agree to keep things simple, uncomplicated, free from the messy entanglements of emotion and expectation.
Surely he would say yes.