Chapter Twenty-Nine

To my dearest Blanche Clementine,

Thank you for your letter clarifying the gossip surrounding your latest release. As always, your words were effective and phrased with care. I've long been an admirer of your work and thought A Dalliance for Miss Lorraine one of your finest novels yet. Entirely fictitious, yes, but an excellent piece of literature.

While your letter was factual in every way, it lacked context to provide the full tale. If nothing else, your readers appreciate a repentant hero as well as a good story, so please indulge me for a moment as I tell mine.

I can't point to the exact second I fell in love with you. It was likely something as simple as seeing you smile over the pages of a book. This feeling came upon me by degrees until loving you was as permanently ingrained as that scar on my hand (which I did not receive in a duel).

When you told me who you were, I acted like an [redacted]. I didn't respond like anyone's hero, least of all yours. Although I instantly regretted it, we both appreciate the power of words. Especially when used to judge, demean, and hurt.

My love, I hurt you. For me to detail my remorse, it would take all the newsprint in London.

I beg you to allow me to apologize in person. If there is any room in your heart for a second chapter, for us, please consider allowing me to be your hero.

I will be waiting where we met at eight o'clock in the evening this Friday. Should you decide to leave me to wait, I will respect your choice.

Yours in the truest sense,

Dorian Whitaker, Fifth Duke of Holland (and longtime Blanche Clementine reader)

"What are you going to do?" Constance asked.

Caro wiped away the tears that had begun as soon as she realized what she was reading. "Damn it, Dorian," she said, sniffling.

"He apologizes prettily, doesn't he?" Hattie put the kettle on and opened the cupboard where they kept the teacups. Hattie was right. This called for tea. When she opened the next cupboard and reached for the bottle of whisky, Caro wanted to laugh through her tears.

"He apologizes prettily and publicly," Constance said.

That wasn't by accident.

"It's a proposal is what it is." Hattie poured the whisky into the cups. "Tea is coming soon enough. This will hold us over till then." They sat at the small table in the kitchen with a fresh loaf of Aunt Mary's bread between them. It smelled like yeasty heaven. Caro sliced them each a piece and placed the butter crock where everyone could reach it.

"A duchess… mercy." Constance took a drink, then coughed. "There's a nice symmetry to it. Her letter countered by his letter. Think he put it in all the papers like you did?"

"Oh, I'm sure he did. The public nature is deliberate. Dorian knows I hated growing up feeling like everyone was watching me." She'd slathered her bread with butter, but now she just held it. Eating had been difficult this past week. Food sounded great until she took that first bite. Then her throat closed and her stomach churned. Caro handed the slice to Constance.

"Is he trying to be a prick, then?" Constance's posture shifted in a blink from relaxed to combative.

"He's giving me a taste of what it would be like to be his duchess. And he's doing it in a way that takes the pressure of judgment off me. If anyone is embarrassed by these public letters, it will be him. By telling everyone he loves me, he's protecting me during the speculation, not from the speculation."

"Not a prick, then. That's rather beautiful. No wonder you're a writer." Constance relaxed again before taking a bite of her bread.

"Holland is an intelligent man. He knows this will cause an uproar and is clearly prepared for it. Now that Caro's claimed her identity as Blanche Clementine, their relationship will inspire speculation beyond just the difference in their stations. Every time you publish a book, expect more attention. You've seen how many new customers we've had in the store since you told everyone who you are. That is a sampling of what is to come."

"Thank you for the increase in book sales, by the way," Constance said. "Father is positively giddy."

"Consider this carefully, Caro. That's what I am saying. If you don't want that life, no one will blame you. Even if you love him, it might not be worth it." Hattie fetched the kettle and went about the ritual of adding boiling water to tea leaves, then carried the pot to the table.

"I do love him."

"I thought love was worth anything," Constance said. "That's what I've always believed."

"It's not worth sacrificing a part of yourself," Hattie corrected gently, and Caro knew they were all recalling Connie's flight from the altar. "You have the cottage. Running away to live in obscurity in Kent while publishing delicious books is an option."

"True. Caro, you're awfully quiet." Constance nudged her hand.

