“The pheasant is excellent.”
The Duke cut a precise square of meat without looking up. “It is.”
Mary set down her fork. They sat at opposite ends of a dining table long enough to seat twenty, and the distance between them felt intentional. Candelabras lined the center, their flames throwing restless shadows across the Duke’s face. He ate with the same controlled precision he applied to everything else, and he had spoken eleven words since the soup course.
She had counted.
“How long have you lived in this house?” she asked.
“Since inheriting the title.”
“Which was?”
“Seven years ago.”
“And before that?”
The Duke raised his eyes. “Is this an interrogation?”
“It is a conversation.” Mary held his gaze across the candles. “We are married. I am attempting to learn something about my husband beyond his preference for silence.”
The Duke returned his attention to the pheasant. “There is nothing to learn that applies to our arrangement.”
“Our arrangement.” Mary turned the words over. “Is that what this is?”
“It is what we agreed to.”
“We agreed to a marriage.”
“Which is an arrangement.” He set his knife down. “Your Grace?—”
“I am your wife. You might use my name.”
Something flickered across his face. He recovered before she could read it. “We married because your sister’s choices left both our families exposed. That is the sum of it. I do not require a dinner companion. I require a duchess who can manage this household and care for Tommy while I locate our siblings. Anything beyond that is unnecessary.”
The words sat between them like a wall. Mary stared at him across the candles and felt something shift in her chest. Not hurt. Something harder.
“Charlotte’s choices,” she repeated. “You speak of my sister as though she acted alone. As though your brother played no part in any of this.”
“My brother is a fool. I have never denied that.”
“Yet you blame Charlotte.”
“I blame the situation.”
“You blame her.” Mary’s voice sharpened. “Every time you mention the scandal, it is Charlotte’s irresponsibility. Charlotte’s recklessness. As though your brother was dragged into this against his will. He was the elder. He was the man. If anyone should have known better?—”
“Enough,” The Duke’s voice dropped. “Your sister seduced my brother into abandoning his responsibilities, his family, and his name. If you cannot accept that, I suggest you tolerate it in silence, because I will not spend every dinner re-litigating a scandal that has already cost me more than you can imagine.”
Mary’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood. The sound rang through the dining room. She placed her napkin beside her plate with a steadiness that cost her everything.
“Goodnight, Your Grace.”
She turned and walked toward the door. Her heels struck the marble in the corridor, and she kept her spine straight and her eyes forward, and she did not look back.
“Mary.”
His footsteps followed hers. She walked faster. He walked faster.
