She allowed herself a moment to look at him in wonder. For all that her relations with the Duke of Westmead had invited the occasion of her downfall, she could not help but like the fact that he was the type of man who wore his title in such a way that kneeling on a countrywoman’s humble workshop floor came to him as naturally as breathing.
“No. It’s growing late. And given the rapid desertion of my clients, I shall scarcely need such an immoderate number of seeds.”
He frowned. She instantly wished she hadn’t said that. There was nothing to be gained by making him feel guilty for the position she was in. She had, after all, left his house in the middle of the night all of her own volition. He hadn’t compromised her reputation. She had managed that on her own.
“If only there was something that could remedy that.”
He reached inside his coat pocket and removed a small, round leather jewel case. Meeting her eye, he slid it across the floor.
Oh no. The churning drained from her limbs as though someone had let out a stopper at her feet.
“Open it?”
Squinting with dread at what she would find inside the box, she opened the lid. Inside, a ring shivered in the fading light.
It was small and shaped like a flower. A plumeria. It would have been the perfect ring, just right, had they been lovers. The sweetness of it made her falter. She looked up at him, trying to find the words to say that the gesture he felt honor-bound to make was neither required nor welcome. But before she could get them out, he took her hand. Only in looking down at it, clutched in his own, did she become aware that she was trembling.
She shook her head, wanting him not to say whatever it was he meant by giving her this ring. “Archer, please, there is no need—”
He cleared his throat. “When I saw that headline yesterday, I was instantly filled with regret—”
“Stop there. You are not responsible. I did not intend to imply—”
His face lost its tentative expression and fell into a grim-set line. “Cavendish, let me finish. I don’t mean I regretted that I would be forced to offer for you. I regretted I hadn’t got it through my skull to think of it before I left. You see, I think we can be useful to each other.”
“Being useful to each other is how we arrived at the current predicament, if I recall,” she said, careful to offer him a rueful little smile to show she meant no ill will. “Truly, you are kind to offer, but you need not.”
He looked at her unhappily, as though deciding whether to pursue this further. “Cavendish,” he drew out. “No one wins at business by rejecting a proposal before she’s heard it.”
She didn’t need to hear it. He could contend what he liked about his reasons for returning, but she knew why he was really here and she couldn’t stand to be the recipient of charity. She hated to be beholden. To be beholden to a man like him would be a special kind of torture.
“You may call it what you like, Your Grace, but I have no desire to marry. And while we’re giving lessons, need I repeat mine on rescuing women who do not desire it?”
Again, he rearranged his face. She could see whatever response he had been expecting, this was not one he had imagined.
“If you would give me a fair hearing,” he said drolly, “you would see that I don’t intend to rescue you. I merely perceive a way to use the circumstances to our mutual advantage.”
His tone had no chivalry to it. It held the brisk tone of calculation she had become accustomed to hearing whenever the topic of conversation found its way to his dearest subject: commerce. This meant he was honest in his protestation that he was not here strictly out of misplaced honor. It also meant he simply did not understand the stakes of what he asked. And why would he?
“I’m sorry, but it would not be to my advantage to marry.”
“Forgive me for being blunt, Cavendish, but I fail to see a single advantage for you in remaining unwed.”
“Well, of course you wouldn’t see.”
“I am not entirely stupid. Perhaps you might explain.”
She rubbed her temple. How to explain to a duke that marriage made women vulnerable? That she had arranged her affairs to protect herself from such a fate? That she wanted to be her own protector, her own provider? That it kept a person safe?
She looked at the contents of the room around them. The pots and bulbs, the rows of orchids, the mud-stained ledger. They would not look like much to him. But to her, they were not merely objects. They were tokens of something incalculably precious.
“If I were to wed, my nursery—everything I’ve worked for—would be surrendered to my husband. I would lose the right to conduct business in my name. I would lose my independence. My ability to decide for myself …” She trailed off, unable to express the magnitude of the loss, the inherent vulnerability of wives. “I suspect you will tell me that it amounts to little in pounds sterling. But to give it up would be to lose my finest self.”
She waited for him to dismiss her as hysterical.
Instead he tapped his knee and mulled her words.
“I suppose,” he said after a long pause, “that were our roles reversed, I might share your hesitation.”
“Oh, good,” she said with relief. She spared a moment’s appreciation for the way he understood her. “Nevertheless, thank you for your offer. I’ll see you out.”
“I’m afraid I’m not done negotiating, Cavendish. For while I might share your instinct, following it would be a mistake. Forgive me, but surely you must realize you are in a dreadful situation. You have your independence, that is true, but you lack certain critical resources for maintaining it.”
Her gratitude was replaced with the urge to hit him over the head with a trowel.
“Yes, thank you for articulating the nature of my plight so succinctly, Your Grace. I can see you’ve missed my point completely.”
“Insult me if you wish, but a clever businesswoman might ask herself not what she stood to lose by marrying me, but what she stood to gain.”
“A husband. That very thing I have spent my entire life trying not to acquire.”
“A partner. I can’t in good faith deny that as my wife you would lose the right to enter contracts in your name. But what if I offered you the power to enter them in mine? My lands, my capital, my credit, my ships—whatever you need—all at your disposal. You could build the finest nursery in all of England.”
If there was one lesson she had learned in the last fortnight, it was that when things sounded too good to be true, they were.
“What generous terms. And just what precious thing is it you are after in return?”
He locked eyes with her, and the smile left his lips. “An heir.”
Oh.
Their conversation no longer seemed like a puzzle she must solve before she could dismiss him and retire to her bed. It was as grave as life itself.
“A child,” she said, more softly than she ought to. “You want another child.”
“No,” he said crisply, his manner growing icier by the second. “Not want, precisely. I have a responsibility to produce an heir. And given the status of the succession, I need one quickly. A man with a history of brutality has recently become next in line to my title. I have a duty to protect these lands and the people who depend on them. What I want has nothing to do with it.”