"I'm thinking. You make excellent points. I'm not from his social sphere. I might never be accepted there. Claiming my pen name publicly means I've removed myself even further from the ton." Accepting Dorian's offer, although he hadn't stated a proposal in so many words, would make obscurity impossible.

Caro poured herself a cup, then sipped her whisky and tea. Mellow warmth seeped into her belly.

If she had Dorian by her side, would finding a way to live in his world be worth it? Maybe there was a compromise somewhere between the glittering ton and a tiny cottage.

"That man adores you and made sure everyone in London knows it." Constance topped off her whisky with a dollop of tea. "He is accepting the scandal and the speculation. Embracing it instead of running from it. The real question is, will you?"

Caro took a bracing sip. "I think the real question is if their opinions should matter more than my love for him."

"To love." Constance raised her teacup.

"To the duchess," Hattie said, raising hers.

They looked expectantly at Caro.

"To bedeviling the silver dragon for the remainder of her days."

Dorian clenched his fingers, then flexed them as he had been doing for the last thirty-five seconds.

He knew because he'd been counting.

Thirty-seven seconds now.

A deep breath in and out helped settle the pounding in his chest. Not entirely, but enough to keep the invisible iron bands around his ribs at bay. They'd been waiting to clench down and steal his air all day.

The gaslight cast a yellow hue on the wet cobblestones around him, barely cutting through the blanket of fog that crept and settled along the street. Another deep breath in, full of fresh rain and a trace of someone's meal from a home above one of the storefronts.

A bell tinkled, and relief swamped him. Caro stood in the doorway, wrapping her worn knit shawl around her shoulders.

Curls at her temples tightened into ringlets in the damp air.

"I had a speech prepared, and now I've forgotten it."

She cocked her head, offering a hesitant smile. "Then give me the pause instead. I don't need pretty, practiced words. Just honest ones."

More of the tension in his chest loosened. "I love you. I should have told you the instant I realized, but I was scared."

Her smile grew. "That's a good beginning."

"If you don't want to see me after tonight, I understand. And you won't have to see me, because the king wants me to go back to the Continent. I don't say that to make you feel like I'm going to run off to war if you tell me to go to hell. But you won't have to worry about me coming into the shop."

"Is that why you wanted to meet? To say goodbye?"

He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. "No. I don't want to go. I want to stay here with you. I want to make a life with you . However, declining the appointment risks repercussions. I'm trying to be forthcoming about everything we're up against right now." Heaving a sigh, he stared up at the sky. "I told you I had a speech prepared. It was a good speech." And it hadn't been a depressing list of the things keeping him up at night.

A small sound that might have been a laugh made him look back at her. "I don't know why I described your work that way. You were right to call me a hypocrite. Caro, you're incredibly talented." He reached out for her, then thought better of it and let his hand fall to his side. "I'm sorry for hurting you."

"Thank you." Her voice was rough and so sweet after thinking he may never hear it again. "I should have told you about the writing. I'd like to say the secret haunted me every day, but that wouldn't be true. I've hidden it for so long; talking about it feels strange. Not that it matters, but I had decided to tell you."

She was too far away to touch but close enough that when she licked her lips, the lamplight made them shine, and he ached for her. How tightly she clutched at the shawl told him she didn't want to be touched right now, so he kept his distance.

"My father found the tin where I kept the letters from my publisher and the royalties I'd saved. That's why he disowned me. Called me horrible names—some of which your mother echoed last time we saw each other."

Dorian winced. The finality of her reaction made even more sense now. In her shoes, he'd have done the same.

"I suppose what I'm saying is that I'm no stranger to judgment, so I hid that part of me—Blanche—because it was safer." It took all of his self-control to stay where he was and not engulf her in a proper hug.

"I don't ever want you to hide who you are from me. Or what you're thinking, or anything else. I love all of you, including Blanche Clementine."

"I love you too, you know. For so many reasons, Dorian. But I'm scared of what it means to be with you like this, where everyone can see. Especially now that I'm claiming my work. That part of me always felt closer to the surface when I was with you, and it will likely only grow stronger. Soon enough, I may just wander around your rooms naked all the time. Who knows!" She threw up her hands, and it was fucking adorable.

