Chapter 12
The coachman cleared his throat. "Your Grace? Shall I wait?"
"Yes," Adrian replied, his voice rough with exhaustion. "This shouldn't take long."
Shouldn't it? The bitter thought came unbidden. You're about to propose marriage to a woman who has every reason to despise you. How long does one allocate for such spectacular failure?
He alighted from the carriage, his boots splashing in a puddle that reminded him painfully of another rainy evening, another shared shelter from a storm, another moment when the world had seemed full of possibility rather than ruin.
The building before him was respectable but modest—a far cry from the grandeur of Everleigh Manor.
This was where she lived, where she retreated each evening after their carefully maintained professional interactions, where she was now, no doubt, contemplating the wreckage of her reputation.
The front door was answered by a young woman whose appearance made Adrian pause mid-bow.
She was perhaps five-and-twenty, with intelligent brown eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles and an abundance of chestnut curls that seemed determined to escape their pins.
Her dress was practical rather than fashionable, ink stains on her fingers suggesting a fellow devotee of the written word.
But it was her expression that struck him most forcefully.
It was a mixture of recognition, wariness, and something that might have been protective fury.
"Your Grace," she said, and her voice carried the kind of careful neutrality that suggested barely leashed emotion. "I wondered when you would arrive."
Adrian straightened, uncertain how to proceed. "Forgive me, I don't believe we've been introduced. I am..."
"I know who you are." The words were clipped, precise. "The Duke of Everleigh. The man whose library my dearest friend catalogued. The man who..." She paused, seeming to wrestle with propriety before continuing. "The man who has featured rather prominently in this morning's gossip."
Ah. This must be the mysterious Harriet that Eveline had mentioned, the friend who understood her love of ancient texts, who had encouraged her to consider the position at his house. The friend who now stood like a guardian at the gate, clearly debating whether to admit him or send him away.
"Miss...?" Adrian ventured.
"Fairweather. Miss Harriet Fairweather." She did not curtsey, merely continued to study him with those sharp eyes. "And before you ask, yes, I know everything. Eveline sent word this morning about the... incident with Lord Hatherleigh."
Adrian felt heat creep up his neck. To have his most private disaster discussed, even between close friends, was disconcerting.
But he supposed he had forfeited any right to dignity when he had allowed Eveline to remain through the night, when he had failed to protect her from the consequences of their mutual weakness.
"Then you understand why I must speak with her," he said quietly.
Something shifted in Miss Fairweather's expression; a flicker of what might have been sympathy quickly suppressed.
"What I understand, Your Grace, is that my friend is currently suffering from a fever brought on by extreme distress.
What I understand is that she has locked herself in her room rather than face what promises to be complete social ruin.
What I understand is that you represent the catalyst of her destruction. "
Each word landed like a blow, all the more devastating for being delivered in that same careful, controlled tone. Adrian found himself taking a step back, his hand tightening on his walking stick.
"You think me cruel?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.
Miss Fairweather's laugh was short and bitter.
"I think you careless, which is perhaps worse.
Tell me, Your Grace! When you allowed her to stay through the storm, did you think of the consequences?
Did you consider what would happen when someone inevitably discovered her presence?
Or were you too occupied in playing the hero to care? "
No, Adrian wanted to say. I thought of nothing but her safety, her comfort. I was caught up in the taste of her lips and the way she said my name. I forgot the world existed beyond the circle of her arms.
But such truths would serve no purpose here. Miss Fairweather was not interested in his desires or his regrets. She was a friend protecting a friend, and Adrian could only respect her for it.
"You're right," he said simply. "I was careless. But I am here now to make it right."
"Make it right?" Miss Fairweather's eyebrows rose behind her spectacles.
"And how exactly do you propose to do that?
Can you turn back time? Can you prevent Lord Hatherleigh from sharing what he saw with his gossiping wife?
Can you restore her reputation without destroying her spirit in the process? "
"I can marry her."
The words fell between them like stones into still water. Miss Fairweather blinked, her mouth opening slightly before snapping shut again. For the first time since answering the door, she seemed at a loss for words.
Then, unexpectedly, she laughed—not the bitter sound of before but something almost wondering. "Oh," she said softly. "Oh, Your Grace. You really don't understand her at all, do you?"
Adrian stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"
"You stand there in your perfectly tailored coat with your impeccable manner and your noble intentions, thinking you can fix this with an offer of marriage.
As if Eveline were the sort of woman who would accept such a thing.
As if she hadn't spent years rejecting suitors who offered her far less insulting proposals than one born of scandal and duty. "
"It's not..." Adrian began, then stopped.
What could he say? That it wasn't merely duty that drove him here?
That the thought of her facing society's censure alone made him want to burn down every ballroom in London?
That he had discovered, too late, that protecting her had become more important than protecting himself?
Miss Fairweather studied him for a long moment, and Adrian had the uncomfortable sensation of being catalogued and categorised like one of the rare texts in his library. Whatever she saw seemed to soften her stance slightly, though her expression remained guarded.
"You're handsome," she said abruptly. "I can see why she.
.. that is, you're very handsome and very polite and you have excellent taste in books.
Under different circumstances, I might even like you.
But these are not different circumstances, and you have hurt my dearest friend in ways I'm not certain you comprehend. "
"Then help me comprehend," Adrian said, surprising himself with the raw honesty in his voice. "Tell me how to fix this without hurting her further."
Miss Fairweather was quiet for so long that Adrian began to wonder if she would answer at all. When she finally spoke, her voice had lost its sharp edge.
"You can't," she said simply. "Oh, Your Grace, don't you see?
The very act of trying to fix her, to save her, to restore her.
..that's what hurts her most of all. She is not broken.
She does not need saving. What she needs is to be seen as herself, not as a problem to be solved or a reputation to be salvaged. "
Adrian felt something twist in his chest. "I do see her," he said quietly. "I see a woman who quotes Ovid in Latin and loses herself in ancient texts. I see someone who brings order to chaos and finds beauty in forgotten stories. I see..."
"You see what you want to see," Miss Fairweather interrupted, though not unkindly.
"You see the parts of her that fit into your world, that make sense within your understanding.
But do you see the woman who would rather live in genteel poverty than accept a comfortable marriage?
Do you see the person who values her independence more than social approval?
Do you see someone who has built an entire life around the principle of not needing anyone, least of all a duke who offers marriage as a matter of honour? "
Each question was a small revelation, forcing Adrian to confront the assumptions he hadn't even known he was making.
He had thought he understood Eveline, had prided himself on seeing past the surface to the remarkable woman beneath.
But perhaps he had only seen what he wanted to see.
A kindred spirit who might understand his own carefully guarded heart, someone who could exist within his world without demanding he change it.
"You're right," he admitted, the words tasting of ash. "I don't understand her. Not fully. But I want to. And I cannot—I will not—allow her to face society's condemnation alone. Not when I am the cause of it."
Miss Fairweather sighed, suddenly looking very young and very tired.
"You truly don't see it, do you? Every word you speak confirms it.
'Allow her.' As if you have that power. As if she needs your permission to face the consequences of her choices.
This is exactly why she will refuse you, Your Grace.
Because you see her agency as something you can grant or withhold, rather than something that simply is. "
The truth of it shocked Adrian. He thought of all the times he had tried to protect Eveline from society's judgment, from the consequences of their growing attraction. Each act of protection had been, in its way, a denial of her right to choose her own path.
"Then what would you have me do?" he asked, and he could hear the desperation creeping into his voice. "Stand by and watch her suffer for our mutual indiscretion? Abandon her to the wolves while I retreat to my privileged position?"