Her stomach dropped. “Henry?—”
“Wait. Before you argue, listen.” His hands slid from her shoulders to frame her face. “I’m not proposing out of obligation. But we both know the gossip won’t stop. Lady Thornby has made certain of that, and it will affect the prospects of your younger sisters. So here’s what I’m thinking.”
She waited, heart hammering.
“Mr. Foley is going to Cloverdale House in London for recovery, which means you and your siblings will need to be in London to visit him and be close during his treatment.”
“We can’t afford lodging in London?—”
“I have a townhouse. Empty. Fully staffed. You and your siblings can stay there. I’ve never used it and it’s there.”
“Henry, that’s not proper?—”
“Neither is having spent two days in your cottage.” His mouth quirked. “We’re past proper, Margaret. Now we’re managing scandal. And the best way to manage it is to show everyone this is a courtship, not an affair.”
She stared at him. “A courtship.”
“Yes. You stay in my London house—properly chaperoned, your siblings with you. I court you openly. Flowers. Calls. Drives in the park. All the tedious formality society demands.” His thumbs brushed her cheekbones. “And while I’m courting you, we get to know each other. Outside of crisis. In normal circumstances.”
“And the special license?”
“Insurance.” His voice went quiet. “If at the end of a few weeks—after proper courtship—you decide you want to marry me, we can do so without waiting for banns. Without further scandal. But Margaret”—he leaned his forehead against hers—“The license doesn’t mean you have to marry me. It just means the option is there if you want it.”
Her breath caught. “You’d get a license without a firm yes?”
“I’d do anything to protect you from more gossip. And if that means securing a license we never use because you decide I’m insufferable after two weeks of courtship…” He smiled wryly. "Then at least I tried. I'd never forgive myself if I didn't try to make a woman like you my duchess. My wife. I may be new to being a duke, but I'm not an idiot and this is not a fool's love. I’ve never met a woman like you and if you’ll allow it, I’d like to protect you with all I have and all of me.”
“That’s a lot of money to waste.”
“It’s not wasted if it gives you a choice.” His eyes searched hers. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re terrified of being trapped again. Of having no say. So I’m giving you every say. You stay in London. I court you. Properly. And at the end—when you’ve seen me in my world, when you know this is real—you decide. Marry me or don’t. The choice is yours.”
Tears spilled over. “Henry?—”
“I’ve fallen in love with you,” he said simply. “I know it’s fast. I know it makes no sense. But I do love you, and I’m willing to wait for you to believe it. To feel it. To choose me.”
“What if I don’t? What if at the end of all this, I?—”
“Then I’ll survive.” He brushed her forehead with his lips. “I’ll be heartbroken, but I’ll survive. And you’ll be free. With your reputation intact. With your father-in-law recovering in the best facility in London and your siblings cared for. That matters more than whether you choose me.”
She couldn’t speak, much less breathe.
“So.” He pulled back just enough to see her face. “Will you come to London? Let me court you properly? Give me a few weeks to prove this is real?”
“And if none of this works?”
“Then I’ll accept that but only after we tried.” His voice was steady despite the pain in his eyes. “I’ll make sure Mr. Foley’s care continues. I’ll—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I’ll let you go. If that’s what you need.”
She stared at this man who’d upended her life, who’d spent a week carrying firewood and making tea and loving her family as if they were his own, who was offering her everything and asking for nothing except time.
“Yes,” she whispered.
His breath left him in a rush. “Yes?”
“Yes. I’ll come to London. I’ll let you court me. I’ll”—she gripped his wrists—“I’ll give us both time to be certain this is real.”
He kissed her then. Deep and desperate and full of promise.
When he pulled back, they were both shaking.
