Lady Belle poured the tea. Her hand did not shake. She added the milk and handed him the cup and saucer. Her fingers brushed his for a fraction of a second. She blushed a pretty shade of pink.
"Thank you," Rowan said politely.
He took a sip. It was tea. Just tea.
Aunt Margery leaned forward. She looked pleased. She was ready to launch her attack.
"Lady Belle is quite accomplished, Rowan," Aunt Margery began. "She speaks fluent French, of course. And Italian."
Rowan's smile tightened just a fraction of an inch. French. The woman on the balcony three years ago had cursed in French.
"That is very impressive," Rowan said. "Do you enjoy languages, Lady Belle?"
"Oh, yes, Your Grace," Belle said softly. "Papa says it is important for a lady to be cultured. I also play the harp."
"The harp," Aunt Margery interrupted enthusiastically. "She plays like an angel. We must have her play for you sometime, Rowan. Perhaps next week at the Hamilton's ball?"
Rowan felt the trap closing around his neck. If she played at his ball, everyone would assume they were courting. The gossip columns would run wild.
"I am sure Lady Belle plays beautifully," Rowan said smoothly. "But the program for the ball is already set, Aunt. The orchestra has been hired. I would hate to impose on a guest to provide entertainment."
It was a polite refusal. A very gentle door slamming in their faces.
Lady Belle blinked. She understood. She looked down at her tea.
Aunt Margery, however, did not give up so easily.
"Nonsense," she said. "There is always room for a solo. And did I mention her needlepoint? She embroidered that cushion herself." She pointed to a handkerchief Belle made for me. "Look at the detail, Rowan. Look at the shading on the lilies."
Rowan looked at the handkerchief. "Very tidy," he said.
"And she loves children," Aunt Margery pressed on. "She has four younger brothers. She is so patient. Ideally suited for managing a large household. And a nursery."
Rowan nearly choked on his tea. His aunt was practically discussing his future children right in front of the girl.
He set his cup down on the saucer with a soft clink.
"Aunt Margery," Rowan said. His voice was still gentle, but there was a layer of steel underneath it. "You are embarrassing Lady Belle."
He looked at the girl. Her face was bright red now. She looked miserable. She was sitting there being listed like a piece of furniture at an auction.
Rowan felt a sudden wave of pity for her. It wasn't her fault. She was just doing what she was told, just like he was. They were both pawns in this game.
"Lady Belle," Rowan said, turning his full attention to her. "It sounds as though you have many talents. You must be very busy keeping up with them all."
"I... I try to be diligent, Your Grace," she whispered.
"I am sure you are," Rowan said kindly.
"However, I must confess, I am a terrible audience for the harp. I have a tin ear. I wouldn't know a good note from a bad one. It would be a waste of your talent to play for me."
He smiled at her. It was a genuine smile this time, but it was a smile of apology. It was a smile that said, 'You are lovely, but no.'
Lady Belle looked at him. She had intelligent eyes, despite her docile behavior. She saw the truth in his face. She saw that the "Golden Duke" was impenetrable. He was polite, he was kind, and he was completely uninterested.
She took a deep breath. She set her cup down.
"Your Grace is too modest," Belle said. Her voice was stronger now. "But I understand completely."
She turned to Aunt Margery.
"Lady Margery," Belle said. "I suddenly feel a bit faint. The heat in the room... perhaps it was the carriage ride."
Aunt Margery looked alarmed. "Oh dear! Shall I call for some water?"
"No, thank you," Belle said, standing up. She smoothed her pink silk dress. "I think I should simply like to go home. If I could borrow your carriage?"
Aunt Margery looked between Rowan and Belle. She saw the polite distance between them. She saw her plan crumbling into dust. She sighed, her shoulders slumping.
"Of course, my dear," Aunt Margery said. "I will have the footman escort you out."
Rowan stood up immediately. "I will escort you to the carriage myself, Lady Belle."
"That is not necessary, Your Grace," Belle said quickly. She offered him a small, tight curtsy. "I know the way."
She looked at him one last time. There was no adoration in her eyes anymore. Just relief. She didn't have to pretend either.
"Good day, Your Grace," she said.
"Good day, Lady Belle," Rowan replied.
She turned and walked out of the drawing room. Her exit was graceful and dignified.
Rowan watched her go. As soon as the door clicked shut, the silence in the room became heavy.
Rowan turned to look at his aunt. Aunt Margery was glaring at him. She picked up a biscuit and crumbled it aggressively onto her plate.
"You didn't even try," she accused. " Ines is already married. Why are you delaying? Why are you sabotaging this?"
"But I was perfectly polite," Rowan said, sitting back down.
"You were too polite," she snapped. "You built a wall of politeness so high that poor girl couldn't even climb it. She is perfect for you, Rowan! She is beautiful, rich, and docile."
Rowan picked up his tea cup again. He looked into the dark liquid.
"Docile," Rowan repeated. " I do not want a docile wife, Aunt," He said quietly.
"Then what do you want?" Aunt Margery threw her hands up in the air. "You have rejected every debutante in London! What are you looking for?"
Rowan took a sip of tea. He felt a smile touching his lips.
"I don't know," he said. "But I suspect... I will know it sooner or later so aunt stop meddling."