“Because if you think her lovely—something only to preserve—you won’t be saving her, you’ll only be trading whatever kind of prison she currently faces for another.”
He searched his mother’s face. “You think being married to me would be a prison?”
“Of course not.” She reached out and cupped his cheek, as she often did when he was a child. “The lady who wins your devotion will be very lucky, indeed. But marriage is…”
“Yes?”
“Long. And intractable. And it will change and challenge you. You need something to hold onto to survive. And that thing is a deep and abiding love. Promise me you will only marry her if you truly love her.”
“How can I tell?” He hadn’t meant to ask, but now that he had, he couldn’t be sorry.
His heart thundered in his ears as he waited for her response. Hearing his mother’s answer felt vitally important.
“Before you ask her for her hand,” his mother said carefully, “ask yourself if you can make an honest pledge to do all you can to help her thrive. No matter what they profess, most men don’t hesitate to smother a woman’s true nature.”
In his mother’s grave expression, he read thousands of long, lonely nights.
He’d known she’d been unhappy, but to see that laid bare in her eyes in the context of his future hopes was devastating.
“Go, do what you must.” She turned away. “Just promise me you will answer my question honestly, if only to yourself.”
“I promise I will return tomorrow, and then, we will go over everything we’ve learned. But don’t expect me back tonight.”
“I won’t.” She smiled with affection. “Good luck.”
He desperately needed luck.
If love was the same protective surge that had followed John’s pale-faced frantic confession, the same pledge-all feelingafter he’d first been pinned with the Neville coronet, then he did love Millicent Wainwright.
He felt for Millie the same devotion-fueled commitment, whole-hearted dedication he pledged to everything that mattered—an earnest offering of every skill, talent, and resource he possessed.
But would Milliethrivefrom such devotion?
Or would binding her to him be the most selfish thing he’d ever done?
*
Somewhere, at thefront of the house, Millie heard metallic squeals. Several rounds of incessant banging followed—the knocker being removed from the door.
The drapes had been drawn, the staff had been ordered to their rooms, and Millie’s family—Harbury and Cassie, Adrian and Eliza, Sarah—had gathered in the library. Only Emily, Nettie and Lenora were missing, and Mrs. Vane had gone to D’Acre House to be with them.
Mercy, Cassie and Harbury’s treasured King Charles spaniel, had been too distressed by the tension in the room and had to be taken up to the duke’s bedchamber. Millie, too, had wished to be “alone” with her thoughts before Neville arrived, and so purposely and forcefully declined both her sisters’ worried attentions.
Her thoughts remained jumbled.
All she could do to keep herself sane was to follow her loved ones’ conversation as they discussed which fake illness to give the doctor waiting for Harbury in the parlor.
“Measles,” Cassie suggested.
Harbury arched a brow. “Much as I anticipate spending time under your care, my dear duchess, you and I would both go mad if we were quarantined here for weeks.”
“True,” Cassie acknowledged. “We don’t have as many books here as at Harbury Hall.”
“Besides,”—Harbury ran a finger along his lower lip—“this afternoon, when Neville was telling me about—” He met Millie’s gaze and stopped. “As Neville was discussing a concern of his, he mentioned some difficulties he is experiencing. I don’t want to besoindisposed I am unable to offer my help, should things come to a head.”
Millie frowned. Aconcern?
A concern in addition to tonight’s events?