Within one week following the masquerade, Stephen’s confidence had been shot to hell. Every morning he visited Ramsey’s Books, and every morning he was greeted by the male shop assistant who informed him that Miss Ramsey was indisposed. He had returned a few times in the afternoon, only to be met by the same young man who informed him that Miss Ramsey would continue to be indisposed indefinitely.
He had tried everything he could think of to smooth the way back into her good graces. He had penned notes only to have them returned unopened. He’d sent flowers and the finest sweets London had to offer—chocolates, marzipan, lemon drops. She kept the bouquets and the sweets, but remained frustratingly silent and unseen. He sent other gifts—kid gloves, shawls, a music box, a painted fan. Those also remained in her possession, but she never sent word that she wished to see or speak to him, and when he walked through the door of the bookshop, she was nowhere to be found. He knew she lived in the rooms above the shop—she had told him as much—but he was reluctant to intrude upon her privacy. However, short of marching up the back stairs and pounding at her door, Stephen was at a loss. He was running out of ideas.
He was also running out of hope.
His family sensed a change in him, and he often caught his mother watching him with confusion all over her face. He barely spoke, picked at his food during mealtimes, and only offered half-hearted responses when spoken to.
Was this what it felt like to have a broken heart? Now he better understood his mother’s behavior following his father’s death. He didn’t want to see anyone but her, talk to anyone but her. Food tasted bland and wine might as well have been water.
The rub was that Thalia was very much alive, and seemingly within reach. Yet she might as well have lived on another planet for how far away she felt.
“All right, I have had enough of this,” his mother said on the eighth day following the masquerade. “Something is wrong with you, Stephen. You haven’t been yourself.”
They were having dinner—he, his mother, and his uncle—and Stephen hadn’t touched his fish course and was busy pushing his soup course listlessly about his bowl.
“Leave the man alone, Sunita,” Philip chided, giving her a narrow-eyed look. “He is a duke with much responsibility. Perhaps there is simply a lot on his mind.”
“Nonsense,” his mother said with a sniff. “I know my son. This is more than that.”
Stephen stared at them both with bleary eyes. He hadn’t slept a wink last night and felt weary down to his bones. “It is nothing. I’ll be fine.”
His mother set her spoon in her bowl and speared him with one of her ‘looks.’ He knew what that look meant—had been on the other end of it many times.
“Stephen Alexander Warwick Conrad Dryden!”
Stephen groaned. She had used every one of his names—even the most ridiculous one, Conrad, which he loathed. There was no putting her off now. “Mother—”
“Don’t give me that tone. I know my son. Something is wrong with you. Are you ill? Shall I send for Dr. Hunter?”
“I don’t need a doctor, I’m in ridiculously good health.”
“Then something is troubling you.”
Issuing a sigh, Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose. Philip was watching him with concern knitting his brow. The man wasn’t as pushy as his mother, but he was definitely concerned.
“Fine,” he snapped. “You want to know what’s wrong with me? I met the perfect woman—the one I want to be my duchess.”
His mother’s face lit up with a wide smile. She practically bounced in her chair while clapping her hands in delight. “Well, that is wonderful news. Who is she? Do I know her? Is she one of the baroness’s daughters?”
Stephen gave a dry snort and shook his head. “God, no. You don’t know her, but you would love her. She is beautiful, witty, charming … strong. I … I’ve fallen in love with her.”
Philip was smiling now, and his mother looked as if she were about to swoon.
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” she demanded. “Tell us who she is. Have you proposed marriage yet? Of course you haven’t, I would know if you had. All of London would know. Oh, Stephen, this is excellent news!”
Stephen sat up straighter in his chair and prepared himself for her reaction to his revelation. “Her name is Miss Thalia Ramsey.”
His mother furrowed her brow and stared at the ceiling as if searching for something. “Ramsey … Ramsey? I do not believe I know that family.”
“No,” Stephen confirmed. “They are not of the ton.”
His mother’s eyes snapped back to him, and confusion gave way to outrage. “You must be joking. Stephen, please tell me this is some kind of joke.”
For the first time in over a week, Stephen grinned. “It isn’t. She is the proprietor of my favorite bookshop in Soho Square.”
His mother made a choked sound, clutching at the rope of pearls about her neck. “My God, I think I’m going to have a heart attack.”
