Page 29 of Married to a Frozen Duke
“Robert...”
“Three thousand a year! As if you were some minor country squire’s daughter.”
“I am some minor country squire’s daughter. With merchant blood, remember?”
“You’re about to be a duchess. He should treat you as one.”
“He’s treating me as what I am. An unwanted necessity.”
Robert’s face darkened. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Phee...”
“I need to know, Robert. The settlements. What happens if he dies? If I die? If there are children?”
“Standard provisions. You’ll have a sum and property if you’re widowed. Any daughters will have dowries. Sons inherit, naturally.”
“And if there are no children?”
Robert’s face grew careful. “Then the estate would pass to his nearest male relative.”
“So I’d have nothing.”
“You’d have your share. A house in London. An income.”
“But no home. No real security.”
“We’re trying to ensure...”
“I know.” She touched his arm gently. “I know you’re trying to protect me. But we both know there’s only so much protection money can buy.”
“If he hurts you...”
“He won’t. Not physically. He’s too proper for that.”
“There are other ways to hurt someone.”
“Yes.” She thought of cold grey eyes and ‘necessary’ and a proposal that felt like a funeral. “There are.”
The negotiations continued for three days. Back and forth went Mr. Ridges, growing slightly more frazzled with each visit. Five thousand per annum was agreed upon for pin money. Generous dowries for any daughters. A London house and country estate for her widowhood. It was all very thorough, very practical, very much like arranging the sale of a particularly valuable property.
Alexander never came himself. He sent notes—brief, impersonal messages about arrangements. The wedding would be at St. George’s, small and private. The wedding breakfast at Montclaire House. The honeymoon...
“Honeymoon?” Ophelia stared at the latest note.
“It’s customary,” her mother said carefully.
“For a love match, perhaps. But for this?”
“The appearance must be maintained.”
Appearance. Yes, that was what mattered. The appearance of a proper marriage, even if the reality was something else entirely.
“Where?” she asked.
“His estate in Kent. Two weeks.”
