Chapter 3 #3
“I am perfectly relaxed.”
“You look like you are bracing yourself for inspection.”
She said nothing to that. But then, so gradually he almost missed it, her shoulders dropped, just slightly. The distance between them did not close, but it softened. The look past his shoulder became a look at his shoulder, and then, eventually, a look at his face.
“There,” he said quietly. “Was that so difficult?”
She blinked. Then, to his considerable surprise, the corner of her mouth moved. “Do not make a thing of it, Your Grace,” she said.
He wisely said nothing.
They danced for another measure before he spoke again.
“So,” he said, his voice dropping a register. “What exactly are you doing with my godmother?”
Emily looked at him.
“Lady Julia Birks does not invite young women to intimate dinner parties out of sentiment,” he continued.
“She is fond of you, clearly. But she is also, as we both know, a woman with a purpose.” He held her gaze.
“Have you changed your mind about me, Lady Emily? After all these months of finding me perfectly insufferable?” He paused.
“Are you finally giving in to my charms?”
Emily looked at him for a long, steady moment.
Then she said. “I need a husband.”
Theodore blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“A husband,” she said again. “I need one. You are available. Your godmother has a list.” She met his eyes. “It is not more complicated than that.”
Theodore stared at her. She stared back.
“You are telling me that your interest in me is entirely practical.”
“Yes.”
“No sentiment whatsoever.”
“None.”
“You have not, at any point, reconsidered your assessment of my character?”
“Not materially, no.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Most women...” he said. “...at least pretend.”
“I can pretend,” Emily said. “Do you need me to pretend, Your Grace?”
He said nothing in response. He merely looked at her.
“I need a powerful husband,” she said. “One with a title and influence and the kind of name that opens doors.” She held his gaze. “You happen to qualify.”
“How terribly flattering,” he said.
“I thought you would appreciate the honesty.”
“I appreciate it enormously,” he said. “I am simply not sure I appreciate being described as a qualifying candidate.”
“Would you prefer I had said you were charming?” she asked. “I could, if it would help.”
“Would you mean it?”
They both paused. The briefest, most telling pause.
“You happen to qualify,” she said again, and looked past his shoulder.
“How fortunate for me,” Theodore said. “How fortunate for you, too.” He tilted his head. “There is, however, one small problem.”
Emily looked back at him. “Which is?”
“I’m afraid I must decline the honor.”
Emily's expression did not change. Not immediately. There was a fraction of a second, barely anything at all, where her face froze.
“I beg your pardon?” she said.
“I reject your application,” he said. “Kindly, of course. You are a perfectly lovely woman, Lady Emily. But I am afraid I am going to have to say no.”
She stared at him. “You cannot reject me.”
“I just did.”
“I have not formally applied for anything.”
“You said you needed a powerful husband with a title and influence and a name that opens doors,” Theodore said. “That I happen to qualify. That is an application. I am rejecting it.”
Emily's chin lifted. Just barely. “That,” she said. “Is absurd.”
“Is it?”
“I would be the perfect wife,” she said. The composure was still there, but it had acquired an edge now. “You do understand that. Last season, I was the most sought-after bride in London. I had more offers than I could reasonably manage. Titled men, wealthy men —”
“I do not doubt it,” Theodore said.
“Then what exactly is your objection?”
“My objection,” he said pleasantly. “Is that you just told me, while we were dancing, that you feel nothing for me, have reconsidered nothing about me, and require me primarily as a door that opens.” He smiled.
“Call me particular, but I find I would like slightly more than that from the woman I marry.”
“You do not even want to get married,” Emily said. “Everyone knows that.”
“Everyone is occasionally wrong.”
“You have not courted a single woman with serious intention in three Seasons.”
“I have been waiting for the right candidate,” he said serenely.
Emily looked at him. “You are being deliberately difficult.”
“I am being perfectly reasonable.”
“You are being —” She stopped. Collected herself. “One would say that I am accomplished, I have good manners, and I come from a good family. I am exactly what a man in society requires in a wife.”
“You are,” Theodore agreed.
“Then —”
“You would also,” he said. “Make me absolutely miserable within a fortnight.”
Emily opened her mouth. Closed it, then opened it again. “You are being absurd.”
“I am being honest,” he said. “You find me unserious. I find you exhausting. We would be at each other within the week.”
“I do not find you —” She stopped. “That is beside the point.”
“Is it?”
“The point...” Emily said, with great precision. “...is that I would make a brilliant duchess. That is the point.”
Theodore looked at her. Really looked at her, the way he had been doing all evening without meaning to.
He felt the thing he had been feeling since she stepped into his path earlier and told him not to ruin this for her.
There was something underneath all of this. Something she was holding carefully.
“Why did you come to me?” he said. His voice was different now.
Quieter. “Truly. Maybe I will consider it if you tell me. Of all the names in London, all the titles, all the qualifying candidates. You said it yourself, you would have no problem finding a good match. A love match.” His eyes held hers. “Why this list? Why now?”
Something flickered across her face. “I told you. I am in a hurry to get married.”
“You are hiding something.”
“I am doing no such thing.”
“Lady Emily.”
“I am simply in a position where marrying sooner rather than later would be advisable. That is all.”
He watched her. She looked back at him, and he thought in that moment that she would have made an extraordinary card player.
“All right,” he said. “Convince me then.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
“You say you would make an exceptional duchess.” He lifted a shoulder. “Convince me.”
Emily straightened, which he would not have thought possible given that she was already perfectly straight, and spoke. “I speak three languages.”
“Boring,” Theodore said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Boring?”
“Half the women on Lady Birks’ list speak at least two languages. There’s one who speaks four. Try again.”
Emily paused for a moment, thinking. “I am an accomplished pianist. I have been told my playing is —”
“Boring.”
“I have not finished.”
“You were going to say exceptional or something adjacent to it,” he said. “Every accomplished young woman in London plays the pianoforte exceptionally. It is practically a requirement of the Season. Next.”
Emily looked at him with an expression that was working very hard to remain neutral. “I am very good with accounts. Ledgers, staff arrangements...”
“Other ladies can do that too,” Theodore said. “In fact, most duchesses have an entire staff to do it for them. That is rather the point of being a duchess.”