“Well, forgive me, but tenderness is not something that I have ever really desired to emulate,” he said.
“If tenderness is not the right word here,” Penelope racked through her brain, “then perhaps introspection would be a better fit.”
“I introspect,” he said defensively.
“When?” she asked, laughing lightly.
“I am strategic,” he continued. “If you speak to anyone, you will know–”
“Ah. Strategy,” she interrupted him. “The man’s solution to everything.”
“It is a solution because it works,” he reminded her. “I do not expect you to know that, considering you lack the experience.”
Penelope let his snide remark slip aside.
“When it comes to those who we are closest to, strategy is not the best way forward,” she explained. “You can’t out-maneuver feelings, Your Grace. They’re not contracts or chess pieces.”
Alexnader pinched the top of his nose. Penelope could not quite tell whether he was irked, or amused by the whole thing.
“Now you are suggesting that I am unfeeling,” he said, stiffly. “I really wonder where you get these notions from. Perhaps your understanding of what it takes to be a man is just as lacking.”
“Perhaps so,” she conceded. “But you cannot deny that you keep your feelings close to only yourself. I’m not sure evenyouknow what they are half the time.”
“And what would you have me do?” he asked. “Tell you every passing thought I have? Lay them bare like a fool?”
“No,” she said, stepping a little closer now. “But perhaps start by telling the truth when it matters. And asking questions when you don’t know the answer. It’s not a weakness.”
He looked down at her for a long moment. “You want trust.”
“I want honesty,” she corrected softly. “You’re not unfeeling, Your Grace. I know that. I just think you’ve forgotten how to show it. Or maybe you never learned.”
“It takes me a lot to trust someone,” he admitted after a moment of rumination.
“Do you trust me?” The question was bold, and Penelope was scared of the answer.
“I suppose I trust you enough to look after Odette,” he admitted with a sigh. “That is saying a lot.”
At the mention of Odette, Penelope’s mind began to work in a different direction altogether. She knotted her fingers together, and bit down on her lip.
“Do you… require an heir?”
Alexander blinked, startled. Of all the things she could’ve said next, he hadn’t anticipated that. In fact, even she had not expected herself to ask a question like that.
“I mean,” she rushed on, cheeks reddening with color, “it’s just something I’ve wondered. You haven’t said anything about it since we married. And I know it’s what’s expected of a duchess, eventually.”
“Does this have something to do with what George said?” Alexander asked, not missing a beat.
Penelope bit down on her lip, “Perhaps it floated the idea into my mind.”
“You should not care about what he thinks, nor pay any heed to it,” he reminded her.
“Yes, but that is beside the point,” she said, flustered. “It is something that is expected from a peer's wife, and I would have had the thought myself, even if Father did not bring it up.”
He studied her for a moment, and Penelope found herself wondering yet again what he must be thinking. She wished she could peer into his mind, and find out all that occupies it.
That, she thought, would make her life much easier.
“You think I married you for that?” he asked finally.
