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“You’re being obstinate,” the dowager said bluntly.

Theo barely managed to stop herself from screaming. She was being obstinate? She’d gone over the whole sordid tale for the dowager and Abigail—well, leaving out the scandalous bits, of course. All the while, the dowager silently watched on with those unnerving dark eyes of hers. They made Theo feel naked, like the woman could see all of Theo’s fears and worries. But if the woman was so perceptive, she wouldn’t be sitting here trying to convince Theo to marry her grandson when Theo had made it exceedingly clear numerous times that that was the exact opposite of what Theo wanted.

“I don’t know what else to say, Your Grace. This feels impolite to say in a room with two duchesses, but the last thing I’d ever want to be is a duchess. I’d go so far as to say I’d be beyond aggrieved if I had to become one.”

The dowager waved that away. Theo blinked. How did she just wave that away? It was an extremely important detail.

“No one becomes a duchess because they want to. Please keep up.”

Theo gaped.

The dowager gestured to Abigail. “Trust me, dear, this wasn’t something Abigail or myself wanted either. We had no choice in the matter. There are very few ton marriages, especially at the ducal level, that are not arranged or bought or transactional. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Not even close,” Theo said faintly.

“You’d be marrying because of your fondness for my grandson. Because you want to marry him.”

“But I don’t want to marry your grandson.” They were talking in circles. Theo was losing the last threads of sanity she had left. None of this made any sense, and they weren’t making any progress. “I don’t even understand why you want me to marry His Grace. Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to be trying to convince someone who…doesn’t even need convincing in the first place?” Her stomach rebelled violently, and she couldn’t hold back her flinch. Oh God. She couldn’t even entertain that thought.

“That’s exactly why I’m trying to convince you.”

Theo opened and closed her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Let me ask you a question, Miss Dawson. What do you see when you look at my grandson?”

Theo paused. She glanced at Abigail, who only lifted a perplexed shoulder. Theo looked back at the dowager. The woman arched a slim brow. A brow that nearly had Theo shifting on her feet. The dowager might be slight and small, but her presence commanded attention.

“Come now,” the dowager prodded. “It is a simple question.”

Theo let out a small huff she really should have kept to herself, but the woman was impossible. The dowager’s lips twitched, which only made Theo want to huff more. Instead, she focused on the question. Her thoughts trailed back to when she’d first met Rafe, the first time he stepped foot in her office.

He’d been…everything and nothing like she’d expected.

“I see…complexity,” she said slowly. “A guardedness that hides gentleness. Silence that hides wit and intelligence. Strength, but not just in the obvious sense, not just because of the physical fortress he is, but because of the resilience he possesses.” Her throat tightened, and she frowned against the burn building behind her eyes. “It is a paltry word and does not do him justice, but he is good, Your Grace. He’s a good man. Has a good heart.”

Her voice softened. “Despite all the horrors he has faced, despite the fact that he shouldn’t be. He is good. He is…remarkable.”

Silence settled over the room, but Theo refused to look at the dowager or Abigail. Her throat worked as she tried to swallow, even as it tried its damnedest to close over.

“Interesting,” the dowager finally murmured. “Do you know what the rest of the world sees? The only thing they see. Something you failed to mention on your list?”

Theo waited, glaring at the rug.

“A duke, Miss Dawson. When you look at him, you don’t see a duke, do you?”

Theo slowly shook her head. No. She saw a man. That’s what he was. The world stopped seeing people. They saw titles and class divides; they saw occupations and servants; they saw marriage prospects and vessels for breeding. They never saw the people who made up all those things.

“That is the last reason I’d want anyone to marry my grandson. There are hordes of women out there who’d require absolutely no convincing to marry Raffy. Not a single one of them deserves that privilege.”

“I’m a commoner. I’m nobody of consequence…” She swept her hands down herself. “I wear trousers. I don’t believe I’m exactly the crème de la crème when it comes to marital prospects. Not that I mind. I like me.”

She loved her life. Exactly how it was. Especially when it’d been simple. No feelings. No talks of marriage. Just days working in her office, meeting with tenants and contractors, seeing the people she cared about every day—Bash, Perry, Abigail, Leo…and then going back to her cottage every night…to him. It was as perfect as it’d ever been. That was what she wanted.

“Did you know, I thought you were a man?”

Theo blinked dumbly. “Pardon me?”

The corner of the dowager’s lips curled up. “Yes. When I read one of your letters to him…I detected familiarity. There were obvious hints of a spurned lover. And my grandson wasn’t just nursing the wounds from his curricle accident after he awoke. I had no idea you were a woman—as most stewards are not.”