Page 7 of The Duke and His Jilted Bride

Evander nodded. “That can be recovered, and I needn’t send a rider. But only if we act now, before things can evolve – dissolve – further."

He looked at her, wondered fleetingly whether she would faint again once he said what he had come to say. He had steeled himself on the drive over from Sandacre House. He had made the decision the moment he had left the church without a sister-in-law, without a fiancé, without a brother.

“I intend to marry you myself.”

Three

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked solemnly forward.

Miss Knowles stared at him in silence, nothing moving in her face beyond a slight widening at the corner of her eyes. They looked more gold than brown in this light, the shade of old uncared-for jewelry.

He looked away and waited, which was something Evander was quite good at. Most men his age were impatient, and that was their downfall. Like Freddy. If he had only waited long enough to sit down with Evander and explain things instead of running away with Seraphina, none of this would have happened.

Not his dishonour. Not their family’s disgrace. Not this proposal of marriage which seemed both more reasonable and more insane with every second of silence that passed between him and Miss Knowles. Eventually her feelings seemed to gather themselves inside her and came out of her, unbridled.

“What did you just say?” she asked, then she became very quiet, colour rising to her cheeks. “What… What exactly does your family believe I am? Some sort of… chattel…? Passed between brothers like a… a…”

She pressed her lips together so hard they turned white and glanced sideways at the cushion beside her. He half-expected her to throw it at him, and he preemptively flinched. This seemed to amuse her, before the anger settled again.

“How could you suggest something like that?” she asked, her voice quiet but simmering with anger.

“Have I insulted you?”

“Yes. No.” She sighed. “I don’t know. You have discombobulated me.”

“Ah. But you have not even heard my reasoning for asking for your hand yet. It is the wisest course of action.”

“Wise?” She stopped. “That is not what this is.”

“Then tell me – what is it?”

“Evidently, something you have conjured up in your male brain to make your life easier without any real consideration for me,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. She placed her hands on her waist, revealing that the gown was loose where she had thinned out before the wedding – from stress, he gathered. “You are looking only to undo the damage your family has caused ours to make yourself look better.”

He lowered his hands, but did not move beyond that, afraid of startling her. “I have been accused of worse. I owe you this, Miss Knowles. What was done to you today was wrong, and I am the only person in a position to do anything about it. So I will not take offense to your accusations… for now.”

“How very kind of you.” She looked at him for a long moment. “But this is not charity. You, yourself,” she said, “you also require a solution.”

"Yes," he admitted. "I also require a solution, though I wish it were not the case."

"You are a boor. But at least you are honest."

"Yes, well, I find it saves time."

He watched something move across her face – not quite a smile, but in the vicinity of one, the flicker of something that might have been amusement if the day had been a different kind of day. She turned toward the window instead, and he let her, because she needed a moment that wasn't being looked at and he understood that instinctively if not consciously.

Outside the window, London was doing what it always did, which was continuing regardless of what happened inside morning rooms. He waited for her in silence.

"Tell me what you are proposing," she said, still looking at the window. "Exactly, beyond the marriage."

He considered the architecture of it. “What is there beyond the marriage? You may experience the marriage as you please. Separate rooms, separate lives. We will need to acquire a special license, but it should not be difficult given our mutual state of affairs. The wedding, I think, could be held next week. After that, I would ask you to leave London with me.”

She blanched, turning at last. “And go where?”

“To my familial seat in Norfolk. Surely my brother told you that is where I spend the majority of my time. It has the additional benefit of being far away. You will not find many of the bon ton,” he said with warranted derision, “in Norwich.”

“I have never been to Norfolk.”

“No? It is a wonderful county.”