Ophelia found her voice, though she kept it carefully neutral. "I don't suppose anyone thought to ask if I have an opinion on the matter?"
They all turned to look at her for perhaps the first time in months.
"Opinion?" Robert said blankly, as if the concept of her having opinions was entirely foreign.
"Yes. An opinion. About being married off to settle a forty-year-old feud that started before I was born."
"Well, obviously you can't marry him," Charles said, as if this were the most natural conclusion in the world.
"Obviously," she repeated dryly. "How foolish of me not to realise."
"He's a beast," Edward added helpfully. "Cold, arrogant, probably sleeps on a bed of money just to remind himself how rich he is."
"You've met him?" she asked mildly.
"Don't need to. You can tell just by looking at him. He walks like he owns the world."
"He owns half of Kent," Henry pointed out. "So he's not entirely wrong."
"We shall refuse," Robert declared with the authority of someone used to having his declarations treated as law. "I'll write back immediately and tell them..."
"Tell them what?" She set down her flowers entirely, folding her hands in her lap. "That Miss Coleridge declines? On what grounds? That her brothers object?"
"On the grounds that it's insulting!"
"To whom?" She met his gaze steadily. "To me? Or to you?"
Robert's mouth opened and closed like a landed fish.
"Because," she continued in the same mild tone, "it seems to me that I'm the one being offered a duchy, while you're the ones being offered the chance to watch a Montclaire grovel. I'm not entirely certain who should be more insulted."
"You can't actually be considering this," Henry said, studying her with newfound interest.
"I'm considering very little at the moment, as no one has actually asked me anything." She returned to her flowers, though her hands weren't quite as steady as before. "The Duke hasn't called. No proposal has been made. You're all getting rather ahead of yourselves."
"He'll come," Robert said grimly. "Tomorrow, most likely. Or the day after. He certainly needs this settled quickly."
"Then I suppose we shall deal with it when he does." She kept her voice deliberately light, though her stomach churned at the thought. The Duke of Montclaire, here, in their drawing room. The man her brothers had spent her entire life teaching her to despise.
"You won't be alone with him," Charles said suddenly, as if this were a great concession. "We shall all be here."
"How comforting," she murmured. "Nothing says successful courtship quite like four hostile brothers glowering from the corners."
"This isn't a courtship," Robert snapped. "It's a business transaction."
"Ah. How romantic. I've always dreamed of being a business transaction."
Mrs. Coleridge stirred. "Perhaps we might discuss this more calmly..."
"Calmly?" Robert's voice climbed. "They want to take our sister!"
"I wasn't aware I was going anywhere," she said. "Though I suppose a duchess would have her own carriage. That might be nice. I could actually arrive at assemblies on time instead of waiting for Charles to finish his fourth adjustment of his cravat."
"This isn't amusing," Robert said severely.
"No," Ophelia agreed. "It's not. But shouting won't change it, will it? The will is signed. The requirement is set. Either I marry the Duke, or he loses his estate. Those are the facts."
"You could refuse him," Henry suggested, and there was something calculating in his tone. "Publicly. Imagine...the Duke of Montclaire, rejected by a Coleridge."
