"I'm trying to be..."
"Practical? Businesslike? Cold?"
"Fair."
She looked at him for a long moment. "Fair would be neither of us having to do this. But since that's not an option, I suppose your arrangements will have to do."
"You'll have duties, of course. Social obligations. The Duchess of Montclaire has responsibilities.”
"I'm aware. I shall need to be decorative at balls, charming at dinner gatherings, and invisible the rest of the time. I excel at invisible."
"That's not..." He stopped, because actually, that was rather what he'd been thinking.
"Your Grace," she said quietly, "I know what you need. A wife who won't embarrass you, won't make demands, won't interfere with your life. Someone you can present when necessary and forget about otherwise. I can be that wife."
"And what do you need?"
The question seemed to surprise her. "I... what?"
"What do you need from this arrangement? You must want something."
She was quiet for a moment, considering. "Respect," she said finally. "Not affection, I don't expect that. But basic respect. Not to be treated like a servant or a fool. To have some small space that's mine. And..."
"And?"
"And for you to at least try not to actively hate me. I know I'm a Coleridge, I know what that means to you. But I'm also a person. A rather boring person, granted, but still."
"You're not boring." The words escaped before he could stop himself.
She looked startled. "I'm not?"
"Boring people don't deliver speeches about maritime disasters and ribbons."
"Perhaps I'm only interesting when I'm nervous."
"Are you nervous?"
"Aren't you?"
They stood there, two people who'd been thrown together by fate and dead dukes, trying to navigate something neither of them wanted but both were stuck with.
"Your brothers will want a formal proposal," Alexander said finally.
"Probably. They enjoy drama."
"And you?"
She shrugged. "I suppose you should do something. Though perhaps without the brothers present? I'd rather not have my proposal accompanied by growling and possible violence."
"Tomorrow then? I could call again. We could walk in the garden, properly chaperoned, of course."
"Our garden?" She glanced out the window at the chaos of flowers and vegetables. "You'll loathe it. The roses don't know their place, and the vegetables are showing. It's all very middle-class."
"Perfect then. A middle-class garden for a middle-class proposal to a middle-class bride."
She flinched slightly, and he immediately felt like a fool.
"I apologise. That was..."
