"Honest." She lifted her chin. "At least you're honest about your disdain. It's better than false flattery."
"Miss Coleridge..."
"We should return to the others before my brothers decide you've harmed me and come seeking revenge."
She moved toward the door, but he caught her arm gently. She froze, looking down at his hand on her sleeve.
"I am sorry," he said quietly. "This isn't what either of us wanted."
"No." She met his eyes. "But it's what we have. We might as well make the best of it."
She pulled away and returned to the drawing room, where the brothers were indeed looking ready to mount a rescue mission.
"Nobody's injured," she announced. "Disappointed?"
"Relieved," Robert said, though his expression suggested otherwise.
"His Grace will call again tomorrow," she said calmly. "We shall walk in the garden. I trust that's acceptable to everyone?"
The brothers exchanged glances.
"Alone?" Henry asked suspiciously.
"With Mama. Or perhaps Mary. Someone suitably responsible who won't challenge anyone to a duel."
"I suppose that's... acceptable," Robert said grudgingly.
Alexander took this as his cue. "Until tomorrow then." He bowed to the room at large, then specifically to Miss Coleridge. "Miss Coleridge."
"Your Grace."
He left with as much dignity as he could muster, which was considerable but somewhat dented by the entire experience.
The carriage ride home was quiet, giving him too much time to think about brown eyes and sharp tongues and the way she'd said 'ribbons' like it was the most ridiculous thing in the world.
***
Back at Coleridge House, the explosion was immediate.
"The arrogance!" Robert slammed his fist on the table.
"The condescension!" Henry added.
"The... the cravat!" Edward seemed to have run out of more substantive complaints.
"It was a very nice cravat," their sister said mildly, sinking into her chair.
"You're defending him?" Charles looked aghast.
"I'm observing that he has good taste in neckwear. Though terrible taste in wives, apparently."
"Don't say that," Mrs. Coleridge said firmly. "You're worth ten of him."
"By what measure? Birth? No. Fortune? No. Beauty? Definitely no. Social standing? Let's not even discuss it." She picked up her abandoned teacup but found it cold and set it down again. "He's right to disdain me. By his standards, I'm completely unsuitable."
"His standards are idiotic," Robert declared.
"His standards are what they are. And by tomorrow, I'll be betrothed to them."
