2. Chapter 2

Chapter two

The sound of Robert's blood coursing through his head filled his ears. To him, it was deafening. To the rest of the world, everything went on as usual.

He rapped the roof of the carriage to signal the coachman to be on his way.

How had that gone so very wrong? He had expected a quick acceptance and to wash his hands of the matter. Now he felt agitated, confused, frustrated, hot, and—to top it all off—deaf from the whooshing still filling his ears.

He was a duke, for goodness' sake. How could Miss Morgan even entertain the notion of refusing him? It did not matter if they did not have a relationship of sorts before this. It was not uncommon to go into marriage for practical reasons without first knowing the other person closely. In fact, Robert felt the opposite was less common. Not many couples could boast of a romance prior to betrothal.

And the questions. Why so many? Did she need to know why he had proposed? Wasn't the fact that he had proposed enough?

A thought sprouted in the back of his mind, taking a firm root as it grew. What if Miss Morgan told of his proposal to others? What if it became common knowledge that he had asked for her hand, only to have her refuse him?

He ran his finger along his leg, pressing the tip firmly into his thigh to help ease some of the tension coursing through his extremities. Perhaps tonight, once his mother had gone to bed, he would slip away to work through these feelings. Do the one thing that cleared his head and took him from his stuffy life. His stuffy clothes. His stuffy demeanor. His stuffy house and furniture. If only he could go now, but during the day there were too many prying eyes. It would simply have to wait.

Though waiting was not one of Robert's strong points. And the fact that he would now have to wait for Miss Morgan to decide was a thorn in his side. How long would it be? A day? A week? Heaven forbid, a month? Perhaps he should have given stipulations for his offer. Though, he really did not wish to look further for a wife. Miss Morgan had the attributes he desired. She knew her mind and held her chin high. Those were qualities a duchess needed to have. And little did she realize, he found her . . . intriguing. No, those dances were not coincidental. He had made his way toward her, carefully studying her and her interactions with others. And what he had discovered was she conversed effortlessly, did not withhold her opinions on matters and, when given, gave them strongly. She did not take offense easily. And the thing he found most intriguing about her . . .

She looked comfortable in her own skin.

Like she knew exactly who she was and what she wished to do and say. Robert found that mesmerizing. But he would take that to his grave. He was not going to be a foolish fop who sprouted off verses and demeaned himself. Instead, he had laid out all the practicalities a marriage to him would provide. His proposal was much like himself. Practical, organized, studious, and not given to dramatics. That's how a life with someone should begin. A hard foundation of understanding. Not some wobbly ramshackle built on falsely professed love.

The carriage came to a halt, and the coachman opened the door, allowing sunlight to slice across the dark interior. Robert didn't hesitate, exiting and striding toward the house with purpose. He couldn't second guess himself or his decisions now. The proposal to Miss Morgan was made. He only hoped she wouldn't keep him waiting long.

It had been a week, and still no word from Miss Morgan. Robert tapped his foot beneath his heavy wooden desk, removing his spectacles to rub his tired eyes. For a moment, he just stared unfocused at the papers littering the surface. Did he say something wrong during his proposal? It was very possible, but he refused to let the thought fester. No sense in ruminating on a circumstance that was over and done and could not be changed. Instead, he rose from his desk, leaving his uncomfortable spectacles behind as he walked to ease the tension in his legs.

His footsteps tapped out an even rhythm as he wound himself about Stonemoore's halls. The room Robert had chosen for his study was situated in a place where it could not easily be found by someone who did not know their way around the estate—which suited him quite nicely. While most of the ton chose to have their modest townhouses in the middle of London's elite neighborhoods, Robert's great grandfather had made the wise decision to have a more comfortable estate on the outskirts of town. Near enough for ease, but far enough to keep an element of privacy—something a duke often did not get.

Robert was so deep in his own thoughts he did not hear the second set of footsteps until his butler, Brooks, was close enough to reach out and touch his arm.

"Excuse me, Your Grace." He quickly removed his arm, clearing his throat as he gave a quick bow. "You received a calling card from Lord Wood, and I thought you would like to know about it as soon as possible."

Robert reached out and took the card, its small size belying the heaviness he felt in his palm as he stared at it. "Thank you, Brooks." He closed his hand over it, the sharp edges biting into his skin.

The old man said not another word as he turned and left.

Robert opened his hand again, finding the time on the card. One o'clock. He wasn't sure if the short notice was a relief or a burden as his chest tightened at the thought. If only he knew what the answer was, perhaps he could settle himself. But Miss Morgan's reaction to his proposal had not been what he expected, and thus, he did not dare make any assumptions about Lord Wood's visit today.

Robert made his way back to his study, where time seemed to rush by and lag all at once. He accomplished absolutely nothing—besides rearranging things on his desk to give his hands something to do.

Finally, a knock sounded on the door.

