Page 57 of The Duke's Accidental Wallflower
Heat rushed to Minerva’s cheeks, and she finally pulled her hand away, clasping it tightly in her lap. The walls of the drawing room seemed to close in around her, the air growing stifling.
“And what do you envision for our future household, Lord Gillies?” she inquired, her voice light but curious, masking the tension she felt. “What would our lives look like together?”
Lord Gillies's brows lifted, surprised by her question, but he quickly recovered, his tone practical and precise. “Our household would be run with the utmost efficiency,” he said, his voice steady and measured. “You would oversee the domestic staff, ensuring that every detail is attended to with the grace and elegance befitting a lady of your standing. We would host regular gatherings to maintain our social status and ensure ourconnections remain strong. Of course, there would be children in time, to continue the family legacy, and they would be raised with the best tutors and governesses money can afford.”
He continued, his words methodical and devoid of emotion, as though he were laying out the details of a business transaction. “I would manage the estate's finances and affairs, ensuring we remain prosperous and respected. Our lives would be well-ordered, with every aspect carefully planned to avoid any hint of scandal or impropriety.”
Minerva’s heart sank further with every word he spoke. His vision of their future was one of rigid structure, where duty and reputation reigned supreme. There was no mention of shared dreams, of companionship, of love. The life he described sounded secure, but also suffocating—a gilded cage lined with expectations and devoid of warmth.
She forced a smile, though it wavered slightly. “That sounds... very practical,” she managed to say, her voice thin.
Lord Gillies smiled, clearly taking her response as agreement. “Precisely. A well-ordered life is the foundation of happiness, a sentiment I know a woman of your character would appreciate.”
“Lord Gillies,” she began, her tone more guarded than before, “I believe that marriage is a decision that requires careful thought.”
“Of course,” he said smoothly, though he seemed unfazed by her hesitation. “But we both know what is expected of us. Ourfamilies, society... they all anticipate a match such as ours. And I, for one, am more than prepared to fulfill that expectation.”
He leaned back, a small, self-assured smile curving his lips. “Your father mentioned the winter gala. It would be the perfect occasion to make an announcement, don’t you think?”
Minerva’s stomach twisted. The imagined chains of expectation tightened around her, making it difficult to breathe. Was this all she was to be? An expectation to be fulfilled, a pawn in a game of societal alliances? The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“And what of... love?” she asked, hating how vulnerable the question made her feel.
Lord Gillies’s brows furrowed slightly, as if the concept were foreign to him. “Love,” he repeated, as though testing the word on his tongue. “Love grows from respect and duty. From a shared life, built on a foundation of common values.”
Minerva swallowed, her throat dry. The image he painted was one of security, yes, but also one devoid of passion, of choice. The life he envisioned was a carefully constructed cage, gilded and suffocating. Her mind drifted, unbidden, to a memory of Evan—the way he had made her laugh, the way his eyes had gleamed with mischief and fire. He had never once spoken of duty or societal expectations; instead, he had challenged her, made her feel alive.
Lord Gillies must have sensed her discomfort, for he leaned back, his smile returning. “Do not fret, Lady Minerva. Iunderstand the weight of your responsibilities. But I assure you, I will make a devoted husband, one who will cherish you and uphold your family’s honor.”
Cherish. The word felt hollow, as though it lacked the warmth she craved. Before she could respond, Lord Gillies’s expression darkened slightly, as if he could sense her mind had wandered elsewhere. “You need not concern yourself with men like Pembroke,” he added, his tone laced with disdain. “The Duke of Colburn thrives on scandal and mockery. Hardly the sort of man who could ever bring you honor or stability.”
Minerva stiffened at the mention of Evan, her heart skipping a beat. “Evan... the Duke of Colburn,” she corrected, her voice catching slightly. “He is not... entirely without redeeming qualities. But I do not see how he is relevant to this conversation.”
Lord Gillies’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Perhaps. But the society pages are littered with tales of his rakish behavior. A man like him cannot change, no matter who thinks to reform him. It is just that I have noticed you speaking with him on several occasions.”
“I have spoken to many people, on numerous occasions,” she responded defensively.
Michael leaned back slightly, cradling the teacup in his hand. “Let us just say,” he began, his tone light but edged with bitterness, “that some women in society can be easily swayed by certain reputations.”
Her curiosity deepened. “Reputations?”
His lips twisted into a faint smirk. “I once courted a young lady of impeccable standing. I thought her a promising match—intelligent, graceful, with a sharp wit.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But she ended things rather abruptly. When I inquired why, she admitted she believed I could not measure up to a certain Duke’s attention.”
Minerva froze, her stomach sinking. “A Duke?” she asked carefully, though she already knew the answer.
Michael’s smirk deepened, though his eyes darkened. “The Duke of Colburn, of course,” he said smoothly, though there was an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice. “It seems his reputation extends far beyond his own merits. Even when he showed no interest in her, she held out hope. I suppose that is the power of a title, no matter how carelessly it is wielded.”
Minerva set her teacup down, her fingers tightening briefly around the saucer. “Evan—I mean, His Grace—is not known for serious pursuits,” she said, choosing her words with care. “Perhaps the lady’s assumptions were misplaced.”
“Perhaps,” Michael allowed, though his tone suggested otherwise. “But it speaks to how easily he overshadows others, even when he doesn’t try. I imagine it is a skill that comes naturally to him.”
Minerva didn’t respond immediately, her mind racing. Lord Gillies’s words lingered in the air like a sour note, filling her witha discomfort she couldn’t place. Was this resentment merely the result of wounded pride, or did it hint at something deeper?
She felt a spark of defensiveness rise in her chest. She had no defense to make, no right to argue for a man she had no claim to, and yet, she couldn’t ignore the hurt his words brought.
“He is hardly relevant to our conversation,” she replied, her voice strained, struggling to mask the confusion and longing that still lingered from their last encounter.
Lord Gillies’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “Lady Minerva,” he said, his tone gentle but insistent, “your future is clear. Do not let yourself be distracted by men who will only bring you ruin.”
