“It’s complicated,” she said finally.
“Most worthwhile things are.” Rosalie leaned forward in her chair, her expression earnest. “But may I ask what you’re afraid of? Because it’s obvious you’re afraid of something.”
Where do I even begin? I’m afraid of trusting a man who’s promised to help me. I’m afraid of betraying Emmie’s memory by accepting the very society that destroyed her. I’m afraid of caring about your family and having it all torn away when your father realizes what a mistake he’s made.
“I’m not afraid,” Sybil lied. “I’m simply being careful. Marriage is a serious commitment, not something to be entered into lightly.”
“But you could do so much good as a duchess,” Rosalie pressed. “Think of all the orphanages you could establish, all the children you could help. Surely that’s worth considering?”
It is. God help me, it is.
“The position comes with other responsibilities,” Sybil pointed out. “Guiding young ladies through society for instance. Managing social obligations. Things I’m not particularly qualified for.”
“Are you joking?” Rosalie’s eyes widened with surprise. “You’re exactly qualified for it. You understand what it’s like to be young and uncertain. You know how to listen without judging. You care more about our welfare than our reputations.”
She makes it sound so simple.
“Your father needs someone who can help you navigate society successfully,” Sybil said. “Someone who understands the rules and expectations.”
“The rules are stupid,” Rosalie declared with youthful fervor. “Half of them exist solely to keep women from doing anything interesting. What I need is someone who can teach me which rules actually matter and which ones are just society’s way of keeping us in line.”
Exactly what Hugo said. The girl has definitely inherited his intelligence.
“That’s a rather radical perspective for someone about to make her debut,” Sybil observed.
“I learned it from watching Papa,” Rosalie said with a grin. “He follows the rules that matter and ignores the ones that don’t. It’s worked well for him so far.”
A duke can afford to be selective about which rules he follows. His daughters won’t have the same luxury.
“Your father has advantages you won’t,” Sybil pointed out gently. “Society judges men and women differently.”
“Which is exactly why I need someone who understands that difference,” Rosalie countered. “Someone who’s navigated those challenges herself and can teach me to do the same.”
She’s not wrong. But she’s also not considering all the complications.
“Rosalie,” Sybil said carefully, “if I were to accept your father’s proposal, it would be for practical reasons. To help rebuild the orphanage and to assist with your guidance. It wouldn’t be a love match.”
“So?” Rosalie shrugged as though this were irrelevant. “Mama and Papa didn’t love each other either, at least not at first. But they built something together. Something that produced three daughters who adore their father and a household that functions beautifully despite our occasional dramatic tendencies.”
They built something together.The phrase echoed in Sybil’s mind, carrying implications she wasn’t ready to examine.
“Your parents’ situation was different,” she said weakly.
“Was it? Papa needed a wife, Mama needed security. They made it work.” Rosalie paused, studying Sybil’s face with those too-intelligent eyes. “Unless… do you find him objectionable somehow? Because I promise he’s much nicer than he appears. He just has trouble expressing affection in words.”
Objectionable?If only it were that simple. If the Duke had been objectionable, this decision would be easy.
But the memory of his amber eyes burning with intensity, the way his voice had dropped to that intimate register when he’d kissed her gloves, the protective fury in his expression when he’d spoken of his daughters’ welfare…
No. Objectionable is the last word I’d use to describe him.
“Your father seems like a good man,” she said finally. “But marriage is about more than compatibility and mutual benefit.”
“Is it?” Rosalie’s expression grew thoughtful. “What else should it be about?”
Love. Trust. The kind of partnership that survives whatever life throws at you.
But those were fairy tale dreams, weren’t they? The kind of romantic nonsense that had gotten Emmie killed.
