Chapter 29
Fenwick House looked smaller in daylight.
Victor studied the frontage as his carriage drew up, the pale stone, the stiff line of hedges, the narrow windows. It had an air of pretension without grandeur, a house determined to look important and not quite succeeding.
He stepped down when the footman opened the door. His gloves felt too tight. The morning felt too bright. The ring in his breast pocket carried the weight of an entire future.
He had not slept.
After reading Gwen’s letter, sleep had been impossible.
Her words had moved across the page in that clear, decisive hand he had come to know. Her confession had not been frivolous, nor girlish, nor coy. It had been simple, honest, and utterly devastating.
I love you.
He had read the phrase more times than he cared to admit. He had traced the inked words with his thumb, as if he could somehow feel the warmth of her hand in the strokes.
He loved her, too.
He had said as much in his mind. Saying it aloud now would be the more difficult task.
The butler admitted him with forced dignity, bowing as if his jaw did not show a faint bruise that echoed Howard’s own.
“His Lordship awaits you in the study, Your Grace,” he said.
Victor inclined his head. “Thank you.”
He moved down the corridor, each step measured. He had spent years walking into negotiations with less tension than he felt now.
Howard Tull rose when he entered the study. His jaw had taken on an ugly color. His smile was thin and entirely insincere.
“Your Grace,” he greeted. “I will admit I did not sleep well, waiting to see what excuse you might offer this morning.”
“I did not come to offer excuses,” Victor gritted out. “I came to state my intentions. Lady Gwendoline should be present for this.”
Howard’s gaze sharpened. “That will not be necessary. You may speak to me. I am her stepfather.”
Victor did not sit. “I will not speak without the presence of the lady in question. She is not a piece of furniture to be bartered.”
Howard’s lips thinned. For a moment, Victor thought he would refuse. But then Howard reached for the bell pull and tugged.
A maid appeared, nervous, wringing her hands in her apron.
“Fetch Lady Gwendoline,” Howard ordered. “Tell her to come to the study at once.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and scurried away.
Victor took a slow breath. The room smelled of ink, tobacco, and something sour he could not name.
Howard watched him with open suspicion. “You mean to do what honor demands,” he said, his voice oily. “That is commendable. I was beginning to fear your temper had outstripped your breeding.”
Victor did not answer. His heart had begun to beat harder in his chest, each thud distinct.
The door opened, and Gwen stepped inside.
She wore a plain muslin gown, the sort of dress a lady might wear at home when no callers were expected. Her hair was neatly arranged, though not in any elaborate style. There were faint shadows under her eyes, but no new bruise marred her cheek.
Victor felt a wave of relief at the absence of visible damage. He scanned her quickly.
Shoulders straight. Chin lifted. Hands clasped at her waist to hide the tremors.
“Gwendoline,” Howard grunted. “His Grace has come to address last night’s scandal. You will listen quietly and accept what is decided.”
Gwen’s gaze darted from him to Victor, and for a moment, something unguarded flashed in it. Victor could not quite place it.
He drew himself up. “Lady Gwendoline,” he began, his voice surprising him with its steadiness. “I ought to have approached you in a drawing room, not a study, and with more ceremony than this house allows. However, given the circumstances, I must speak plainly.”
Howard looked smug. Gwen looked wary.
Victor focused on her.
“I wish to offer for your hand,” he said. “Formally. With all that it entails. I ask you to marry me.”
Silence followed.
Gwen’s eyes widened. Color washed into her cheeks, then drained away. Her fingers tightened around one another.
Behind her, Howard exhaled with satisfaction. “You see,” he said. “A duke knows his duty, after all. You accept, Gwendoline.”
Gwen did not answer. She was looking at Victor as if she were seeing him in a new, strange light, as if the words had landed in a place she had not expected them to reach.
“Lady Gwendoline,” Victor repeated, more softly. “I am speaking to you, not to your stepfather. My question is for you alone. And it was… a question.”
Her lips parted.
“No,” she replied.
The floor might have opened beneath him, and he would have been less surprised.
The word hung in the air like smoke.
Howard’s smile faltered. “No?”
Gwen swallowed. “I thank you for the honor, Your Grace, but I cannot accept. You are released from the scandal.”
Victor could not think for a moment. The structure of the room, the shelves, the window, the desk—all blurred together.
“You refuse,” he said slowly. “Why?”
