“Hence your sympathy for my earlier complaint about dancing.”

“Precisely.”

The evening continued in much the same vein. Eugenie found herself actually enjoying parts of it, particularly when she and Callum managed to find a quiet corner and discuss the political reform bill he was working on. He was passionate about improving conditions for factory workers, and his arguments were well reasoned and compelling.

“Most people don’t expect dukes to care about such things,” he said. “They assume we’re all too busy enjoying our privilege to notice suffering.”

“But you’re not.”

“No. Perhaps because my father made sure I understood that privilege comes with responsibility. Power should serve purpose beyond personal gratification.”

“That’s quite progressive thinking.”

“Don’t spread that around. I have a reputation for aristocratic arrogance to maintain.”

She laughed and he smiled, a genuine expression that transformed his usually stern features. For a moment it was easy to forget this was all pretense.

As the evening wound down and they prepared to leave, Lady Hatheraway pulled Eugenie aside.

“My dear, I must say, I’ve never seen the Duke look at anyone the way he looks at you. You’ve quite captured his attention.”

Eugenie manufactured an appropriate blush. “He’s very special indeed.”

“And you seem perfect for each other. Intelligent conversation, shared interests, much better than some simpering debutante who’d bore him within a week.”

In the carriage ride home, Callum was quiet, staring out the window at the dark London streets.

“You did well tonight,” he said finally. “Very convincing.”

“As did you.”

“Yes. Almost too convincing.”

He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “We need to be careful, Eugenie.”

“Careful of what?”

“Of forgetting this isn’t real. It would be easy to get confused, to start believing our own performance.”

Her heart gave an odd thump. “I’m not confused.”

“Good. Neither am I. Just establishing clarity.”

But his tone suggested he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

When they arrived home, Callum escorted her to her suite with formal courtesy. “Good night, Eugenie.”

“Good night, Callum.”

She closed the door and leaned against it, her mind whirling. He was right to be concerned. Tonight had felt disturbingly natural. The conversations, the shared humor, the way they had moved together through the social minefield. It would be very easy indeed to forget this was temporary, to start imagining that the warmth in his eyes was real rather than performed.

She couldn’t afford that kind of foolishness.

In 3 months this engagement would end. Callum would return to his ducal life, and she would return to hers, hopefully with enough money to secure her family’s future. That was the agreement. That was reality. Everything else was just acting, even if it was starting to feel like something more.

The next 6 weeks passed in a blur of social engagements, afternoon teas, and increasingly comfortable domesticity that Eugenie found both pleasant and deeply unsettling. She and Callum had fallen into a routine. Breakfasts were companionable affairs where they discussed the day’s papers and planned their social calendar. Afternoons often found them in separate pursuits, Callum managing estate business or attending Parliament, Eugenie reading in the library or accompanying Winifred on charitable calls. Evenings varied between social obligations and quiet hours in the library, where they would sit in separate chairs reading, but somehow still together.

It was all terrifyingly domestic.

“You realize people are starting to believe this,” Winifred observed 1 afternoon as she and Eugenie took tea in the drawing room. “The engagement, I mean. Even the skeptics are convinced.”

“Isn’t that the point?” Eugenie poured tea with practiced grace, still marveling at the quality of the china, Sèvres porcelain that probably cost more than her family’s annual income.

“Yes, but…” Winifred studied her with those sharp eyes. “How are you finding the arrangement?”

“Honestly, it’s fine.”

“Fine. What a passionate endorsement.”

Eugenie set down the teapot with more force than necessary. “What do you want me to say, your grace? That I’m enjoying playing house with your son? That I’ve forgotten this is temporary?”

“Have you forgotten?”

“No.”

But even as she said it, Eugenie felt the lie of it. Because somewhere in the last 6 weeks, something had shifted.

It had started small. Callum remembering she preferred her tea with lemon rather than milk. Him pulling down books he thought she would enjoy without being asked. The way he had positioned himself between her and an obnoxiously persistent Lord Ashford at Lady Morrison’s ball, his hand at her waist, possessive and protective.

