"I can see that," Penelope squeaked, feeling it was time she said something.
"But you must understand, I do not intend for this to be a close union. I clearly cannot trust you. And so once we wed, you will move to one of my properties and live your life as the duchess there."
Penelope could not stop her face from falling. She had hoped that, somehow, everything hadn’t been ruined by her silly behaviour. But here he was, proving that, in spite of his anger, he was a thoroughly decent duke – but he couldn’t trust her. He didn’t want a proper marriage with her. Just one in name…
"I–" She opened and closed her mouth, but no other words would come out. What could she say to that? Part of her wanted to decline the offer; to tell him that she had said no to other proposals because she did not know the gentlemen in question, and she would also say no to a marriage where she never saw her husband.
And yet…
She was struggling now to imagine marriage to anyone else. And if he was right, she had no option: if she was ruined, no one would want to marry her. Her future would be bleak –but would it be more bleak than marriage to a man she cared for, who wanted nothing to do with her?
???
In the stationary carriage, surrounded by a vast expanse of Scottish countryside, James waited for her to answer.
He hadn’t expected she would have any hesitation. He was acting to save his honour – but he was no fool. He knew that it was her reputation that was really on the line. If her father did call him out, he was confident he could beat a man twice his age in a duel. And it might not even come to that. If it was simply gossip about him not marrying her that he had to deal with, then he knew he could weather it. After all, he barely ever went to London. And he was a duke, with a grand fortune, a headful of hair and age on his side. He would be able to find a bride when he wished to. It wasn’t arrogance; it was simply the way things were.
This marriage was not what he’d envisaged, and he imagined not what she had planned for, either. But it was the only way he could see of rectifying the situation without having to live with a woman he clearly couldn’t trust.
When she said no more, he thought perhaps some clarification was needed. "In due course, we can discuss heirs, for I shall need a son to pass the title down to. So you needn’t worry on that score."
She swallowed and nodded, and still she did not speak.
"We both need to be returning to our homes," he said, slightly irritated by the delay – and by the way he could not take his eyes from the delicate features of her face. Sitting alone in a carriage with her had an effect on him that he did not welcome. He did not like to lose control of his mind, and she seemed to make him do so with alarming regularity.
"Very well," she said eventually. "We will wed."
He didn’t know if he’d been expecting more gratitude, or emotion, but he certainly had not anticipated the cool, calm way she accepted him.
He should have appreciated it. He did not like displays of emotion – didn’t know how to handle them. And this needed to be settled now.
"Right. Excellent. I will return home, then, and organise for the banns to be read. If you return to Dunloch in, say, two months, we can marry then, and everything will be organised. And if your parents wish to attend, that would be acceptable."
???
"Very well," Penelope said again, feeling like every choice she had ever had was being taken away from her. When she had lied about knowing her identity on that beach, she had not thought it would lead to marriage…and a marriage that would leave her as a duchess in a castle all alone.
He left her without a kiss or even a kind word, and she continued her miserable journey south alone. So, all was settled. She was to marry him. Her parents would undoubtedly be thrilled – both at her return and her extraordinary betrothal.
But she was struggling to be happy herself. She supposed she should be grateful; he was marrying her, after all. And perhaps the home he placed her in would be one she loved, and she could be mistress of it until the end of the days.
No, she would not have her husband by her side. But it sounded as though, one day, he would wish to have children with her. And then she would have them for company…
Maybe it wasn’t such a disaster. Although if that was the case, why did it feel like her heart was breaking?
As the coach approached Amblewood, her misery turned to anxiety. What would her parents say, having not seen her for several days? She craned her neck to get a view of the castle that she had missed so much. No matter how long she was away from Amblewood, she found herself yearning to see it again, to feel safe within its walls, to wander the grounds she knew so well and lose herself in them.
On this day, however, she did not get the usual sense of overwhelming relief at seeing her home. All it seemed to remind her of was Dunloch – the castle that the Duke, her betrothed, would surely live in for the rest of his days…and the castle that she would not be calling home.
Because he didn’t trust her.
The carriage stopped in the courtyard, and a liveried footman hurried to open it, his mouth dropping open at the sight of Penelope within.
He quickly regained his composure, and bowed. "My lady."
"Are my parents home, Gates?" she asked, taking his hand and alighting from the carriage.
"Yes, my lady. In the parlour – they’re very concerned about you."
