His mother leaned back slightly.
“It makes her unsuitable.”
The word echoed unpleasantly.
George kept his voice level. “You do not know her.”
“I know enough,” she said. “And so do you. She resists the role at every turn. She embarrasses herself. She provokes attention. She places herself in danger.”
He thought of the lake. Of the music. Of her standing alone in the church.
“She is not malicious,” he said. “She is overwhelmed.”
“That is not an excuse,” his mother replied. “Marriage to a duke is not an indulgence. It is a duty.”
“You speak as though I am exempt from that,” George said sharply.
“You are not.”
“Then why is it only her conduct you scrutinize?” he asked. “Why is it her burden to carry your disappointment?”
“Because she is the variable. You are the constant.”
The words struck deeper than she likely intended.
“I will not undo this engagement,” George said firmly.
“For her sake, or yours?” she asked.
He hesitated, only for a moment.
“For mine,” he said.
That seemed to surprise her.
“You are allowing feelings to cloud your responsibility,” she said. “Your father–”
“Is not part of this conversation,” George cut in. “And I will not spend my life correcting the past by surrendering the present, nor the future.”
Silence settled between them. His grandmother studied him closely, as though reassessing something she had long believed settled.
“You think yourself very certain,” she said at last.
“I am,” George replied. “About one thing.”
“And that is?”
“That whatever becomes of this marriage,” he said, “it will not be shaped by coercion. Not hers, and not mine.”
She did not respond at once. When she did, her voice was cool.
“Then you had best ensure she learns to bear the consequences of that resolve.”
“I intend to ensure,” he said quietly, “that she is not the only one bearing them.”
He sounded confident, and for a moment he felt it too, but as he left for his work that day he realized that it was all a facade. He did not know what the right thing to do was.
And it was Cassandra that would suffer if he was wrong.