Her father’s face turned puce, but there was nothing he could say. Maxwellwasa Duke, and a match with him was the best she could ever aspire to. And he knew it. His slow swallow proved it.
“Very well,” he said stiffly. “I see I have no choice in the matter.”
Maxwell turned to her. “Lady Thalia, do you consent?”
She had no real choice in the matter; there was no way she could refuse him now.
She would not have done.
“I do,” she said.
“Then have her.” Her father’s lip curled. “Marry her, ruin her—I hardly care so long as you take her off my hands.”
Maxwell sent him a look full of danger before speaking again.
“You will hear from my solicitor to discuss a settlement,” he called after the rapidly retreating man, then put his hands on Thalia’s shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“I—” No, of course not. She felt as though he had dipped her into the North Sea until her head was filled with cold and salt. “You mean it? You’ll marry me?”
“Did you expect me to stand by while he threatened and hurt you?” His palm slid across her wrist as if soothing invisible hurts there. “I apologize that marriage is the only thing I could think of to get you out of it.”
Marriage. After everything they had been through, and everything she had done to avoid having a husband.
She couldn’t bring herself to regret it.
“I don’t mind,” she whispered.
His hand slid from her shoulder to her back, and she allowed herself to sink against his chest for a few seconds.
Married, to the very Duke she had once refused, to the man who had inspired her endlessly over the past few weeks, even before she knew it. She had, for some time, developed atendre.
“This does not have to be anything more than a marriage of convenience,” he said as though convincing himself. “Neither ofus intended a union at this point in time, and I have Lydia to consider.”
“Of course,” Thalia murmured. “And I, my sculpting.” She looked at him in challenge, but he said nothing.
At least he would not keep her from that.
You would have to tell him, of course, he had said of her future husband.
Although she had initially expressed scepticism, she was now engaged to a man who understood her aspirations and supported her ongoing professional pursuits.
Perhaps this arrangement represented the best of both worlds, after all, and it came in the form of Maxwell Warren, the Duke of Marrowhurst.
CHAPTER 15
“Truly, I am so happy,” Lydia said with the classful ignorance of one who did not know the true circumstances behind the wedding. “I always hoped you would marry her.”
The first thing Maxwell did upon returning home was source a special license. That done, a small announcement in the paper to ensure everything was above board. Then his solicitor met with Lord Gilford to establish the details, Thalia’s dowry, and any obligations the two men had toward one another as they progressed with the marriage.
Throughout the entire process, he did not forget what was owed to his position as Duke—a certain amount of ceremony—, and he elected for a small wedding at St. George’s on Hanover Square.
“Why is that?” Maxwell asked, adjusting his cravat one final time in the mirror.
“Because you seemed to like her so very much! And because she always looks at you as though… Well, as though she admires you. And I have not seen her admire that many gentlemen.”
Lydia blushed, and Maxwell shot her a sharp glance. After speaking with Thalia, he had given Lydia her space, but he still had to fight every instinct to protect her.
“It’s a particularly sudden decision, nevertheless,” Joyce said from where she reclined on the sofa behind them both. “Especially during this Season. You might have left things at an engagement and allowed the focus to remain on Lydia.”