Stephen rolled his eyes. “There is no need for dramatics. She is gracious and educated. Everything else she must know to be a duchess can be taught … just as it was taught to you.”
His mother came to her feet. “I was born of nobility and more than fit to become an English duchess. This … this woman is so far beneath you it is laughable.”
“Have a care,” Stephen warned, his voice low. “You’re referring to the woman I mean to marry. I would hate for you to say something regrettable … something that would cause me to remove myself from this house and never come back.”
The threat sent a look of devastation across his mother’s face. It pained him to do it, but she needed to understand how serious he was when it came to marrying Thalia.
“People will talk … they will snub her.”
“She will be a duchess. My duchess. No one would dare.”
“Of course they would dare!” his mother argued. “Have you any idea what the beau monde put me through when I first arrived here? Those first years would have been absolutely miserable if not for the love of your father and the gift of my son.”
Stephen frowned. “But you endured. You survived it and are better for it. Can you honestly say you regret it?”
Her shoulders sagged, her face melting into an expression of sorrow. “No, I do not regret it. I loved your father with all my heart, and without him I would never had had you.”
“Then wasn’t it worth it?” Stephen asked. “Of all people, I expected you to understand.”
“I do understand,” she argued. “It is because I understand that I worry you are making a terrible mistake. Your father and I weren’t blind. We knew how difficult it would be to go through life as a man from two different worlds. Half-English, Half-Indian … it would invite so much scrutiny. We loved one another too much to be separated, but that love would not protect us, or you, from scorn.”
Stephen chuckled. “I suppose now might be the best time for me to tell you that when I wed Thalia, your grandchildren will be even more variegated than I am. She is black.”
His mother pinched her lips together and exhaled slowly through her nose. “I am certain she’s a lovely woman. She must be for you to have fallen in love with her. But your father and I did not want you to suffer as we suffered. We didn’t want you taking on more hardship than you were already born with.”
“What hardship?” Stephen challenged. “I was born an earl. I became a duke a few years ago. People bow and scrape and simper in my presence. The mothers of society throw their daughters in my path—they don’t care what I look like or where my mother came from. The most difficult thing I ever endured was a single lad at Eton who didn’t want to play with me. He called me a heathen. I blackened his eye and never thought of it again. He now goes out of his way to kiss up to me whenever we cross paths. My life has been privilege heaped upon privilege. I have never wanted for anything … except love. Would you have me go without it for the sake of avoiding a few stares and whispers?”
His mother slumped back into her chair, her face pensive and her eyes shuttered. “No. I suppose not.”
“Good. Because either Thalia will be my duchess, or there will be no duchess at all. I’d rather die alone than choose someone else.”
Philip cleared his throat, drawing both their notice. “If that is the case, then why are you here sulking instead of going to Miss Ramsey and asking for her hand?”
Stephen blinked, somehow caught off guard by the question. It was a valid one. What was he doing here? Would he lie down and accept defeat because she had returned a handful of notes and wouldn’t make herself easily accessible? He would rather face her rejection over and over, in the hopes of getting through to her eventually, than wallow in his pain. She didn’t understand what he wanted for them—for her. He would make her understand.
Giving his uncle a smile, he laughed. “You know, Uncle, I have no idea!”
He was on his feet in an instant, determination filling him with energy and excitement. All was not lost. Until Thalia could look Stephen in the eye and say she wouldn’t marry him, he would not stop.
“If you will excuse me,” he said. “This cannot wait.”
His uncle nodded and returned his smile. “Good luck, nephew.”
“Go,” his mother said with a shrug of one shoulder. “She is a fool if she refuses.”
Stephen didn’t have time to waste. He whirled and fled the room, calling for his carriage to be readied. Along the way to the entrance hall, he raced to his study and opened his hidden safe. Within it were a collection of Westerfield family heirlooms. He had already selected the one he wanted Thalia to have. Placing the small cedar box into his breast pocket, he ran from the house and practically threw himself into the carriage.
Thalia turned the page of her book, though she hadn’t registered a single word. If she didn’t at least appear to be reading, her mother and sister would be concerned. It was bad enough that Stephen had filled their small flat with his numerous gifts. The sitting room still smelled like flowers, though two of the bouquets had long wilted and been done away with. The biggest one—a gigantic vase filled with red hothouse roses—graced the table at the center of the room. The other trinkets and things had been stored in her room, though she was determined not to make use of them. Theo had been begging for the kid gloves and fan all week.