Gwen lifted her chin another fraction. Her voice shook only slightly. “Because I will not marry you out of obligation. I will not bind myself to a man who feels compelled by scandal and nothing more.”
Something ached in his chest. “You believe that is my only motive?”
“What else could it be?” she challenged. “Last night, my stepfather discovered us in a position that admits no innocence. The ton will talk. You are a gentleman; you must do what honor demands. I will not allow my foolishness to drag you into a marriage you do not truly desire.”
“You do not know what you are saying,” Howard snapped. “Of all the idiotic, ungrateful…”
He advanced a step, his face purpling.
“You accept,” he barked. “You have no say in this. You will marry the Duke of Greystone, and you will be grateful for the offer. I will not have you ruin this chance, not after the havoc you have already wreaked.”
Gwen flinched but did not look away from Victor. “I have no doubt Howard will gain much from such a match. I am less confident that you will.”
“That is enough,” Howard growled. “You are a child. You are overwrought. This is what will happen. You will smile and curtsy and—”
“Fenwick,” Victor bit out.
The single word sliced through Howard’s tirade. He turned, outraged. “What?”
Victor’s temper, held so tightly all morning, shifted. “You will refrain from shouting at her in my presence.”
“I will not,” Howard snarled.
“You will.” Victor took a deep breath. “And now, you will leave us alone.”
Howard stared at him. “Absolutely not.”
“I did not come to bargain with you,” Victor replied. “I came to speak with the woman I intend to marry, if she will have me. I will not discuss that with an audience. Not even her stepfather.”
Howard’s eyes narrowed. “I will not allow you to be alone with her again. Look where that has led us already.”
Victor stepped closer and lowered his voice, each word precise.
“You will leave us in this room for ten minutes. You will stand outside the door if you insist. If you do not, I will walk out of this house and inform every gentleman I know that I no longer consider you fit company. I will make sure that your name is absent from every guest list you value. I will also add my own description of your behavior toward your wife and stepdaughter to the whispers that follow you. Do you wish to further test my patience?”
Howard’s jaw worked. Fury blazed in his eyes, but beneath it Victor saw calculation. The man valued standing too much to risk public censure from a duke.
“You would slander me,” Howard said.
“I would speak the truth,” Victor corrected. “Which would have the same effect.”
Gwen stood very still. Her gaze flitted between them, bewildered.
Howard’s hands clenched at his sides. For a moment, Victor thought he would refuse. Then, with obvious effort, he mastered himself.
“Ten minutes,” he allowed, biting off each syllable. “You will keep the door open and the maid in the corridor. If I hear so much as a raised voice…”
“You will hear nothing,” Victor said.
Howard shot Gwen a vicious look. “You ought to be on your knees, thanking him,” he scolded. “Instead, you behave like a spoiled child.”
She paled but did not answer.
Howard strode to the door, opened it, barked an order to the maid, then stepped out. The door remained ajar, as he had demanded, but his presence was gone from the room.
For the first time that morning, Victor and Gwen were truly alone.
The study felt different at once. The air shifted. The tension changed flavor.
Victor turned back to her. She looked as if she might bolt.
“Sit,” he said gently, nodding toward the chair opposite his.
She shook her head. “I prefer to stand.”
“Very well.” He took another deep breath. “You believe that I am standing here because of last night. Because I was caught on a carpet with you in my arms, and the ton will gleefully seize upon it. That is part of my duty, yes. I will not deny it. But it is not the reason I asked you to marry me.”
Gwen’s eyes glistened. “You need not lie to soothe my pride.”
“I have never lied to you,” he murmured. “I have been cruel, abrupt, arrogant, and blind, but I have not lied.”
She looked toward the window. “You told me yourself that our arrangement was business. Money for seven nights. Curiosity and nothing more.”
“I did,” he admitted. “At the time, I believed it. I clung to that belief because anything else frightened me.”
She swallowed. “Frightened you?”
“Yes,” he said. “Because anything else meant I was in danger of losing the rigid control I spent my life cultivating. I grew up in a house ruled by a man who used his power and temper to shape everything around him. I swore I would never repeat that pattern. The safest way to keep that promise was to care for nothing and no one too much.”
Gwen’s gaze returned to his face. “And now?” Her voice was very soft.
“Now I care for you too much,” Victor rasped.
Saying the words did not loosen the knot in his chest. It tightened it, but with a different ache.
Gwen’s lips parted. “You care for me?”
“I love you, Gwendoline Reeves.”