"What did you say?" Rosalyn felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I joked that I would marry the first man who walked into the garden." Her father stopped pacing.
His face turned dark. "And he took that seriously?" "Yes." Her father's voice became cold.
"That was reckless. Childish." She looked down. "I know." Her mother touched her arm gently.
"Rosalyn, dear, you cannot marry the Duke. No respectable man would propose under such strange circumstances." Rosalyn looked at the tablecloth, her voice soft. "He is very serious."
Her father scoffed. "A man like him is never serious about anything except power. He must have some hidden motive. Land, money, influence."
"He already has all of that," Rosalyn said quietly. Her father began pacing again. "Then perhaps he seeks control." Her stomach twisted slightly because a part of her feared he might be right.
Yet another part believed something else entirely. The Duke wanted honesty, not power. He wanted a wife who expected nothing from him, someone who would not ask for affection he could not give. She did not know if that made things better or worse.
Her mother leaned closer. "Rosalyn, my dear, do you want this marriage?" Rosalyn hesitated. Her heart whispered, No.
Her mind whispered, Maybe. Her choices whispered, Escape. "I want freedom," Rosalyn said softly.
"And he offers that." Her father stopped pacing. "Freedom," he repeated. "You believe a Duke will give you freedom?"
"You think marriage to such a man will bring peace?" "No," Rosalyn said. "But it might bring safety." Her father grew still.
"From whom?" Rosalyn met his eyes. "You know who." Her mother looked away.
Her father's jaw tightened. The merchant he intended to marry her to was powerful, wealthy, and unbearably cruel in the way society allowed men to be. The Duke, cold as he was, had at least shown her respect. A knock struck the front door.
Three loud, deliberate knocks. Her mother gasped. Her father straightened his jacket. Rosalyn felt her heart jump into her throat.
"He is early," her father muttered. "This is not a good sign." Servants moved quickly through the hall. The door opened.
Rosalyn heard the deep voice even before he stepped inside. "His Grace, the Duke of Blackthornne," the butler announced. Rosalyn stood as the Duke entered the dining room. He looked exactly as he had the day before, composed, dark, and impossible to read.
His presence filled the space with a strange gravity. Her mother curtsied. Her father bowed stiffly. The Duke turned to Rosalyn, bowing slightly.