Page 60 of The Lion Duke's Proposal
"It was practical," Julia said. "My father is in the city."
"It was chivalrous," her aunt said, with the gentle certainty of a woman who had made up her mind and saw no reason to revisit it. "The proposal was chivalrous. The move to London is chivalrous. I will hear no other interpretation."
"The proposal was a solution to a problem," Julia said pleasantly. "He is a man who identifies problems and solves them. I happened to be adjacent to one."
"I think he likes her."
"What makes you say so, Georgia?" Poppy asked, before Lady Bendon could redirect her.
Georgia looked up from her book with the unhurried confidence of someone who had formed her opinion some time ago and was merely waiting to be consulted. "He came out of the house three times while you were all sitting here. The first time he said it was for a book. The second time, he said it was for his coat. He was not wearing a coat when he came back in." She returned to her page. "Men are not complicated."
Lady Bendon pressed her lips together in a way that suggested she agreed but was not certain she ought to say so.
Poppy was watching Julia with the look she used when she was approaching something sideways. Julia had been familiar with that look since Poppy was approximately four years old, and it had never become less readable. She had also been away from her sister for nearly three weeks, staying in a house that was not hers, in a room that was not hers, waiting on a situation she had not chosen, and Julia could see all of that sitting quietly underneath the look as well.
"It is a marriage of convenience," Julia said, before her sister could begin. "It is what it is, and it will remain what it is, and I am quite content with the arrangement."
Poppy said nothing for a moment. Then: "He would not let you bring me to the manor."
"Not yet," Julia said carefully.
"That is not the same as no," Lady Bendon offered.
"No," Poppy agreed, in a tone that made it clear she was still deciding how she felt about the distinction. "It isn't."
Poppy straightened the edge of the blanket with elaborate attention. "You said something similar, once, about falling for him."
Julia looked at her.
"Before the party. After the incident on the street. You clearly thought he was the most disagreeable man on earth." She was still looking at the blanket. "So this news must be very welcome. That it is simply convenient."
Julia said nothing.
Above them, a pair of sparrows disputed something in the elm. The park moved around them in its afternoon way, dogs and children and couples and the ordinary indifferent life of a city going about its business.
Poppy looked up. Her eyes met Aunt Violet's, briefly, across the teacups.
Julia saw it. She reached for her sandwich and took a bite. Then, she glanced around the park and offered, “More tea, Cousin?” As she poured, the afternoon continued.
She heard a sharp percussive crash from somewhere toward the back of the house, followed by a brief and uncharacteristic silence from the hall. She had been handing her gloves to the footman, and stopped with one glove half-removed and listened. Then she followed the sound.
The study door was open.
Leander was on the floor.
He was uninjured. That was her first assessment. Leander was already pushing himself upright against the bottom of the bookcase, which had apparently shed a considerable portion of its upper shelf onto both him and the surrounding floor. Books were everywhere. A small decorative globe had rolled to the edge of the desk and stopped. He had what appeared to be a volume ofBlackstone's Commentariesopen across his knee and the expression of a man who had decided that if he moved quickly enough and with sufficient dignity, this might still be recoverable.
It was not recoverable. It was entirely, perfectly unrecoverable.
Julia stood in the doorway.
She pressed her lips together.
She pressed them together harder.
"I am fine," he said, from the floor, with the composure of a man who had not just been felled by his own library.
"Of course you are," she said.
