"And what do you see when you look at me?" The question emerged before he could stop it.
She tilted her head, studying him with those disconcerting eyes. "I see a man who's as trapped as I am. Who's doing his duty because he has no choice. Who probably lies awake at night wondering how his life came to this."
The accuracy of it was like a physical blow.
"But," she added more gently, "I also see someone who could make this easier for both of us, if he chose to."
"How?"
"By stopping this pretense that either of us wants this. By accepting that we're both victims of the same ridiculous feud. By perhaps, and I know this is revolutionary, treating me like a person rather than a problem to be solved."
Alexander stared at her, genuinely lost for words. In all his preparation for this meeting, he'd never imagined having an actual conversation. Certainly not one where the Coleridge daughter showed more sense than anyone else in both families combined.
"I... apologise," he said stiffly. "If I've been... discourteous."
"You've been exactly what I expected." She moved back to the window, gazing out at the gardens. "Cold, formal, and thoroughly disgusted by the entire situation. Which is fine. I don't need you to like me, Your Grace. I don't even need you to notice me most of the time. I'm quite good at being invisible."
Something in the way she said it, matter-of-fact and without self-pity, made his chest tighten oddly.
"But," she continued, "if we're going to do this, and it seems we must, could we at least do it without the constant hostility? It's exhausting, and we'll have decades of marriage to be miserable in. No need to start early."
"You're very pragmatic."
"Someone has to be. Have you met my brothers?"
Despite the situation, despite everything, Alexander found himself almost smiling again. "They are rather... intense."
"That's one word for it." She turned back to him. "So, Your Grace, what happens now? Do you propose? Do we negotiate terms like my brother suggested? Do you storm out in disgust and we repeat this charming scene tomorrow?"
"I... hadn't actually planned that far."
"No? The great Duke of Montclaire without a plan? How remarkably human of you."
The gentle irony should have offended him. Instead, he found it oddly refreshing. Everyone else either fawned over him or feared him. This quiet girl with her forgettable face and sharp tongue did neither.
"I suppose," he said slowly, "we should discuss... arrangements."
"Arrangements." She sighed. "How romantic. What sort of arrangements?"
"If we marry..."
"When. When we marry. Unless you've found another Miss Coleridge hidden somewhere?"
"When we marry," he corrected, though the words felt strange in his mouth, "you'll live at Montclaire House, naturally."
"Naturally."
"You'll have your own chambers."
"How generous."
"A generous allowance."
"For what? Purchasing my silence?"
"For whatever duchesses purchase. Gowns, I suppose. Ribbons. Whatever it is ladies buy."
"Ribbons." Her tone was perfectly flat. "Yes, I'll need lots of ribbons. It's what I live for."
