Chapter Ten #2
Would he be the sort of husband who would teach her?
Would he want that from his wife, or was that sort of behavior only among servants?
Perhaps that was why she’d never heard the term before.
Oh, if only she could visit with her aunt without giving her disguise away.
She could not even write letters, as the footman who mailed them would question why a housemaid was writing to ladies and countesses.
She was almost certain she wanted that—
“—marriage contract?!” Xander’s voice rose to a near shout as he finished her thought aloud.
“Ah, yes. His Grace had shown me that. I wondered where it had gotten to. I shouldn’t worry about it, Your Grace. You have time before the family demands an answer. They spend most of their time in London. Perhaps they will wait until you journey there to discuss the matter in person.”
“What is there to discuss?”
“We should review the document, but ’tis my understanding that these contracts include protracted negotiations, and both families are expected to fulfill them with whatever means necessary, as other terms may have already been met.
Financial ties linked, other offers declined, that sort of thing? ” Munroe waved an uncertain hand.
Evie gritted her teeth. She was not simply another bullet point on a contract, as though she couldn’t procure another offer with a few smiles and a wave of her fan.
There might be some stigma if the contract was dropped, but surely, her family could spin it as an uncouth commoner not being worthy of her.
Her heart clenched at that thought. She wanted to choose for herself. But she didn’t want Xander’s reputation soiled, no matter who declined the union. Blast, it appeared she preferred not to hurt him even if he spurned her. This was a fine fettle of a dilemma she’d not anticipated.
The duke’s voice brought her back to the library. “You cannot be serious. I’m expected to wed some Ton chit because of a contract? Someone who is bound to find me beneath her snooty sensibilities?”
He had a point. She was, after all, laboring in disguise to verify his suitability.
And she’d had the fleeting thought before meeting him that his humble origins might embarrass her.
Hellfire, she should have thought that when she noticed his continued lack of proper dress, but that throat hollow was too alluring to allow such a concern.
More, they had fun together, and their politics aligned.
He was everything she’d hoped for and fun, besides.
She wished she could laugh at how upside down the whole situation was. The person born to the aristocracy was on her knees polishing the furniture owned by a man raised working-class who now held the highest non-royal title in the land.
“Your Grace,” Munroe said in a placating tone. “Take some time to think about it. You need heirs, and ’tis my understanding that this particular young lady is quite genial and comely besides. I believe she is related to someone in the village, too.”
Xander sat back in his chair and brought his elbows to the armrests and his fingers to his lips.
She groaned, a spurt of warmth flooding her. Must he?
He frowned and asked, “So I am supposed to marry for geniality, beauty, and heirs? What of love?”
Ohh, good question. She quietly shifted to the floor by another chair so she could see more of his face.
Then she frowned. She’d never considered love before.
Affection, certainly, but she assumed anything more would grow over time.
Until she’d discovered the previous duke’s politics, she’d been fine with a society marriage, negotiated and contracted, as all of her peers were.
There was no reason she should be leaning on one hand where she knelt to tilt closer and catch every word.
Munroe blushed. She could see it even from where she sat. “I could not speak to that, Your Grace.”
“You’ve never been in love, Munroe? You have, what, a few years on me?”
“I am eight-and-twenty, sir. And no. I take it you have?”
Before the duke could answer, Evie toppled to the floor, narrowly missing the uncapped linseed oil bottle beside her knee. She’d leaned one inch too far. Her elbow hit the wood floor with a crack. “Ouch!”
Both men’s heads whipped around.
The duke raised a brow. “Are you quite all right, Miss Mullens?”
“Sorry, sir. Yes, thank you, sir. I’ll, ah…” She looked around. “You know, I think I have finished this. I shall go check with Mrs. Betters regarding my next task.”
Doing a terrible job at stifling a grin, the duke nodded.
* * * *
Late that afternoon, the duke sent for her again.
Evie had worried all day about what to do if he broached the topic of marriage contracts or, indeed, marriage at all, with her.
Sure enough, as soon as she entered the library, he stood and gestured for her to sit before tossing the contract across the desk.
“Rutland, as a reminder, you needn’t stand for a maid,” she teased him.
“Oh. Right. Well, better safe than sorry, I suppose.” He shrugged and threw himself into his chair. “I’m rattled. As you apparently saw and heard.”
She dipped her head.
“What do you know of marriage contracts?”
“I doubt I know much more than you, sir. My understanding is that they are negotiated between the patriarchs of the families. Sometimes one of them is the future husband; sometimes the poor tyke isn’t even in short pants yet.”
“What if they hate each other?” His burning gaze shifted from the hated contract to her.
She folded her arms. How to answer that? “You grew up expecting to work in a tavern. I’ll wager when you started, it felt somewhat natural.”
He nodded. His expression smoothed, and he tilted his head.
She hoped she could get him to see it from her point of view. “A duke, or even a baron, would likely find it tremendously difficult, however. They wouldn’t have lifted anything heavy or worked the same hours. But as you had anticipated it, you could adapt more easily.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but this is not a position that you can leave and go home every night.”
“Isn’t it, though? First, did you go home? Didn’t you tell me you’d lived above the public house and were the person on call for deliveries and emergencies?”
“Well, yes, but I was still able to separate myself most of the time.”
“Isn’t there an entire separate suite of rooms above stairs for your duchess?”
He glowered at her. “Us pub workers expect to sleep with the woman we marry, to enjoy the benefits that come with marriage.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks. “My lord! ’Tis inappropriate to speak of such things in mixed company.”
He arched a brow and asked, “Even with a servant?”
She paused. She didn’t know the answer to that. “Better safe than sorry.”
“Ha! Well played, Evie,” he capitulated, grinning.
She exhaled a sigh of relief at his reaction. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach at his first use of her given name.
“I don’t want to marry a stranger.” His words squashed the butterflies, and she stiffened as he continued.
“Everything I have learned so far is that dukes control not only their own lives but practically the entire country. I would never have imagined that the most important choice of all would not be their own.”
She heaved a happy sigh. How romantic to call it the most important decision. Stay on topic, Evie. He had a point. Even she’d had a say in whom she’d marry.
He continued, “I seem to recall North choosing his first wife as well as Mama. And the Duke of Cranbrook said he’d chosen his.
Hmm. Munroe mentioned that I should speak to him about this.
Perhaps I’ll do that. There seems to be a real possibility that I shall have to go to London to meet this chit’s family.
What else do I need to know before I dive into that den of iniquity? ”
Her eyes rounded. “So much. There are seating etiquettes and introductory proprieties and appropriate supper conversation topics. I am not sure where to start. Oh, and dancing.”
“Dancing?” His eyes widened.
She nodded.
“Do you dance?”
She nodded again.
“Excellent. And do you know enough about all the etiquette nonsense you just spouted to at least get me started?”
She nodded, frantically trying to think of a reason a servant would know that.
He didn’t ask. “Then you’ll join me at dinners henceforth, and I’ll see about getting some musicians here as soon as possible.”
Where would he find musicians? Oh, but she hoped he did. Dancing ’twas a perfect excuse to become better acquainted with his thick, sturdy frame.