“Someone ought to wear them if you will not,” she insisted. “And if you don’t want whatever man sent them, perhaps you could arrange an introduction. I’m ready to marry him this instant, sight unseen.”
Thalia had merely shaken her head at her young, flighty sister. If not for the fact that she didn’t want to crush Theo’s dreams, Thalia might have told her just how much it hurt when the veil was ripped from over one’s eyes. What had begun as the most romantic night of her life—hell, the only romantic night of her life—had ended with a heavy dose of hurtful reality.
When the agreement had been made for a single night, Thalia had thought of it as a gift—as something to be cherished once and never repeated. Stephen—no, Westerfield—had a life of his own to live. He had a title and lands to look after, and a real lady to court and eventually make into his duchess. He had an heir to produce. Thalia had her family and Ramsey’s Books, and a position in society that meant she must remain in her place.
While she had occasionally hoped for more, she wasn’t desperate enough to allow the position of a duke’s mistress to be her new place. Every time she thought of Stephen’s offer, her chest squeezed tight and her heart throbbed with a pain that hadn’t lessened a bit since that night at Vauxhall.
How could she have been so wrong about him? In all the time he had been coming into her shop, Thalia had seen only his charm and the veneer of kindness. She’d been seduced by the way he talked to her as if she were his equal, the way he laughed at her quips. Apparently, Theo wasn’t the only one who had a lot to learn about the world. She had been naive and acted rashly; now she would now suffer for it.
It didn’t matter that she had surrendered her innocence. The choice had been hers, and she supposed the right man wouldn’t care that she would come into marriage having already experienced intercourse. Stephen’s thoughtfulness had at least ensured she would not bear his child.
Had she agreed to become his mistress, Thalia might find herself tucked away in some lavish townhouse, raising his illegitimate children while he spent most of his time with the babes his duchess would bear. She would live to await his arrival, desperate for even the smallest shred of his affection.
Perhaps if she were destitute and had no other recourse, Thalia might have been grateful for the offer. She might have accepted it without second thought for the sake of a roof over her head and a bed to sleep in. But her father had provided well, and she had everything she needed to live a contented life.
Except, of course, someone to love. Thalia had thought she loved Stephen. Some nights, when she lay in the dark reliving their passionate moments, she heard a whisper from the recesses of her mind insisting that she still did. She was hurt and she was angry, but Thalia couldn’t forget the evening in its entirety. He had charmed and dazzled her in the surroundings of the gardens, making her believe that her dreams could someday be real.
Now she knew better and must move on with her life. It was the only thing to do.
Glancing over the rims of her spectacles, Thalia found Theo watching her from near the fire, that dratted etiquette book resting in her lap. She had asked about Vauxhall numerous times, but Thalia found it too difficult to speak of without thinking of Stephen, so she had offered only the barest information. Theo seemed to sense that something was wrong, and had been quiet ever since the masquerade. Fortunately, Theo eschewed her usual propensity for meddling, leaving Thalia alone to wallow in her sorrow.
Their mother had dozed off in her favorite chair, a lap rug draped over her lap. Looking at her, Thalia had a moment of regret thinking of all the creature comforts Stephen might have offered them. As his mistress, she could have demanded Theo and their mother be allowed to live with her. Servants could wait on her hand and foot, and she would never have to spend her days cooking, tidying, or sewing for Theo and Thalia ever again.
Shaking her head, Thalia dismissed the thought. She had been diligent with her savings. Perhaps she could hire someone to lend her mother a hand. She would find a way to make that happen without having to sell herself in the process.
A sudden knock on the door jolted their mother out of her sleep, and sent Thalia’s book crashing to the floor as she shot to her feet. She traded puzzled glances with Theo, who shrugged as if to indicate she wasn’t expecting any visitors.
“Who could that be at this hour?” she murmured while bustling toward the door. Patting her hair, she bemoaned its messy state. She had taken very little care with her appearance this week, simply pinning her hair into haphazard coiffures and wearing her most worn and comfortable gowns.
Swinging the door open, her mouth fell open as she found the last person she would have expected. He looked windblown and rumpled, his cravat askew and his hair tousled. It annoyed her that despite this, he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen.
