The Duchess War

“Mr. Gardley,” she made herself say, with all the warmth she could muster. “How can I help you?”

He fixed her with a nonchalant look. “Well, Minnie,” he said. “My mother’s pushing me to settle things. I’ve done what’s pretty. I’ll call the banns this Sunday for a December wedding.”

He was so sure of her that he didn’t even wait for a response. He adjusted his coat and sat down again, before she could take a seat.

“Middle of the month, I think, would be best for us.”

Who would you be if you didn’t devote three-quarters of your attention to hiding what you could accomplish?

It was stupid to compare the ever-possible Walter Gardley to the unattainable Duke of Clermont. Still, Minnie couldn’t help doing it. Gardley paled in every way. There was that hint of a paunch just above his belt, the lazy way he’d thrown himself back in his chair without waiting for Minnie to sit down first. There was what he’d said about her. He thought her a quiet little mouse who would stay where she was put. Who wouldn’t complain about his mistresses.

And then there were the things he didn’t do.

He didn’t make her belly flutter. He didn’t make her catch her breath. He’d never even pretended to flirt with her.

That’s not just a sense of tactics. That sounds like actual tactical training.

It was her entire future at stake. She couldn’t afford to be irrational. Every woman in her position would have to put up with imperfections in a mate. A bit of a paunch, a few women on the side—these were not things to trouble herself over. He wanted her because he believed she would be pathetically grateful. And he wasn’t wrong. She was grateful. She was pathetic. Wasn’t she?

“No,” Minnie heard herself say.

Gardley shrugged. “After Christmas, then—I assume you want to spend the holidays with your great-aunts? I suppose I can allow that much.”

She had spoken aloud in answer to her own question—No, she wasn’t pathetic. But speaking those words aloud brought clarity to the endeavor. He wanted her because he believed she was pathetic. And if she married him, she would be.

“You’ll allow me to choose the date of my own wedding?” she muttered. “How permissive of you.”

His head came up at that. “Permissive? Don’t think that because I grant you this that I will be an easy husband. I won’t, not in the least. If you try any tricks once we’re married, Minnie, I’ll toss you out. And we both know you have nowhere to go.”

She couldn’t breathe.

God, she couldn’t breathe.

Nothing he said came as a surprise. But she’d imagined that marriage—even to a man who made her skin crawl—would bring safety and security. In her own mind, marriage lasted forever. It had never occurred to her that someone else would see it differently.

If she married him, she would only become more desperate, not less. If the truth about her ever came out, he would turn her out, and never mind the marriage.

Minnie smoothed her hands on her skirt. “Mr. Gardley, that was a no to your entire proposal, not just to the wedding date. Thank you, but no.”

He frowned and rubbed his forehead. “Why would you say no?”

After that little speech of his? “You think I am quiet, meek, and biddable.” Even now, her voice was low, scarcely enough to fill on corner of the room. He moved; his seat creaked loudly. She could feel herself drowning in the noise of him.

He let out a forced little laugh. “Your womanly character, Miss Pursling, is your highest recommendation.” He leaned in. “Never think yourself weak because you are bendable.”

“Mr. Gardley, you are not listening to me.”

“The woman bends like a reed in the storm,” he continued, talking over her. “The man breaks like an oak.” He frowned. “Or is it supposed to be a beech tree? Yes, that’s it. In a strong wind, a man breaks like a beech.” He reached for her hand. “I chose you because you would understand my requirements, and because I believe you have the ability to execute them.”

Look up? No, the Duke of Clermont had it all wrong. She needed to look down. She’d allowed herself to believe that this man offered her some measure of safety. She suffered from too much optimism, not too little. Gardley had made it perfectly clear that he felt no loyalty to her. Where was the safety in that?

“That’s ridiculous,” Minnie said. “Women break like beeches, too. Why on earth do you imagine that I am so flexible, when I am refusing to marry you?”

“You’re…you’re refusing?” He frowned. “You can’t refuse. That was the whole point—” He coughed, grimacing.

“That was the whole point of telling your mother that you were courting me?” Minnie finished for him. “That you’d pick someone she approved of, someone so desperate she could not say no, even if you never bothered to exert yourself to win me over?”

He was silent. He wasn’t even man enough to look her in the eye and admit it. Finally, he shrugged sullenly. “What do you want? Should I take you driving a few times?”

Stevens still suspected her. The threat of exposure was as great as ever. But if she married Gardley, she’d never be safe. That realization terrified her more than ever. For so long, marriage had seemed a talisman. But it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t sure what was enough any longer.

She reached out and turned Walter Gardley’s face to hers. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes, and since his gaze kept shying away from her scar, it left him staring at the corner of her right cheek.

“No,” she said quietly. “I will not marry you.”

He looked utterly flummoxed. “But…but…what will you do?” he asked.

“BUT WHAT WILL YOU DO?” AUNT ELIZA ASKED, not quite thirty minutes later.

Minnie sat in the front parlor, her great-aunts seated on the sofa across from her. Eliza’s needles clacked as she carefully darned a stocking. Caro simply watched her with folded arms.

Always know the path ahead. That had been one of her father’s rules. Why she would cling to those now, after everything he’d done to her, she didn’t know. Maybe because forgetting them would make her childhood not just a result of lies, but false through and through. Still, Minnie shook her head.

“We want you to be happy,” Caro said. “And I would never tell you to have no ambition. But the trick is to want only an appropriate amount. If I yearned to be Queen of England, you see, I’d never be satisfied.”