"And then what?" She kept her attention on the roses, though she could feel their eyes on her. "We go back to glaring at each other across ballrooms? Teaching our children to hate people they've never met? Another forty years of this exhausting feud?"
"You sound as if you want to marry him," Robert accused.
"I sound as if I'm tired." She set down her scissors with a definitive click. "Tired of being invisible except when I'm useful. Tired of watching you all waste energy on ancient grudges. Tired of being the Coleridge everyone forgets exists until moments like this when suddenly I'm terribly important."
The silence that followed was uncomfortable in the way only truth could make it.
"We don't forget you," Charles said, though he had the grace to look ashamed.
"What did I wear to church last Sunday?"
No one answered.
"What's my middle name?"
More silence.
"When is my birthday?"
Robert opened his mouth, then closed it.
"October fifteenth," she supplied helpfully. "I'll be four-and-twenty. Well past the age where anyone might expect a brilliant match, even without our family's... complications."
"That's not...” Edward started.
"True? Of course it is." She rose, smoothing her skirts; a plain morning dress of pale blue that none of them would remember an hour from now. "I am the invisible Coleridge daughter. The one who plays pianoforte adequately, dances without causing comment, and arranges flowers that no one notices. And now, suddenly, I'm visible. Because the Duke of Montclaire needs a Coleridge bride, and I'm the only one available."
"We're trying to protect you, sister" Robert said stiffly.
"From what? A life of wealth and title?" She laughed, though there was no humor in it. "Or from the terrible fate of marrying without love? Because I hate to disappoint you, but that was always my most likely future. At least this way, the lack of affection comes with a coronet."
"You're worth more than that," Mrs. Coleridge said softly.
"Am I?" She moved to the window, looking out at the garden where everything grew in cheerful disorder. "I'm three-and-twenty, with a minimal dowry and a family reputation that ensures I'll never marry well. My choices are spinsterhood, a marriage of convenience to someone of our own class who needs my dowry, or this. A duchy."
"With a man who hates our family," Robert reminded her.
"Indeed, but at least he'll hate me for being a Coleridge rather than ignoring me for being forgettable. It's almost refreshing."
"You can't mean that," Charles said.
She turned from the window, meeting each of their gazes in turn. "When he comes, and we all know he will come, I shall meet with him. I'll hear what he has to say. And then I shall decide."
"You'll decide?" Robert's tone suggested she'd declared intention to something unbelievable.
"It is my life, isn't it? My future marriage? My choice to make?"
"Not when it affects the entire family!"
"Everything affects the entire family," she shot back with uncharacteristic heat. "Henry's gambling debts affect the family. Charles's mistresses affect the family. Edward's ridiculous wagers affect the family. The only difference is that this time, my decision might actually help instead of harm."
"By sacrificing yourself?"
"By ending this ridiculous feud that has consumed two families for four decades!" The words burst out before she could stop them. "By doing something useful for once in my forgotten little life!"
She pressed her hand to her mouth, shocked by her own vehemence. The room was utterly still.
"I'm going to my chambers," she said quietly. "Please let me know when the duke arrives. I'll need time to prepare myself for the business transaction."
