Page 21 of A Duchess in Ten Days
Lavinia opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. Instead, her thoughts betrayed her, conjuring up an image of Andrew with his disarmingly handsome face, gorgeous smile, the sharp line of his jaw, and those maddeningly intense eyes that seemed to see far too much. She could practically hear his deep, smooth voice—half teasing, half commanding—as it lingered in her mind.
"He's...tolerable," she muttered, avoiding Emma's gaze.
"Tolerable?" Emma repeated, her lips twitching with suppressed amusement. "Lavinia, if the Duke of Hargrave is tolerable, then the rest of the men in thetonmight as well crawl under the nearest rock."
Lavinia groaned and sank deeper into the cushions of her chair. "Fine," she admitted grudgingly. "He's attractive. But that's precisely the problem, isn't it? He's the kind of man who knows he's attractive, who uses it to his advantage. He's charming and rakish and completely untrustworthy. Men like the Duke of Hargrave don't fall in love, Emma."
"I thought we had given up on that?" Emma asked and shook her head. "As painful as it might seem, perhaps, this is the best you are going to get, my dear. Andrew isn't unkind, Lavinia. He may be a rake, and he may not be the warmest man, but he is not heartless."
Deep down, Lavinia couldn't stop the questions from swirling endlessly in her mind. Why had he changed his mind? Andrew had been so resolute, so unyielding in his refusal to marry her. What could possibly have changed in so short a time? Had David pressured him? Had there been some scandal, some secret reason that made marrying her a necessity rather than a choice?
Alice leaned forward, caressing her stomach. "You have the chance to build a family, Lavinia. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"
A family.
She had always dreamed of that. A home filled with love and laughter, children running about, a husband who adored her. But this...this was nothing like the picture she had carried in her heart since she was a girl.
"Enough of the brooding!" Emma said abruptly. "You're getting married to a duke, Lavinia Webbs. You—my dear—are going to be a duchess. Now, let's discuss your wedding gown. I hear silk is all the rage this season, though muslin has a certain elegance..."
Lavinia's eyes widened. "Are we really changing the subject to fabric?" she asked, her voice half-amused, half-relieved by the distraction.
"Yes," Emma answered and sighed. "Because you and I both know that there is nothing we can do about this situation. I haven't seen your papa smile in years, Lavinia and today, he welcomed me with a grin that stunned me. He has even started sending out invites."
"She's right," Alice added. "Your father is ecstatic about this match, Lavinia. He's practically glowing. There's no point in brooding over things we cannot change."
Lavinia sighed. ”I suppose you're both right," she muttered. "But it's hard to feel excited when it's all happening so fast."
Emma gave her a warm smile and patted her on the back before clearing her throat. "Like I said, no brooding. Now, what are you wearing on your wedding day, Lavinia Webbs?"
Lavinia chuckled softly, the sound surprising even herself. "Apparently, silk and lace," she replied, glancing at the fabric samples spread out before them.
For a moment, the tension in her chest eased as the conversation shifted to colors and embellishments. It felt almost normal, like the kind of afternoon she had always imagined spending with friends while planning her wedding.
Yet, as the laughter bubbled and the chatter filled the room, a small, nagging ache persisted in her chest. Andrew's disappearance left her wondering once again why he had proposed when he seemed so utterly uninterested.
She smiled at something Alice said about floral embroidery but felt the pang linger in her heart. It was impossible to relax completely when the man she was set to marry was still something of a mystery.
"For heaven's sake, Andrew, what has gotten into you?" Victor's tone was sharp as he dodged a half-hearted swing, his annoyance clear. "You're fighting like a man with his head in the clouds."
Andrew exhaled, stepping back and adjusting his stance. "I'm fine," he replied curtly.
But he wasn't fine. Not in the slightest.
He had no control over his thoughts or the voices that echoed in his mind and it was driving him crazy. How had it come to this? He could scarcely believe it himself. He had spent his entire adult life avoiding entanglements, and in the end...this was now his reality.
"You don't look fine," Victor countered, landing a light jab to Andrew's ribs. "And don't tell me this has nothing to do with your upcoming marriage. It's written all over your face."
"Please don't talk about my marriage," Andrew snapped, stepping back and shaking his arms out. "I invited you here for a spar, not a sermon."
"Ah, I knew that's what it was," Solomon chimed in, shaking his head as he leaned casually against the ropes of the ring.
When Andrew had called on Victor and Solomon to join him for a morning of boxing, he had hoped the physical exertion would quiet his restless thoughts. Solomon, the DukeofMontclaire and a recent acquaintance turned friend through business, was an enigma in their social circle. He was a man raised outside the polished halls of theton, with a reputation that followed him like a shadow. But his straightforward demeanor and sharp wit had drawn Andrew's respect, and their shared passion for boxing had solidified their friendship.
"Marriage isn't the end of the world, you know," Victor said and paused. "It's a beautiful thing once you open your heart to it."
"For you, maybe," Andrew retorted, circling him. "You have somehow managed to find joy in it."
"Do you at least want to talk about it?" Solomon questioned, watching them spar. "It might help."
