"You don't have to!"
"Yes, Robert, I do." She stood, suddenly exhausted. "We all know I do. So let's stop pretending otherwise."
She left them to their continued ranting and climbed the stairs to her room. Tomorrow the Duke of Montclaire would propose to her in their chaotic garden. He'd probably phrase it like a business proposition, she'd accept because she had no choice, and that would be that. The trap would close.
But at least, she thought as she sat at her window, at least he'd been honest. No false promises, no pretended affection. Just two people making the best of an impossible situation.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
***
At Montclaire House, Alexander stood at his study window, staring out at nothing in particular.
"Well?" Frederick appeared in the doorway, having apparently been lying in wait. "How terrible was it?"
"It was..." Alexander paused, searching for words. "Not what I expected."
"Better or worse?"
"Different."
"That's helpfully vague. What's she like then? This Miss Coleridge?"
Alexander considered. "Quiet. Plain. Sharp-tongued when provoked."
"Sounds delightful."
"She told me I was trapped by the same circumstances she was. That I probably lie awake wondering how my life came to this."
Frederick whistled low. "Perceptive little thing."
"She said she could be invisible. That she excels at it."
"Useful skill in a duchess."
"She asked me not to actively hate her."
"And?"
"And what?"
"Can you? Not actively hate her?"
Alexander was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. She's a Coleridge."
"She's also, by your own account, a person. A rather interesting one, from the sound of it."
"Interesting is generous."
"Fine. Not boring then."
"No," Alexander admitted. "Not boring."
"When's the wedding?"
"I haven't proposed yet."
"But you will."