“Thalia,” Stephen said, bracing a hand on the door before she could slam it in his face. “I regret our misunderstanding. I have tried to give you time and didn’t want to come barging up here to disturb your peace, but I can bear this no longer.”
“Stephen, now is not a good time,” she whispered.
He glanced past her for the first time, noticing that her mother and sister were staring at him with curious eyes. Clearing his throat, he offered a bow. “I beg your pardon, ladies. I did not mean to interrupt your evening.”
Thalia’s mother was on her feet, already bustling toward the kitchen. “Nonsense. Thalia, stop being so rude and allow your guest through the door. Theo, help me with the tea tray.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mama,” Thalia said. “This will only take a moment.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Theo chimed in, her gaze raking over Stephen with curiosity and interest. She knew an aristocrat when she saw one, and seemed to be mentally planning the rest of her life around Stephen walking through their door.
Thalia sighed, realizing she had no choice. She couldn’t allow her mother and sister to know what had happened between them. “Stephen, this is my mother, Mrs. Henrietta Ramsey, and my sister, Miss Theodosia Ramsey. Mother, Theo … this is Stephen Dryden … the … the Duke of Westerfield.”
Theo dropped her book and issued a loud gasp, while their mother clapped a hand over her bosom.
Theo recovered first, issuing a curtsy that had taken weeks before a mirror to perfect. “We are honored that you would visit our home, Your Grace.”
Their mother snapped out of her silent stupor and quickly followed suit—though her curtsy didn’t hold a candle to Theo’s. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.”
Stephen waved a hand. “Please, there is no need for that. Thalia and I are friends of a sort, and I would be delighted if you would call me Stephen.”
“No,” Thalia protested. “They will not call you Stephen. They will say farewell, and you will leave. Now.”
But Stephen was already over the threshold, and Thalia knew she wasn’t strong enough to budge him. “Not until you hear me out. You had much to say the last time we saw one another, but I never said my piece. If you still wish to put me out after I am finished, I will accept that. But I cannot leave until I’ve said what I came to say.”
Yet again, Thalia was left with no recourse. They were causing a scene, and soon she wouldn’t be able to hide what any of this was about.
“Thalia, what’s going on?” her mother asked, her anxious eyes flitting from Thalia to the duke and back again.
“Everything is fine, Mother,” Thalia replied. “Would you and Theo excuse us for a moment? The duke and I have something to discuss.”
Theo protested, but their mother took her arm and hauled her from the room. They disappeared into the room the two sisters shared, quickly shutting the door behind them. Thalia could only imagine what was being discussed inside.
She turned to face Stephen, her lips set to give him what for. Before she could make a sound, Stephen was on her, yanking her into his arms and pressing his mouth to hers. She stiffened, but he melted her far too easily. Her lips yielded to his, seeking and searching, tingling with sensation. Her stomach twisted itself in knots, and her heart pounded against her breastbone.
Pushing him away, she drew in a deep breath and steadied herself. “No. This cannot happen. You made your offer and I refused. I have not and will not change my mind. If you wish me to return the gifts you sent, I will gladly gather them for you right now.”
“What I gave is yours regardless of what happens here tonight,” he said, jaw stubbornly set. “I would give you so much more, Thalia. I would give you the world if you let me.”
Anger made her palms itch to strike him and sent heat flaring up from her middle. “I have already told you that I am not an object to be bought!”
“For the love of God, woman, I’m not trying to buy you!” he bellowed. “I’m trying to marry you!”
Deathly silence fell over the flat. Then, through the door, Thalia heard her sister squeal with delight. Shaking her head, Thalia frowned, certain she couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“Marry me? But … but you said …”
“I phrased my words poorly, and for that I apologize. What I should have said is that the night of the masquerade I realized I am quite madly in love with you.”
Thalia’s mouth gaped open, and she scrambled for words. “But you can’t be … it was only one night … we …”
“Have known one another for years,” he said with a smile. “I was too blind to see it, or perhaps I never allowed myself to consider the possibilities because we seemed to be worlds apart. At least, that’s what I thought when I considered myself a duke and you a bookshop owner. But my eyes were opened that night, Thalia, and I saw us as we really were—a man and a woman who were made for each other. There are hundreds of bookshops and libraries in London, yet I return to yours week after week, even when your selection isn’t as plentiful as the others. Haven’t you ever wondered why?”
