“Might I ask you something?”
“You need not ask me permission to do that.”
“You have spoken often of your sister,” she said. “But never of your grandmother.”
George did not answer at once.
“I never find that I have much to say of her,” he said finally. “She has morals that most ladies of her age share, and that is all there truly is to it.”
She nodded, then hesitated.
“Is she displeased with me, then?”
“With the engagement,” he said carefully, “she wants what she believes is best for me.”
“And what does that mean?”
The question was not accusatory, merely curious, which made it more difficult. He considered his words carefully, for the truth was, of course, that his grandmother was furious, but that was through no fault of his betrothed.
“She has expectations.”
“Such as?”
He listed them as one might recite facts rather than ideals.
“A duchess should be composed. Respected, beyond reproach. If I am to take a wife, she is to be the very image of what she thinks of. She should understand her duties, manage the household efficiently, entertain well, inspire confidence, and avoid scandal.”
He paused.
Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly. The light caught her face at an angle that revealed more than she likely intended. George saw it then. She was measuring herself against each word, and finding herself lacking.
“I see,” she said quietly.
He frowned. He had not expected her to take his words to heart, for she had seemed so certain of herself before.
“You need not–”
“I am none of those things,” she said simply.
He opened his mouth to contradict her, then stopped, because it was not entirely untrue. She was not steady in the way his grandmother admired, nor unremarkable enough to pass unnoticed. She challenged, she reacted, and she felt things openly. Philippa liked that a great deal, but his grandmother?
Lady Cassandra looked at him then, searching.
“And yet,” she added, “she wishes what is best for you.”
“Yes.”
Cassandra smiled faintly, though it did not reach her eyes.
“Then I hope I do not disappoint her too greatly.”
Something tightened in his chest as he found himself confronted with the quiet realization that Cassandra had already assumed blame she had never been given.
“I do not care what she thinks and that is all that matters,” he said firmly.
He had meant for it to help her, but it only seemed to confirm her fears.
George found Brandon in the billiard room, glass in hand, examining the table.
