He pulled one aside now and joined her on the brocade sofa. By the light from the window, he could see the dark circles under her eyes and her wan complexion. She wore a green calico dress with no adornment except a single run of lace across the bodice. It was so crumpled it looked like she had slept in it.
Will reached to take her hand in his. It felt limp and lifeless.
“So—” he started, stroking the back of her hand.
“I am to marry,” Rose had suddenly blurted out.
Will stopped speaking, confused. Had she second-guessed him? Had he misunderstood her?
“What do you mean?” He asked.
Rose withdrew her hand from his and clasped her palms together.
“I said, I am to marry,” she replied in a shaky voice.
He leaned back so he could focus better on her face, but she kept her eyes averted.
“To whom?” He demanded.
She didn’t answer, but he could see her knuckles turning white where she was holding her hands together so tightly.
“Rose!”
She had jumped slightly at his bark as his heart had begun to pound in his chest, just as it was pounding now as he remembered that moment.
“To the Duke of Norfolk,” she said to her lap.
Will had stared at her, thunderstruck. He saw tears beginning to roll down her face. It was her tears that frightened Will the most; it was her tears that made this horrifyingly, incomprehensibly, true.
“When? Why? How?” Will had not been able to manage anything other than monosyllables.
“My father knew him. After my parents died, he sent his respects.” She paused for a moment as Will waited for the rest of the explanation, the pounding of his heart in his ears almost drowning out her words. “He asked for my hand in marriage.”
"In one week?” Will replied, incredulous.
Rose had shaken her head, dashing at her tears with the back of her hand.
“No. He was in contact before you went to London.”
“And he asked you to marry him?”
Rose nodded.
Inside, Will was telling himself not to panic. Nothing was lost yet. He would just ask her to marry him now, and then she could turn the Duke down.
“Rose, this is lunacy. He is an old man. He has more than a decade on you, at least. Why would you choose him?”
Rose looked back at her hands and said nothing.
“How long did he give you to decide?”
If he asked her now, would it look like he was only asking because the Duke had asked? But Will knew he had to. He had to give her something else to cling to because he could not imagine she would be choosing to marry the Duke unless it was out of desperation.
This was not the romantic setting he had always imagined would precede his proposal to her. Should he get down on one knee before he said it or as he was saying it? He didn’t know the etiquette. All he knew was he had to say it right now.
“I already said yes,” Rose had said then, and Will's world had crumbled around him. He heard what she said, but it was almost as if the words did not reach him.
He knew there was no point to his uttered, “Why?” What did it matter why? The woman he loved more than anything else in this world had pledged herself to someone else and not just anyone. Ambrose Barrington was a duke, and Will was nothing. He did not even have the reins of his family's business yet. He had only just come of age.