Thalia felt on the verge of collapse. Her palms had broken into a sweat and now that her anger was dissipating, disbelief was taking over. “I suppose I never thought of it.”
Stephen smiled and took hold of both her hands. “It was you. It was your smiles and our witty bantering. It was the sweet way you wrinkle your nose when reading the titles on the spines. It was the way you moved, with grace and poise but also with purpose and strength. It was the way you looked at me, as if you could see past the title. As if you knew me.”
She did know him. Thalia had realized the night of the masquerade that they knew each other better than she’d thought. She knew his favorite books and authors, his favorite poem. She knew that he took great care not to damage the spines or covers of his books because he cherished them. She knew that he was averse to daisies, because he’d collapsed into a sneezing fit when a vase of them rested on her counter.
She knew she loved him, and always had.
“Stephen,” she whispered. “You cannot truly mean to marry me. If it is because of …” she lowered her voice and her eyes, face flushing hot. “If it is because of what we did, I can assure you I expect nothing because of it. I made my choice and do not regret it.”
“That isn’t the reason I want to marry you,” Stephen said, raising her hands to his lips and kissing the back of each one with such reverence she nearly wept. “I want to marry you because I love you. Because you are the only person who showed me who she really was instead of presenting what you thought would appeal to a duke. I want to marry you because you make me smile and laugh. I want to marry you because I want you so badly I feel as if I’m burning up from the inside, and I will die if I cannot have you.”
Now she really was weeping, tears, sobbing, hiccups—the works. “Stephen … I love you, too.”
He closed his eyes and rested his lips against her brow. “Thank God. I would have worked to earn your heart if you weren’t yet prepared to give it. But you love me?”
“I do,” she confessed. “I have for a long time, before I ever knew you were aware of me. I longed for you, I pined for you. I never allowed myself to believe that anything could come of it.”
“Something has come of it. Marry me.”
Swiping at her tears, she backed away from him. “You cannot make me your duchess. I know nothing of being a lady, and even less about the ways of the nobility. I would be an embarrassment to your family.”
“You would be my pride and joy. Besides, being an aristocrat isn’t difficult at all. You simply look down your nose at people and raise one eyebrow, perhaps while peering through a quizzing glass … like this.”
Thalia sputtered a giggle as he straightened and tipped his head, giving her a chilling look down the bridge of his nose. The effect was ruined by the almost maniacal lift one of dark eyebrow, making him look like some caricature of a gothic novel villain.
“See?” he said with a chuckle, using his fingers to dash away one last tear. “I can teach you, and no one would dare speak a word against you. But more important than you being my duchess is the fact that I want you to be my wife. My partner. My lover. The mother of my children. My best friend.”
Thalia drew in a sharp breath as he reached into his coat pocket, coming out with a box that fit in the palm of his hand. Her knees went weak as he sank to one knee, and it took every bit of her strength to keep from collapsing.
The ring he revealed was brilliant gold with a large, square-cut ruby as its center. The tiny diamonds flanking it sparkled in the light of the lamps.
Thalia put a hand over her mouth as she stared at the extravagant ring. She had never seen anything so costly or precious in her life. “Stephen … my God, it’s beautiful.”
“It’s yours,” he said, staring up at her with pleading in his eyes. “And so am I if you will have me. So are all the things I possess—my title, my lands, my heart and soul. Marry me, Thalia. Let me care for you and your family, and make you happy for the rest of your days.”
Thalia went to her knees with a sob and threw her arms around him. “Yes!”
Stephen embraced her, holding her so tight she could barely breathe. But Thalia didn’t need to breathe, for the sweet kiss he bestowed on her provided all the air and light and life she needed.
He helped her to her feet, and they stood there staring at one another and grinning like a pair of imbeciles. Thalia had been about to speak, but a loud crash from the other side of her bedroom door made her nearly jump out of her skin.
The door swung open to reveal Theo, who was grinning from ear to ear. The walls were so thin, Thalia didn’t doubt every word had been overheard.
“What was that?” Thalia asked, fingers intertwined with Stephen’s. He had placed the ring on her left ring finger, and its weight served as a reminder that this was real.
Theo glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at them with a laugh. “Oh, it’s nothing. Mother has fainted.”