“No,” Anthony agreed. “But staying here will not either.”
“I must insist,” Lord Powell said, “that we discuss the timeline.”
They were walking in Hyde Park, Lewis several paces ahead with Esther, providing the illusion of privacy while remaining well within view. It was the third such outing in as many days, and Caroline was beginning to understand that Powell’s initial pleasantness had been a performance.
This careful pushing was the reality beneath it.
“The timeline,” she repeated.
“For our engagement.” He said it as though the matter was already settled, as though her brother’s approval and his own interest were the only votes that mattered. “I would like to announce it soon. Perhaps at the Pemberton ball?”
The Pemberton ball was in two weeks.
“Lord Powell,” Caroline said carefully, “I have not agreed to marry you.”
He laughed. It was a light, dismissive sound, the kind of laugh men gave when women said things they did not wish to hear. “Of course not. Not formally. But your brother has given his blessing, and I have been assured that you are amenable to the match.”
This made Caroline visibly bristle. “Assured by whom?”
“By your brother, naturally. He speaks very highly of your competence and agrees that a match between us will be advantageous.” Powell’s hand tightened slightly on her arm—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind her that he was holding it. “And I am certain, once we are married, that you will be very happy at Linfield Park. It is a fine estate. You will want for nothing.”
Except freedom…or choice, or any semblance of the life she had glimpsed during those nights with Anthony.
She thought of the list, completed and abandoned in her desk drawer.
Six items. Six nights. Six glimpses of a world she would never be allowed to inhabit. And nowthis: a man who spoke of marriage as though it were a business arrangement, who measured herworth in dowry and connections, who had already decided what her life would look like without once asking what she wanted.
“I need more time,” Caroline said.
Powell’s expression tightened. “More time? Lady Caroline, I have been more than patient. I have called on you; I have been respectful of your family’s wishes; I have conducted this courtship with the utmost propriety.”
“And I appreciate that?—”
“But time is not something I have in abundance. My estate requires a mistress. I require a wife. Your brother has assured me that you understand this.”
There it was again:I require.Not “I would like,” or “I hope,” or “I wish.”“I require.”As though she were a piece of furniture he needed to complete his household.
Caroline pulled her arm free from his grasp forcefully. “Lord Powell, I must be clear: I have not agreed to this match, and I will simplynotbe rushed into a decision of this magnitude.”
His expression shifted instantly, the pleasantness vanished, replaced by something harder. “I see. Your brother led me to believe?—”
Caroline arched a regal brow. “My brother does not speak for me in this matter.”
They had stopped walking. Lewis and Esther, several paces ahead, had not yet noticed.
Powell looked at her with the cold, assessing attention of a man recalculating his investment. “I would advise you, Lady Caroline, not to mistake patience for weakness. I have been accommodating. I can cease to be so.”
The words were not quite a threat. They were something worse: a promise.
Before she could respond, Lewis turned back and called out, “Caroline? Is everything well?”
Powell’s expression smoothed instantly into pleasantness. “Perfectly well, Your Grace. Lady Caroline and I were simply discussing the upcoming Pemberton ball.”
Caroline said nothing. She smiled, because that was what was expected, and allowed Powell to take her arm again, all the while feeling the cold weight of understanding settle in her chest.
This was what her life would be like. This man. This estate. This careful, constant negotiation of how much of herself she would be required to surrender.
And Anthony—who had kissed her like she mattered, who had looked at her paintings with genuine interest, who had sent her away because he thought it was the right thing to do—wassomewhere in London, living his life, and she would never see him again.