Page 104 of A Murder at Kew Gardens

“Such as?”

This was not going as well as I anticipated. At the very least, I’d expected her to be pleased. Not this inquisition. No matter. I would push through. “Well, with Cosmos marrying Lady Edmunds—Claire—she becomes mistress of Rosehaven House and the Yorkshire manor. She will take the place you now hold. You enjoy running this household. I have watched you do it. If we married, you’d have your own. Several of them, as a matter of fact—Steele House, Thornburn Abbey, the Belgravia townhouse, the⁠—”

She raised a hand to stop me. “You’ve made your point.”

“Also, the upbringing of your brother and sisters will fall to her. Fox. Laurel. Holly and Ivy. The schoolroom. Chrissie’s social life. All of it. She will take on that duty.”

“The transfer of that responsibility is not imminent as Claire is currently indisposed with the joys of impending motherhood.” A small dry note entered her voice. “But yes, you’re correct on the principle. It will go to her at some point.” She gestured once more for me to proceed. “Go on.”

Here I was on stronger ground. “Last, but not least, you would hold one of the highest ranks in society as the Duchess of Steele.”

She arched a brow. “Anything else?”

I glared at her. “Isn’t that enough?”

“What about children? Is that on offer?”

The sticking point. I had crafted a response that, I believed, would satisfy her.

“In time,” I said.

“That’s a rather nebulous answer, Your Grace.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “How long would you need? Weeks, months, years? Until I’m old enough that children would no longer be a possibility?”

I had seriously miscalculated my approach. She wasn’t grateful. She was furious.

For several moments, she wandered about the room, seemingly without purpose, pausing once to run a finger along the edge of a table. I thought she was composing herself.

I should have known better.

“Do you remember the Cholmondley-Smith ball?”she asked turning toward me.

“I do.” How could I forget? She’d dressed me down in front of the entire assembly for a transgression I hadn’t committed.

“Lord Selfgren was there. He’s looking for a new wife. Sadly, Lady Selfgren passed away a year ago. He is wealthy. Not as wealthy as you, granted, but wealthy enough. And he’s an earl. I would be Lady Selfgren, and I would have a household to manage. I forget where the seat is. Somewhere in Hampshire, I think. He has children—a boy and a girl. He was very warm in his accounting of their accomplishments. He wants a wife who can manage their upbringing and provide more children. And she must possess a superior intellect. Surely, you can agree that I have that quality. That is a more attractive offer than the one you have given me.” She turned for the door. “I think I shall write him immediately and ask him to call.”

I crossed the room in three strides, put my palm flat against the door she’d already managed to open, and slammed it shut. “No. You won’t.”

She did not flinch. Instead, she turned, leaned back against the door, and glanced up at me. “Well, Your Grace.” Her voice was very level. “Can you match his offer?”

I broke. “Damn you. Damn you to hell.”

A slow smile rolled across her lips. “I’ll gladly go there if you’ll come along with me.” An echo of what I’d said weeks ago.

I leaned down until our gazes clashed. “Before I met you, I had an orderly existence. I rose, I went to the fencing academy, I attended to estate business, I sat at the House of Lords, I discussed important issues at my club, and then I would come home where I would enjoy a pleasant dinner before I sought my rest. I knew what each hour of every day contained. I never missed a vote. I never lost a brief. I was a man who could be relied upon to be where he was expected to be, doing what he was expected to do.”

“Surely, nothing prevents you from continuing along those lines, Your Grace.”

“I don’t want that orderly existence anymore. I want the chaos, the light, the sheer madness you bring into my life.” I grabbed her shoulders. “I want you.”

“And I want children, Steele.” Her voice had softened. “Your children. That’s the only way you can have me.” And then, devil that she was, she drove home the point. “But if I can’t have yours, I’ll settle for Selfgren’s. After all, they’d be half mine.”

“The hell you will.”

The Alice months had come back to me on the walk across Grosvenor Square. She’d been eighteen when we married, not only young but innocent in the ways of men. She wasn’t eager for motherhood. She wanted to wait a few years before I gave her a child. I’d agreed to wait. For three months, I’d been careful. And then one night, I’d had too much to drink. Not enough to incapacitate me, but enough to forget to mind what I did. Weeks later, Alice had come to me in tears. Her maid had told her she was with child. God help me, I’d rejoiced. I’d puffed out my chest and strutted with pride, hoping for a male heir to continue the Steele line. Several months later, she had died in childbirth and the child along with her. I’d spent a decade crushed by that guilt and vowed never to put another woman in that position again.

But Rosalynd was not Alice. Rosalynd was made of sterner stuff. Still, the calculation was the same. Childbirth was a perilous thing for a woman, and I had no way to be certain it would resolve differently. What I had was the certainty that I could not stand on the other side of any door from her any longer. But⁠—

“I need more time to come to terms with the issue of children.”