“Can you even picture it, Celine?” Helena said, her tone teasing but kind. “You, draped in ducal jewels, curtsying at court? It’s positively absurd.”
Dahlia, lounging in a crimson day dress, her eyes dancing, let out a dramatic laugh, tossing her curls. “Oh, I can picture it! Lady Celine, the Duchess of Wylds, sweeping into court, terrifyingeveryone with that icy stare of hers. The Wild Duke won’t know what hit him!”
Celine stopped pacing, her blue eyes flashing as she waved the half-eaten scone. “It’s not funny! That… that cad had the audacity to waltz into my drawing room, waving my list like some trophy, and propose marriage! As if I’d ever consider it!”
She took another bite, crumbs dusting her chin, her cheeks flushed with indignation.
Helena set her teacup down, her calm voice cutting through the air. “But you said no, didn’t you? So why are you stress eating? Even in our circles, forced marriages are unheard of.”
“But I heard that his father never loved his mother,” Dahlia chimed in.
Helena frowned. “Yes, most men do not love their wives, but he can’t make you wed him.”
Celine resumed her pacing, her slippers scuffing the rug, her gaze darting to the windows.
“Well, not exactly,” she muttered as she stuffed another scone in her mouth, chewing furiously to avoid their stares.
She had heard of the late Duke of Wylds from gossip, how he was a stern man who never had any proper regard for his wife and son.
Dahlia’s jaw dropped. “Not exactly? Celine Huntington, you didn’t say no to the Duke? Have you lost your senses?”
“I didn’t say yes either!” Celine snapped, turning to face them. “He… he mentioned a marriage purely on paper. A convenience, nothing more. Even I had to stop and think before dismissing a duke’s offer outright.”
Helena’s brow arched, her voice calm but probing. “A marriage on paper? What does that even mean? No love, no… expectations? Why would he propose such a thing?”
Celine avoided their eyes, brushing the crumbs from her chin. “He didn’t say, exactly. Something about duty, his estate. I don’t know, and I don’t care! I don’twantthat trap—love, childbirth, all of it. You know why.” Her voice cracked, the memory of her mother’s screams, her father’s brokenness, flashing through her mind.
Dahlia leaned forward, her face softening. “Oh, Celine, not every marriage ends in tragedy. Some arranged marriages end with the couple falling in love.”
“Love doesn’t exist,” Celine snapped. “It’s a fantasy. It’s only in novels, Dahlia.”
Helena’s smile was gentle. “You’re scared, and that’s understandable, after what happened to your mother. But a marriage on paper? That’s not love or childbirth; it’s a contract. If it’s freedom you want, why not consider it? You’d have a title, independence, and no one could touch you.”
Celine stopped, her eyes narrowing. “A contract? It’s still a cage, Helena. And with him? The Wild Duke, who flirts with anything in a skirt? I’d sooner marry a toad.”
But her flushed cheeks betrayed her, the memory of his lips on her wrist—warm, daring.
Dahlia clapped her hands, laughing. “A toad? Oh, please! You’re blushing like a debutante, Celine! Admit it, he got under your skin.”
“Part of it?” Celine scoffed, reaching towards the plate, her hands dusting crumbs from the scone. “He’s a rake, Dahlia. He’ll forget me by next week, chasing another conquest. I’m not falling for his charm.”
Helena tilted her head, her voice still teasing even though it held some truth. “But why propose, then? A duke doesn’t need to chase spinsters like us. He could have any debutante. There’s more to this, Celine, and you’re dodging it. Why are you so rattled if you’re sure he’ll forget you?”
Celine’s gaze dropped, her fingers twisting in the folds of her dress. “I’m not rattled,” she lied, her voice quivering. “I just… I don’t want him thinking that he can toy with me. That list was a mistake, and he’s making it worse.”
The door creaked open, and Mary entered, carrying a silver tray with a fresh teapot and porcelain cups.
The trio fell silent, the air thick with unspoken words. Mary’s graying hair was tucked under her cap, her brown eyes flicking between them with a knowing glint.
“Tea, My Ladies,” she said, setting the tray down, the clink of china loud in the quiet. “Anything else you need?”
Celine forced a smile, her heart still racing. “No, thank you, Mary. That’s all.”
Dahlia bit her lip, her fingers tapping the armrest, while Helena’s calm façade barely hid her eagerness to continue. Mary lingered for a moment, adjusting the cups with deliberate care, then curtsied and left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Dahlia pounced the moment she was gone. “You’re avoiding the question, Celine! Why does this duke have you in such a state? You didn’t just say no—you’re thinking about it!”
“I’m not!” Celine protested, pacing again, her slippers scuffing. “He’s insufferable, smirking like he owns the world. A marriage on paper might sound practical, but it’s still marriage. I saw what it did to my mother—nearly dying birthing me, then dying birthing my brother. I won’t risk that, not for a title or anything else.”
