This duke, the one Lillian had just promised herself to, if only for a short while, could hardly seem any less ducal, and for that, she was grateful.
They were going to have to elope.
If she told her mother beforehand, her mother would insist upon an extravagant ceremony at Saint George’s Cathedral. The Dowager Duchess of Crawford would demand that Lillian and her betrothed wait until all of their immediate and extended family could be notified and then travel to London and share in the celebration.
Lillian shivered when the two of them arrived at the front door she’d entered through less than one hour ago. Her head was spinning, and she could hardly comprehend the speed at which they planned to move forward with this arrangement. So much had been decided in such a short time.
Her future…
What remained of his…
He didn’t open the door immediately but turned to address her instead, his brows furrowed. “I’ll understand if you change your mind.”
Lillian hugged her arms in front of her. Would he? “Likewise.”
His dog, who had ambled slowly behind them, circled his master and then nudged his face along Warwick’s leg. She didn’t want to think of this man as a duke. It was nearly enough to ruin the entire arrangement.
But rather than show any annoyance at the hairs transferred to his trousers, as her stepfather surely would have, or Lord Roberts even, the man who had just become her intended glanced down affectionately. When he returned his attention to her, he rubbed at his chin.
“There are several details, I suppose, that ought to be put into writing. I’ll have a contract drawn up and you’ll have plenty of time to go over it while we travel.” He blinked. “Or perhaps you’d like to read it before we depart. Either way, I’ll bring along a solicitor for you to consult with, as you’re sure to have questions. I am quite respectable despite…this. I’m committed to protecting your sensibilities.”
“How long will it take? To make the journey to Scotland?”
“Four days,”
Which meant four nights as well. In the company of a single gentleman. She ought to have all sorts of reservations, warning bells should be clanging in her brain. But she experienced none of those.
She instinctively trusted him.
“We’ll stay at the finest inns. I’ll send a rider ahead today in order to ensure rooms are reserved. You’ve a maid you can bring along?”
“I do.” Lillian blinked. “I’m not familiar with marriage contracts—or legal language.” All of this was happening so fast. Then again, if she had time to think things through, she’d be more likely come to her senses and call the whole thing off.
However, itwouldbe best to know the particulars before she committed herself fully. “Can you tell me more about what to expect?”
He didn’t answer right away, and she appreciated that he wasn’t pushing her with glib promises or trying to gloss over the drawbacks—because, of course they existed. Inhaling a deep breath, he placed both hands behind his back and rocked on his heels.
The ducal stance was somewhat tempered by the fact that he wasn’t wearing any boots.
“You’ll require protection upon my death.” His expression was solemn, somber. “There are provisions I can put in place for you that cannot be enacted for my sister. The original title and ducal estates have numerous stipulations and requirements, both of which I’ve unfortunately become all too familiar with over the past two months. If my sister has not reached her majority, she will have no choice but to become a ward of the new heir. Hopefully, that will be my son. If the heir hasn’t reached his majority, Bernadette becomes a ward of the widow. If I pass without an heir apparent, my widow is to be granted a life estate deed of the dower house in addition to a small townhouse in Mayfair—as the original will reads, but I’ll want all of it spelled out clearly in the marriage contract so that there is never any doubt. In case…”
“In case we fail.”
He clenched his jaw. “Yes.”
It was a dismal thought. If they failed, that would mean he would be gone—dead.
“We will not fail.” It was a stupid promise to make but Lillian only wanted to reassure him. She barely knew him—in fact she knew him not at all. But he wasdying. “Your Grace,” she added, cringing inwardly at the address.
“Christian. Will you call me Christian? Or Warwick, if you prefer.”
“Christian.” Lillian met his gaze. She was going to be intimate with this man all too soon. Waiting to know him better wasn’t really an option and might defeat the purpose of this entire endeavor. “And you must call me Lillian.”
He stared at her so hard that for a moment Lillian thought that he was going to call the entire arrangement off.
Were they both insane?
But then he exhaled loudly and stepped back.