"The idea of missing the chance to watch you walk around naked all the time makes me want to rage and wail." Hope pulsed through him, daring him to take a step toward her. "One more reason to tell the king I won't return to the Continent. I can't risk missing that, no matter how petty Prinny might act over me telling the palace no."

She matched his step with one of her own. "What if I wanted to travel the Continent with you? Have you considered that?"

"I want you with me every day, everywhere. I don't care if that's Kent or Greece or Prussia. I'll beg if that's what it takes."

The speech he'd prepared might have been more dignified, but this was honest. When he dug in his pocket and retrieved the ring, his hand didn't shake. "My plan was to buy your cottage and bring you the key with this on a ribbon." The ring caught the light, and her eyes went wide. "Except, you're both the impressively talented Caroline Danvers and the wildly successful Blanche Clementine, so you'd already purchased the home of your dreams."

When he took another step, she met him with one of her own again. A foot or two of wet pavement separated them now as he held out the ring. "If I'd known about your father stealing your savings, I probably would have tried to get it from him, along with anything else of yours. But knowing you and your cousins—"

"We already tried. He spent it almost right away."

He nodded. "Right. You'd said you wanted something that was just yours. Something no one could take away from you. But I can't buy your home, and you earned back the money your father took. All I can… Caro, all I can offer is me." His voice was rough with emotion. "I'm yours. No one can take me away from you."

When she reached out a hand and cradled his jaw, he inhaled at the contact. His nose filled with the orange-blossom scent she dabbed on her wrists, and the lingering threat of the iron bands disappeared from his chest. "I've missed you," he said.

"Are you sure, Dorian?" She removed her hand, and he wanted to snatch it back, but she was counting obstacles and listing them on her fingers. "Shake my family tree as hard as you like, but you won't find so much as a mad baron. I won't stop writing. I love what I do, and the happiness I put out into the world has value. Not only is my family in trade, but I am proud of this shop, and my aunt and uncle. Dorian, I'm a walking scandal. Also, your mother hates me." She added that last bit as if it were an afterthought.

Swallowing around the hope clogging his throat, he clasped the hand of reasons she'd raised between them. "Caro, please wear my ring. Be my wife. Tolerate being my duchess." He placed a kiss on each fingertip. "As to my mother, I can't make promises, but I hope she will come around. If she doesn't, we will live in the cottage while she's in London. The rest of the year, she's in Bath. Of course, if we have children, she might melt entirely and worship at your feet like I do."

Caro grimaced. "I don't want the silver dragon at my feet, thank you."

His laugh echoed off the storefronts around them. "God, I love you. I truly do."

But she didn't join him in laughing. "Dorian, my mother died in childbirth. I'm not opposed to having babies, but you need to understand that I will be terrified until they're safely delivered."

Finally, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek atop her head. "We can't predict the future. Hell, I might die too soon, and then you'll have to wrangle my mother without me."

"If this is how you plead your case, you'd be a lousy barrister." Her jest was watery with tears, but he loved her all the more for the effort.

"We can wait to have children or hope for the best. I just want you. What else do you need in order to say yes?"

Caro pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. "Living in society with everyone watching will be taxing. I'll need my cottage as a retreat. And while I'm thrilled to support charities, I won't be the kind of duchess Juliet and your mother were."

"You'll be far too busy writing novels to scandalize the ton and set their bedsheets aflame." He grinned, hope nearly making him burst.

Her answering smile warmed him from the inside out. "You're really all right with Blanche?"

"I'll give copies away at our engagement ball."

She raised a brow. "Engagement ball?"

"Or we get married by special license. Or elope. I just want you , Caro. Although I do fancy the idea of introducing you to society as my bride and daring them to say an unkind word to our faces."

"No more hiding," she whispered.

"Because we have nothing to hide. Please, Caro. Marry me."

Slowly, she raised her hand, and he slipped the ring on her finger.

"And then the duke and duchess live happily ever after?" He placed a lingering kiss on her mouth.

"Of course." The smile she gave him transformed her face into a perfect heart shape. "I wouldn't write it any other way."