Rowan’s gaze flicked toward her, unamused. “I did not speak merely to fill the air. There is a difference between awkward silence and deliberate pause.”
Lucy threw up her hands. “You are confusing me! You talk of silence as though it’s some dangerous abyss, yet you told me you appreciated it. Which is it?”
“Well, it is certainly not my intention to confuse you,” he said, in a tone that carried a faint edge of humor, making it impossible to tell whether or not he was joking. “I merely react to the absence of engagement. Silence is uncomfortable only when it is unacknowledged. One must acknowledge it, or it becomes oppressive.”
Lucy blinked, letting out an incredulous laugh. “Oppressive? It’s a drawing room conversation, not the Tribunal of the Inquisition. There is a difference between oppressive and peaceful, and I think you’re deliberately mislabeling ordinary quiet.”
Rowan’s lips twitched as if resisting a smile. “Perhaps I merely find silence intolerable unless it is meaningful. Not every pause can be left unremarked. Otherwise, how would anyone measure wit?”
Lucy shook her head as she began to slowly pace, wondering when, exactly, the trajectory of her life changed so much.
Rowan inclined his head, studying her like a general reviewing a battlefield. “She is mature. I appreciate that. Quite pretty, too. There is a sense of refinement, certainly.”
Lucy let out a small sigh. “Yet, you seemed intent on making her feel as though she had wandered into a menagerie of lunacy, Your Grace.”
Rowan arched his eyebrows. “Whatever do you mean? Anyway, she is quiet. She is far too quiet. Half the time, I suspect she did not comprehend a word I said. There is a lack of quickness. Of wit, perhaps. One must be able to think, to respond, to translate subtlety into understanding.”
Lucy took a step closer, eyes narrowed, her patience tinged with exasperation. “Are you doing this on purpose?” she asked, her voice firm. “Are you going out of your way to ruin these meetings under the guise of your ‘humor’?”
“What are you trying to say, Miss Crampton?” he asked.
“You were confusing her on purpose,” Lucy blurted.
Rowan regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “But you understood what I was attempting to convey,” he said finally. “If you did not understand it, then there is no way you could have translated it properly to Lady Kitty. If you were not confused, then why was the lady perplexed? It is simple logic, Miss Crampton. Lady Kitty might just be... slow.”
Lucy opened her mouth, then paused, struck by the clarity in his words. She let her eyes flick toward him, a slight crease of frustration forming on her brow. “Then why, if that is your reasoning, did you not try to speak to her in a manner she would understand?”
Rowan’s gaze sharpened. “I am trying,” he said evenly, “in precisely the way I always have. I do not alter myself to suit another’s ease. That is not my way.”
Lucy’s hands clenched lightly at her sides, frustration flaring. “But this is not about your ease! It is about your son’s happiness and the promise you made to him. Surely, even a man as proud as you can understand that.”
“I do understand,” Rowan said, affected by her words, evident in the way he blinked repeatedly. “I never wished for this arrangement. I did not wish to marry again. I did not wish to entertain this charade of courtship. I am simply being myself.”
Lucy’s lips pressed into a thin line, and then she stepped closer, unwavering. “Yet, you promised. You promised Anthony that you would attempt this, that you would at least consider a wife.How can you call yourself a man of honor if you refuse to even try?”
Rowan swallowed then, seemingly unarmed by her question. Lucy noted then how easy it was to get him to listen when she spoke of his children.
Her chest tightened, but she did not falter. “What are we even doing here?” she questioned. “You promised to try, but you are not trying. You claim to answer to no one, so clearly, my efforts would be futile because you refuse to listen to me. What do you really want?”
Rowan’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Lucy thought he might speak, but no words came. His gaze, sharp and unflinching, pinned her as though weighing her very soul. Lucy’s stomach fluttered nervously, convinced she had overstepped, that she had ruined everything. She was going to be fired. Sent away. She could practically see her aunt’s disapproving gaze in her mind.
But then he moved. Slowly, deliberately, closing the distance between them. Lucy’s breath caught as he leaned slightly closer, so close that the faintest scent of cedar surrounded her. His voice dropped almost a whisper, but carried a tone that made her chest constrict.
“I do not know how,” he murmured, eyes flicking to hers, “It has been… some time since I had to court anyone. You might think I am doing this on purpose or doing something wrong, but Isimply do not know what is expected these days when you meet with someone for the first time.”
Lucy froze, the feeling of disbelief and curiosity mingling. His admission was unexpected, almost vulnerable in a way that clashed with the cold, commanding figure she had observed all week.
“You… you don’t know how?” she echoed softly, her mind racing with the implications. She had expected stubbornness, deflection, perhaps even mockery, but not this. Not a glimpse behind the armor.
He inclined his head slightly, just enough to emphasize the sincerity behind the words. “No. But since you take your task so seriously, you will have to teach me. If I am to honor Anthony’s wish, if I am to convince a woman to consider me, then you will show me the way.”
Lucy’s heart thumped violently in her chest. She straightened, summoning all the courage she could muster. The absurdity of it, the danger, the potential humiliation, and yet, there was something thrilling in being so near him, in having his focus entirely upon her.
She forced herself to meet his gaze. “If this is to work, then I need to understand something. About you. Not just what you expect in a wife but what you care about, what you value, what makes a man want to stay married.”
Rowan’s eyes flicked to hers, sharp and assessing, and then he leaned back slightly, hands clasped on the desk. “And why, pray, do you need to know such things?”
“Because,” she said, carefully weighing each word, “if I am to find someone who could convince you, then I must know what would matter to you. I cannot sell a life, a marriage, to someone blindly.”
