“Am I? Perhaps it’s fortunate then that I am not going to marry you.”

“What?” Taken up with his own doubts about this momentous step, James hadn’t considered that she might refuse. The possibility hadn’t occurred to him. “Why not?”

“You’ve treated me like an annoyance nearly all my life, James. Why would I shackle myself to you?”

“Nonsense.”

She shook her head. “The very way you say that word. So certain. And condescending. Allowing no possibility of another view.”

“Non—” James bit off the word. “Nothing of the sort.”

“And now you come and say you want me to be your drudge.”

“Drudge! Are you out of your senses? I am proposing to make you my duchess.”

“So that I will be under your thumb. You’ve always delighted in tormenting me.”

“Tormenting?” James didn’t know whether he was more angry or incredulous. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“When I was ten, you hid my essay on Shakespeare and told my governess that I’d been shirking.Andthat I’d said she was a fubsy-faced prune.”

“How do you remember…?” James shook his head. “I was a sulky stripling. I meant it as a joke.”

“I didn’t find it amusing. When I was sixteen, you told Reginald Quentin that I was mad about him.”

James laughed. “That spotty toadeater!”

“He followed me about for weeks trying to steal a kiss. I had to be quite cruel to make him stop. Which I do not like to be!”

“Did he? I’m sorry. I apologize for all my youthful follies. But I can’t believe you’ve been holding grudges all this time.”

“They are not grudges, James. They are…evidence that we would not suit.” Cecelia frowned. “Though I never did find my essay.” She looked around the drawing room. “I don’t suppose you remember where you hid it?”

“Of course not.”

“Of course you don’t,” she echoed.

“What is the matter with you? You are always such a sensible creature.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, Cecelia, you are. You argue for curtailed expenditures and considered decisions. You are an excellent manager and a master of accounts.”

In the face of these compliments, she looked chagrined. Perhaps even distressed? But why should that be? Thinking he must be mistaken, James pressed on. “As we have both decided that we are not going to fall in love…”

“That is not precisely true.”

“You said that love never came along,” James pointed out.

“Yet,” Cecelia said, seeming to bite off the word.

“And declared that you are on the shelf, so you must not be expecting it any longer.”

“It is very irritating to have my words thrown back in my face in this way.”

“I know,” said James. “You’ve done the same to me on many occasions.”

“There you have it. We don’t get along. Haven’t you often called me the bane of your existence?”