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And she’d dared not step outside the room, for once she did, there would be no avoiding one of her friends or Sebastian himself.

There would be questions, she was sure.

And she had no answers for any of them.

Part of her wanted to talk with them. Another part of her felt she knew exactly what they would say, so she did not want to speak to them until she’d mustered her arguments against theirs.

All the while, thoughts whirled round her head, with the same question repeating over and over again.

Does Sebastian love me?

Tiffany had been so sure that he would not have proposed otherwise. And Mei had to admit it did not make sense. Not only did she bring nothing of substance to such a union, but Sebastian was far too responsible and sensible to propose based on the desire between them.

Desire was not enough.

Not for such a monumental decision of marriage.

Especially for a duke.

So, why else would he want to marry her?

Except he could not possibly love her.

The very idea was ludicrous.

They’d been at odds since their first meeting. It was only once he’d realized he did need her services that they’d even spoken at length in any real way.

The only real time they’d spent together alone was here, at this house party. Surely that was not enough time to fall in love.

Except…

Her feelings for him were far stronger than she could countenance. The hurt she felt thinking of him marrying another did not come from desire. It felt like heartbreak.

If she could fall so fast, why not him?

But why would he fall for me?

“Are you sure this is what you want to wear?”

Jocelyn’s disapproval was clear as she looked Mei up and down, her lower lip pouting slightly.

“Yes.” Mei smoothed her hands over the fabric, feeling the raised lines of the embroidery under her hands. She was no English debutante, and she would not dress as one. Not tonight.

There was always the possibility that Sebastian had somehow gotten confused… or that her style of English dress had somehow made him think things…

Now she looked like a matchmaker again.

Not a match.

“Very well.” Jocelyn sighed, as if sensing she would not be able to change Mei’s mind—which was true; she would not. “You do look very beautiful, no matter what you are wearing.”

“Thank you.” Mei smiled at the maid, who had tried so hard to fulfill her duties, despite Mei’s reluctance to be turned into an English debutante. “You have been very helpful. I will certainly recommend your services as a lady’s maid to Tiffany for the future.”

Jocelyn brightened immediately. “Thank you so much, miss. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Mei said, smiling back at her. “You’ve done an exemplary job, with a rather reluctant mistress.” This, at least, was something she could do and feel good about.

Leaving the beaming maid, Mei forced herself out of the bedroom and down the hall to the staircase. When she neared the drawing room, she could hear the sounds of conversation and laughter. Steeling herself, she slipped through the open door, immediately hugging the wall in an attempt not to draw attention to herself.