"Possibly," she said, her tone flippant. But even as the words left her lips, a flicker of something sharp and tender twisted in her chest. That kiss—once a secret suspended in rain and silence—was no longer just hers to keep. Now, it belonged to gossip and consequence. And beneath the bravado, she could not help but fear what came next: a proposal made for honor, not for love. "But it was an excellent kiss."
Lavinia gasped.
Sophia burst out laughing.
Lord Whitby whirled. "This is not amusing!"
"No," Alexandra agreed. "It’s scandalous."
"Which is why you will marry him."
“No." She crossed her arms over her chest.
The word dropped like a stone.
"No?" her father echoed, his face turning scarlet.
"I will not marry because society demands it. I will not marry to protect a reputation I never asked for."
"You will do as you’re told!” He yelled.
"I never have. Why start now?” She said with defiance.
Silence fell.
Then Sophia, ever the peacekeeper, cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should hear what the earl has to say?"
"I don’t care what he has to say," Alexandra said, waving a dismissive hand. "If he proposes out of obligation, I’ll refuse him. If he proposes out of pity, I’ll refuse him. If he proposes because the ton expects it, I’ll throw my slipper at his head."
Her father stared at her.
Lavinia stared at her.
Sophia clapped.
"Well," she said, "that was spirited."
* * *
Meanwhile, at the Berkshire townhouse, the drawing room was considerably quieter.
Magnus sat with a drink in hand, staring into the fire.
His younger brother, Simon, lounged nearby, watching him like an amused child, though there was a flicker of something thoughtful beneath the smirk—as if he wasn’t entirely certain whether to mock or worry.
"You kissed her."
"Yes."
"In the rain."
"Yes."
"Where anyone could see."
"I didn’t see anyone.” Magnus lifted his brandy.
"But someone saw."
