It had nothing to do with the way his heart had stopped when she went under the water. Nothing to do with the terror that had gripped him when he could not immediately find her. Nothing to do with the overwhelming relief when she had finally opened her eyes and looked at him.
Nothing to do with the fact that carrying her, feeling her heart beat against his chest, had felt more right than anything in his entire life.
No.
This was convenience. Practicality. A solution to a problem.
She would help him navigate Society. He would ensure her sisters were well provided for. They would maintain separate lives, separate interests, and most importantly, separate emotions.
He could not afford to lose focus. Could not allow himself to be distracted by inconvenient feelings or the way she looked at him or the fact that when he held her, something in his chest had cracked open.
This would remain a marriage of convenience.
It had to.
Even if the lie was becoming harder to believe with each passing moment.
Chapter Fifteen
Anthea woke to sunlight streaming through her curtains and the disorienting sensation that something fundamental had shifted in the world overnight.
For a moment, she could not place what felt different. Then memory returned in a rush: the lake, the rescue, Gregory standing in her bedroom announcing their betrothal as though it were as inevitable as the tide.
The wedding will be in one week. Be ready.
She pressed her hands to her face and tried to breathe normally.
She was getting married.
In one week.
To a duke.
The same woman who had sworn off marriage entirely, who had built her entire life around the premise of remaining independent, was now preparing to become a duchess.
How had this happened?
A knock at her door interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
"Come in," she called, sitting up and pushing her hair back from her face.
Veronica and Poppy entered together, their expressions somewhere between excited and concerned. Poppy carried a breakfast tray, which she set on the bedside table with unusual care.
"We heard," Veronica said quietly. "About the betrothal. Mama told us this morning."
"She seemed quite pleased," Poppy added, though her tone suggested she found this suspicious. "Which is never a good sign."
Anthea managed a weak laugh. "No, it rarely is."
"Are you all right?" Veronica perched on the edge of the bed, her eyes searching Anthea's face. "You nearly drowned yesterday, and now you are betrothed, and—are you certain about this?"
"I—" Anthea stopped, realizing she had no idea how to answer that question. "Yes?"
"You do not sound certain," Poppy observed, crossing her arms. "You sound terrified."
"I am not terrified. I am simply..." Anthea trailed off. What was she? Confused? Overwhelmed? Strangely calm despite the chaos? "Adjusting."
"To becoming a Duchess in one week?" Poppy's eyebrows rose. "That seems rather fast for adjustment."
