Page 14 of A Family Bargain with the Duke

“Lord Henswick. Thank you for receiving me without prior notice.”

Louisa stood frozen at the top of the stairs, one hand resting on the banister, and watched the Duke of Ashvale being shown into her father’s study with an ease that suggested he had rehearsed the entrance the whole carriage ride over.

He wore dark blue this morning, his cravat pressed to a precision that would have taken his valet the better part of an hour, and he carried beneath one arm a folded document she recognized, with a small lurch of her stomach, as something considerably more than a social call.

She did not go down. She remained at the top of the stairs instead, out of sight of the study door, and waited, her heart pounding in her chest.

“I will get directly to the purpose of my visit,” she heard Julian say, his voice carrying up through the half-open door below. “I wish to ask your permission to marry your daughter.”

There was a long pause. Louisa held her breath along with it.

“Marry,” her father repeated, in the tone of a man who suspected he had misheard or possibly dreamed the entire conversation. “Louisa.”

“Yes.”

“You have met her once, Your Grace, by my understanding. Perhaps twice.”

“Twice,” Julian confirmed. “I am aware of how irregular this must appear. I will not insult you by pretending otherwise. But I have a ward, a young boy who has not spoken since his father’s death three years ago, and your daughter has already succeeded in a single morning where six tutors and physicians and governesses failed across three years. I require her help with him, and she requires a husband who will give her adopted daughter a name and a secure home. I believe the arrangement serves us both honestly, and I would rather propose it to you plainly than dress it up as something it is not.”

Another pause, longer this time.

Louisa gripped the banister and leaned slightly toward the stairwell.

“You are telling me,” her father said slowly, “that you wish to marry my daughter as a matter of practical convenience.”

“I am.”

“Most men, if I may say so, attempt at least the appearance of romance when asking a father for his daughter’s hand.”

“Most men have not met your daughter, My Lord. I suspect she would find the appearance of romance considerably more insulting than an honest proposal.” A note Louisa could not quite place entered his voice, something akin to amusement. “She was very direct with me about what she required. I find I would rather return the courtesy than feign sentiments neither of us feels.”

Louisa pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing aloud at the sheer accuracy of it.

Her father was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice had softened, the wariness giving way to something more thoughtful. “Louisa has always possessed a remarkably determined disposition, Your Grace. I say this as a father who loves her dearly and has spent twenty-five years failing to talk her out of anything she has set her mind to. She is sharp-tongued, stubborn, and entirely disinclined to be managed.”

“I have gathered as much already in the length of two conversations, My Lord.”

“And it does not trouble you?”

There was a pause, brief but distinct, before Julian answered. “No. Oddly, I find that it does not.”

Louisa’s hand tightened on the banister.

“Then you have my permission,” her father said. “Though I suspect you would have proceeded with or without it, given how thoroughly my daughter has already arranged the matter herself.”

“I would not have proceeded without your blessing, My Lord. Whatever else this arrangement is, I did not wish to begin it by disrespecting your house.”

“Well.” Her father’s chair scraped back. “I appreciate that more than you know. Shall we find her and put her out of whatever agony she has been standing in at the top of my stairs this last quarter hour, pretending she cannot hear every word we’ve said?”

Louisa straightened so fast she nearly toppled over, and was still composing her face into something resembling innocence when the door to the study opened fully and both men stepped into the hall below, looking up at her with identical expressions of barely restrained amusement.

“I was merely passing,” she said, with as much dignity as she could summon.

“Of course you were,” her father drawled. “Come down, Louisa. His Grace has something to discuss with you, and I find I am suddenly very interested in the state of my roses.”

He left them with a speed that suggested relief more than genuine interest in his gardens.

Louisa descended the stairs slowly, aware of Julian’s eyes on her the entire way down, aware too of the folded document still tucked beneath his arm.