She continued pacing, ordering the elements of her explanation in her mind. “I’ve always been set on a marriage based on love—I’ve had offers before, a good many, and never been tempted. My parents’ marriage was based on love, and I’ve never wanted anything else. At first…I had no idea Royce had his eye on me. I thought I could hide my interest in him, be the dutiful chatelaine, and then leave once his wife took up the reins. Then…he wanted me, and I thought it would be safe enough, given his marriage was imminent. I thought love would need time to grow—but it didn’t.”
Letitia nodded. “It can strike in an instant.”
“So I’d heard, but I never really believed…regardless, once I realized I’d fallen in love with him, I still thought, given his marriage had to occur soon, that I’d be able to leave, if not heart-whole, then at least with dignity. I’ve never been in love before, and if I never was again, no one would know but me.”
Minerva paused in her pacing, and raised her head. “Then he told me I was the lady he wanted as his duchess.”
“Of course he told you.” Penny humphed.
Minerva nodded. “Indeed—but I’d always known that the last thing, the very last thing I should do if I wanted a marriage based on love, was to marry Royce, or any Varisey. No Varisey marriage in history has been based on love, or in any way included love.” She drew a deep breath, her gaze fixed across the room. “Until last night, I believed that if I married Royce, ours would be a typical Varisey arrangement, and he, and everyone else—all the ton, in fact—would expect me to stand meekly by while he indulged as he wished with any lady who took his fancy.”
Frowning, Letitia nodded. “The typical Varisey union.”
Minerva inclined her head. “And I couldn’t do that. Even before I fell in love with him, I knew I’d never be able to stand that—that knowing he didn’t love me as I loved him, when he went to another’s bed, and then another’s, I’d wither, pine, and go mad like Caro Lamb.”
Their expressions stated that they fully understood.
“So what happened last night?” Clarice asked.
That needed another deep breath. “Last night, Royce swore that if I agree to be his duchess, he’ll be faithful.”
Complete silence reigned for several minutes.
Eventually, Penny said, “I can see how that…changes things.”
Clarice grimaced. “If it weren’t Royce we were talking about, I’d ask if you believed him.”
Letitia snorted. “If he says he will, let alone swears he will, he will.”
Minerva nodded. “Exactly. And at first glance, that should make it easy for me to agree, but, as I realized once I managed to find time to think, while him being faithful clears away one problem, it creates another.”
Gripping the back of the sofa, she focused on the tea tray on the low table between the sofas. “He says he will never lie to me, and that I accept. He says he cares for me as he cares for no other—and I accept that, too. But what happens when, if we wed, and a few years pass, and he no longer comes to my bed.” She raised her gaze, and met Clarice’s, then Penny’s, then lastly Letitia’s. “How am I going to feel then? Knowing he no longer desires me, but because of his vow, is simply…” She gestured. “Existing. Abstaining. Him, of all men.”
They didn’t rush to reassure her.
Eventually, Letitia sighed. “That’s not a comforting—or comfortable—thought.”
Clarice grimaced. Penny did, too.
“If he loved me,” Minerva said, “the problem wouldn’t exist. But he’s been brutally honest—and I can’t fault him in that. He will promise me all that’s in his power to give, but he won’t promise love. He can’t. He admitted he doesn’t know if he even has it in him to give.”
Clarice humphed. “That’s not so odd—they never do know.”
“Which leads me to ask”—Letitia swung to look up at her—“are you sure he isn’t in love with you, but doesn’t know it?”
Penny leaned forward. “If you haven’t been in love before…are you sure you would know if he was?”
Minerva was silent for a long moment. “Someone recently told me that love is like a disease, and the easiest way to know if someone’s caught it is to look for the symptoms.”
“Excellent advice,” Clarice affirmed.
Penny nodded. “Love isn’t a passive emotion—it makes you do things you wouldn’t normally do.”
“It makes you take risks you otherwise wouldn’t.” Letitia looked at Minerva. “So what do you think? Might Royce be in love with you, but not know?”
A catalog of minor incidents, comments, tiny revelations, all the little things about him that had surprised her, ran though her mind, but it was Hamish’s comment echoing her own earlier thought that held most weight. What on earth had proved strong enough to move him, the man he was, to break with long tradition and actively seek—want enough to strive for—a different marriage, one that, if she’d understood him correctly, he hoped as much as she might come to encompass love?
“Yes.” She slowly nodded. “He might.”