“You seldom do,” she scoffed. “Which is why this will be brief.”
He sank back into his chair, his fingers steepled. “Very well. Speak.”
Dorothea moved closer to the fire, arranging her skirts as she sat. For a long moment, she simply studied the flames. Then she said quietly, “The note was from Harriet.”
Victor stared at her. “Harriet?”
“Yes.” Dorothea nodded. “Miss Harriet Parsons. The young lady who has visited me frequently this Season. You recall her?”
“I recall her,” Victor replied. “I do not recall asking her to arrange clandestine meetings on my veranda.”
“You did not,” Dorothea said. “Iasked her to.”
His heart stuttered. “You did what?”
She met his gaze without flinching. “I told her to send the note.”
Victor barked a laugh, incredulous. “You orchestrated a false summons. Why?”
Dorothea folded her hands in her lap. “I thought it might solve two problems at once. Harriet has been eager. You have been stubborn. I assumed that if you were caught in a compromising position with a gently bred young lady, you would be forced to do what you have resisted for years.”
“Marry,” Victor said flatly.
“Yes,” Dorothea replied. “You are not getting younger, Victor. Neither are your responsibilities. The duchy needs an heir. You show no inclination toward courtship. I thought a little nudge might be necessary.”
“A little nudge,” he repeated. “You call luring me to the veranda in order to manufacture a scandal a little nudge?”
Her mouth tightened. “You make it sound sordid.”
“It is sordid,” he bit out. “Did you truly believe I would be content to enter a marriage brought about by trickery?”
“I believed you would behave as a gentleman,” she said sharply. “That you would not allow a young lady’s reputation to be ruined. I believed that once you had a wife, you would adjust. That affection might come in time.”
He stared at her. “Even if there were no affection at all to begin with?”
Dorothea’s gaze did not waver. “Love is a foolish luxury; it fades. Respect remains. Marriage does not require passion. It requiresstability.”
“Then why,” he asked slowly, “did you not attempt to scandalize me with Miss Parsons tonight? Why did she not appear on the veranda?”
Dorothea’s expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. A crack in the ice.
“Because there was no opportunity,” she said. “The girl lost her courage at the last moment. She begged me to allow her to remain with the other ladies. I had no chance to send anyone else.”
Victor let out a slow breath. “Yet someone did send a note.”
“Yes,” Dorothea agreed. “But it was not Harriet. I did not know until later that another letter had been intercepted, one addressed to you. The servants talk, Victor, no matter how hard we pretend otherwise. I know enough to understand that my first plan failed. Another person’s scheme succeeded instead.”
He thought of Howard’s face at the door to the study. Of Gwen’s body tangled with his own on the floor. Of the Baronet’s wife clutching her pearls.
“So you were attempting to trap me?” Victor asked. “With Miss Parsons?”
“Yes,” Dorothea admitted quietly. “I regret the method, but not the intention.”
He shook his head. “You were willing to risk our reputation?”
She lifted her chin. “I have spent twenty years watching you refuse every eligible lady who crosses your path. I have listenedto the ton invent reasons. I have heard the whispers about your temper, about your supposed tastes, about your supposed coldness. I thought if I did nothing, your isolation would calcify into something worse.”
Victor had not expected that. Not the worry in her words. Not the quiet desperation.
