Page 121 of Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

His face went slack with surprise. “You thought I was in love with Grace?”

“She certainly knew you better than I did,” she muttered.

“No, I wouldn’t—I mean, I didn’t, except—”

“Except what?”

“Nothing.” But he looked guilty. Of something.

“Tell me.”

“Amelia—”

“Tell me!”

And she must have looked a complete virago, ready to go for his throat, because he shot back with, “I asked her to marry me.”

“What?”

“It did not mean anything.”

“You asked someone to marry you and it did not mean anything?”

“It’s not how it sounded.”

“When did you do this?”

“Before we left for Ireland,” he admitted.

“Before we—” Her mouth dropped open in outrage. “You were still engaged to me. You can’t ask someone to marry you when you are promised to another.”

It was the most unbelievably un-Thomas action she could have ever imagined.

“Amelia—”

“No.” She shook her head. She did not want to hear his excuses. “How could you do this? You always do the right thing. Always. Even when it’s a bloody nuisance, you always—”

“I didn’t think I would be engaged to you for very much longer,” he cut in. “I just said to her that if Audley turned out to be the duke, that perhaps we ought make a go of it when it was all over and done with.”

“Make a go?” she echoed.

“I didn’t say it like that,” he muttered.

“Oh, my God.”

“Amelia…”

She blinked, trying to take it all in. “But you wouldn’t marry me,” she whispered.

“What are you talking about?”

She looked up, finally able to focus on his face. Sharply, on his eyes, and for once she did not care how blue they were. “You said you would not marry me if you lost the title. But you would marry Grace?”

“It’s not the same thing,” he said. But he looked embarrassed.

“Why? How? How is it different?”

“Because you deserved more.”

---