Bella Holloway stared at the folded document in the Duke of Westford’s hand.
For several seconds, she could hear nothing except the ticking grandfather clock in the hallway.
Augustus Wallace stood before her in the shabby drawing room, looking entirely too powerful for a house whose owners could scarcely afford coal.
“What is that?” she asked.
“A proposal.”
“You have already proposed.”
“I have explained what I want. This explains what I am prepared to give.”
He placed the document on the mahogany desk.
Bella did not touch it.
“Do you usually approach marriage as though you were purchasing another coal mine, Your Grace?”
“Only when the woman involved has made it clear she prefers honesty to pretty speeches.”
She looked up sharply.
His expression remained unreadable.
“I have spent six months being pursued by women who claim to adore me,” he continued. “Women who cannot bear to shake my hand without looking at the scars. Their mothers want my fortune. Their fathers want my connections. None of them want me.”
Something in his voice changed on that last sentence.
Only slightly.
But Bella heard it.
“Perhaps,” she said, “you have been meeting the wrong women.”
“Perhaps.”
He pushed the document closer.
“Read it.”
Bella unfolded the paper.
Her eyes moved quickly over the carefully written terms.
An annual allowance of five thousand pounds.
Full authority over the household accounts.
A residence in Kent secured for her should she survive him.
The immediate settlement of her brother’s debts.
Bella read the figures twice.
Five thousand pounds a year.
She had spent the previous evening wondering how to purchase enough firewood to survive another week.
“This is absurd,” she whispered.
“Which part?”
“All of it.”
“Then you have misunderstood the value of what I am asking.”
She looked at him.
“What exactly are you asking?”
“A duchess. Someone capable of managing my household and representing my name when necessary. Someone who does not expect me to become a fashionable gentleman merely because I inherited a title.”
He paused.
“And I require an heir.”
The words settled between them.
Bella suddenly became painfully conscious that she was alone in a room with a man whose shoulders seemed capable of blocking out the doorway.
“You speak of children as though they were entries in an account book.”
“I speak of responsibility.”
“And affection?”
“I am not offering affection.”
Bella felt an unexpected sting.
It was ridiculous. She had no reason to expect tenderness from a stranger.
Still, the certainty in his voice wounded something she had not realized remained vulnerable.
“Then what happens if we dislike each other?”
“We establish separate routines.”
“And if we quarrel?”
“I expect we shall.”
“And if I refuse?”
Augustus regarded her steadily.
“Then I leave, Miss Holloway. You owe me nothing.”
That answer surprised her more than the proposed allowance.
He was not threatening her.
He was offering her a choice.
And somehow, that made the decision harder.
Bella turned toward the window.
Outside, a delivery boy hurried through the rain while a woman struggled to lift a basket onto a cart.
Ordinary people.
Ordinary problems.
She had once believed marriage would be about shared laughter, affection, perhaps a handsome gentleman who would bring her flowers simply because he wished to see her smile.
But dreams did not pay debts.
And dreams would not keep Philip from prison.
“Why have you chosen me?” she asked quietly.
Augustus moved toward the fireplace.
“Because last night, when every woman in that ballroom looked at me as though I were a fortune waiting to be claimed, you looked thoroughly unimpressed.”
“I was horrified.”
“So I noticed.”
“I had just made the most humiliating declaration of my life.”
“And you did not attempt to flatter me afterward.”
Bella almost smiled.
Almost.
“You are a very strange man, Your Grace.”
“I have been called worse.”
He collected his gloves.
“Think about it. I shall return tomorrow.”
Then he left her alone with the document.
For a long time, Bella stood motionless.
Five thousand pounds a year.
A safe home.
Philip free.
A husband she scarcely knew.
And a future that might be comfortable without ever being happy.
By late afternoon, she had read the agreement eleven times.
At dusk, Philip returned.
He found her sitting at the desk.
“What is that?”
Bella looked up.
“A marriage settlement.”
His face drained of color.
“Bella?”
“The Duke of Westford has offered to marry me.”
Philip stared at her.
Then he laughed nervously.
When she did not join him, the laughter died.
“Good heavens. You’re serious.”
“So is he.”
Philip sat heavily.
“But you don’t love him.”
“I don’t know him.”
“Then you cannot agree!”
Bella placed the document between them.
“Do you have two thousand pounds, Philip?”
He lowered his head.
“No.”
“Can you obtain it before Friday?”
“No.”
“Then do not tell me what I cannot do.”
Philip’s eyes filled with shame.
“I never meant for you to pay for my mistakes.”
Bella softened.
She reached across the desk and took his hand.
“I know.”
“You deserve better than this.”
“Perhaps. But we must deal with the life we have.”
The following afternoon, Lord Henry Cavenaugh arrived.
Unlike Augustus, he did not knock with an honest, thunderous force.
He entered with the smooth confidence of a man accustomed to finding doors opened for him.
“Miss Holloway.”
His smile was thin.
Bella remained standing beside the staircase.
“My lord.”
“I believe your brother has explained our unfortunate financial difficulty.”
“He has.”
“Then you understand that Friday is approaching.”
“I understand.”
Cavenaugh stepped closer.
“There may be an alternative.”
Bella’s stomach tightened.
“What alternative?”
He ran one gloved finger along the polished banister.
“A private arrangement. A comfortable cottage in Mayfair. A generous allowance. Your brother’s account forgotten.”
Bella stared at him.
He smiled.
“You are an intelligent woman. Surely I need not explain.”
For a moment, she could not speak.
Then the meaning became unmistakable.
“You would have me become your mistress?”
Cavenaugh gave a small, indulgent shrug.
“Such arrangements are hardly uncommon.”
The slap echoed through the hallway.
His head turned sharply.
When he faced her again, a thin line of blood marked his lower lip.
“You insolent little fool.”
“Get out.”
His pleasant expression vanished.
“Your brother will be before the magistrates on Friday.”
Bella lifted her chin.
“Then I suggest you enjoy whatever satisfaction that gives you.”
Cavenaugh leaned closer.
“Pride is expensive, Miss Holloway.”
“So is cruelty, my lord. Eventually.”
He left without another word.
But Bella remained beside the staircase long after the front door closed.
Her hand was trembling.
Not because she regretted striking him.
Because she finally understood how little time remained.
That evening, she sent a message to the Duke of Westford.
She would accept his proposal.
But she would not enter the marriage as a purchased possession.
She intended to make that unmistakably clear.
And when Augustus Wallace received her message, his solicitor was already preparing the necessary documents.
Neither of them understood what kind of marriage they were about to create.
Nor how thoroughly it would change them.