"Come in." Robert remained bent over his desk, pretending to scribble away on his foolscap before lifting his head as the door opened.

The door swung open silently and Brooks' familiar gray mop appeared. "Lord Henry Wood is here to see you, Your Grace. Where would you like to receive him?"

"Here is fine, Brooks." Robert dropped his quill into the inkpot on the corner of his desk, straightening in his chair.

Brooks disappeared and returned moments later with Lord Wood in tow.

Robert did not stand. "Lord Wood, please, have a seat." He gestured to the leather club seat on the opposite side of his desk, and Wood frowned as he sat. "I can imagine what you are here to discuss. At least, I hope I can because I would like this matter resolved."

Wood's head jerked up, his brow tight. "This matter resolved? You mean my sister's future?"

"Yes. And my own." Robert clasped his hands on the expansive wood desk. "Let us get straight to it."

Wood tilted his head away, but it wasn't enough to hide the slight roll of his eyes. "I have a few questions and things to say first, if you do not mind."

Robert nodded. "Very well." Though he would prefer an answer now .

"Why did you ask for Louisa's hand? Miss Morgan's," Wood quickly corrected.

Robert took a slow breath instead of loosing the sigh that burned his chest. "I told her this when I offered for her. Did she not inform you?"

"She apprised me of a few details, but my sister is not one to share much of herself, Your Grace. Which is why I am here. I want to be sure she is entering a situation that will be good for her future."

Robert lifted his chin. "She has accepted then?" His heart beat a bit harder.

"Not so fast." Wood scooted closer to the edge of his seat. "You still haven't answered my question."

"I will tell you what I told your sister. It is time I settled down with a wife, and I feel she would fit the role of duchess well."

Wood barked out a disbelieving laugh. "Louisa? I'm sorry, Your Grace. I believe you are mistaken on that count. She is not going to be some docile miss to walk in your shadow."

"Who said that is what I want?"

Wood narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"

Robert reached forward and adjusted the quill in its pot before clasping his hands again. "I appreciate her self-confidence and boldness. As a duchess, she cannot be timid or easily pushed over by others. She needs to know her place, in that she will be giving orders, not taking them."

Silence fell upon the room as Wood rubbed his chin. "You don't expect my sister to cower in your shadow?"

"No. I do not have plans to dominate her. My purposes in acquiring a wife are to satisfy my mother and to make social events a bit more bearable for me. I hope she can intercede for me when I would rather remain silent. From what I've seen of her, she will do that well."

"From what you've . . . seen of her?" Wood shook his head, squirming slightly in his seat. "Blazes, how did I not see any of this?"

"I'm a discreet man, which suits my preferences. I will allow your sister as much freedom as she desires as long as she does so in line with her station. Which, I also said to her when I proposed."

Wood let out a sigh, shaking his head yet again as he rubbed his palms against his eyes. "This is all very sudden. I have my own thoughts, but ultimately this is Louisa's choice. And she has decided to accept." Wood brought his eyes to Robert's, his gaze heavy with expectations.

"Very good." Robert moved some papers around his desk. His life had just changed in an instant and his hands searched for something to do. "I will have a contract drawn up. Is there anything you would like to stipulate?"

Wood stood, placing his palms on the edge of the desk, his shadow looming over Robert. "I expect you to treat my sister with the respect she deserves. If I find that is not the case, I will come to the premises and remove her immediately."

Robert stood, his head reaching several inches higher than Wood's. "No need for threats, Wood. As I have said, I have no plans for such things. If she wishes to leave for a visit, she needs only to clear that with our schedules. Otherwise, I do not care." He shifted several papers together, picking them up and tapping them into order. "I will have my solicitor draw up a contract. I feel you should be present to go over the details, and then we can sign it. How does that sound?" He looked up and Wood was about three shades paler. Interesting. All the fire seemed to have burned out of him.

Wood swallowed and gave a faint nod. "Very well."

Robert rang the bell on his desk. "Brooks will show you out. It is a bit of a maze to get back from here, and I would rather you not get lost."

"One last thing."

Robert placed the papers down. "Yes?"

"I would like your word that you will care for her."

"Of course. She will not starve on my watch."

"No." Wood's fingers turned white at the tips as he pressed them against the desk. "I want you to actually care for her. Notice her moods. Ask if she is doing well. See she is comfortable here. My sister hides things and I would hate for her to be living in misery and no one even knows . . . or cares."

"This is not a love match—"

"I know," Wood cut in, snapping his head up. "Trust me, I know. And for whatever reason, my sister seems fine with that. But for myself, and for my departed father's wishes, I am asking these things of you. It may seem impertinent, but I have to make that clear." Wood stuck his hand out. "Give me your word or this deal is off."

Robert stared at the proffered hand. What Wood was asking for wasn't much. Mostly making sure Miss Morgan was comfortable in her life and circumstances, which Robert had already planned on doing. He reached forward, taking Wood's hand. "You have my word."