Then there were the conversations, long meandering discussions about everything from philosophy to politics to whether the new gaslighting being installed throughout London was progress or madness. He listened to her opinions as if they mattered, challenged her thinking without dismissing her, and seemed genuinely interested in her perspective.

She had caught herself watching him when he wasn’t looking, the way he ran his hand through his hair when frustrated with a particular passage in a book, the rare smile that transformed his stern features, the competent grace with which he moved through both ballrooms and his own study.

And then there was last week when he had found her crying in the library.

She had received a letter from her father, enthusiastic and hopeful for the first time in years, talking about repairs to the estate and her brother’s excellent progress at school. The relief of it, combined with the guilty knowledge that this was all built on deception, had overwhelmed her.

Callum had walked in, taken 1 look at her tear-stained face, and without a word pulled her into his arms. She had cried against his shoulder while he held her, 1 hand stroking her hair, murmuring nonsense comfort. When she had finally calmed enough to explain, he had said simply, “You’re saving your family. That’s nothing to feel guilty about.”

“I’m lying to everyone.”

“We’re lying to everyone,” he had corrected. “This was my choice, too. Don’t carry that burden alone.”

The memory of his arms around her, the solid warmth of him, the unexpected gentleness, haunted her.

“Eugenie.”

Winifred’s voice pulled her back to the present.

“Where did you go just now?”

“Nowhere important.”

Winifred looked skeptical. “You know, I’ve been watching you and Callum together. The way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention. The way you light up when he enters a room.”

“We’re playing our roles,” Eugenie said firmly, as agreed.

“If you say so, dear. But I’ve known my son his entire life, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. Not once in 32 years.”

Before Eugenie could formulate a response, Callum himself appeared in the doorway, looking unusually disheveled. His cravat was loosened, his hair mussed as if he had been running his hands through it repeatedly, and his expression was somewhere between frustrated and exhausted.

“Cross, darling?” Winifred asked.

“The reform bill is being blocked by idiots who care more about maintaining their factory profits than basic human decency,” Callum said tersely. “I’ve spent 4 hours in debate with men who think 10-year-olds working 14-hour days is perfectly acceptable.”

“How dreadful,” Eugenie said. “Can the bill be salvaged?”

“Possibly, if we can convince enough votes, but it’s exhausting arguing with people who refuse to see reason.”

He noticed their tea setup and moved toward them. “May I join you or is this ladies’ time?”

“Join us,” Eugenie said, pouring him a cup. “Lemon, no sugar.”

He took it with a small smile. “You remembered.”

“Hard to forget after 6 weeks.”

He settled into the chair beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. “Tell me something completely unrelated to factory reform and parliamentary obstinacy. Please. I need to think about anything else.”

“I finished Descartes,” Eugenie offered. “And I’ve started on Spinoza.”

“Ah, yes. Nothing says light reading like 17th century rationalism.” But his tone was teasing rather than dismissive. “What do you think of it?”

“Dense, occasionally brilliant. Sometimes I suspect he’s making things more complicated than necessary just to sound intellectual.”

Callum laughed, the genuine sound she had come to treasure. “Fair assessment, though don’t let the philosophy dons hear you say that.”

“What philosophy dons would I be speaking with?”

“Good point.” He stretched his legs out, relaxing visibly. “Though you’d hold your own if you did. You’ve got a sharper mind than half the men I studied with at Cambridge.”

The casual compliment sent warmth through her. “That’s quite a statement from someone who graduated first in his class.”

“It’s also true.” His eyes met hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “You know that, don’t you? That you’re genuinely intelligent, not just intelligent for a woman.”

“I…” She faltered, unsure how to respond to such direct praise.

“Because you are,” he continued. “And anyone who’s dismissed you as merely decorative is an idiot who doesn’t deserve your attention.”

Winifred cleared her throat meaningfully. “Well, this is enlightening.”

They both seemed to realize simultaneously that they had been staring at each other, that the atmosphere had shifted into something charged and complicated. Callum stood abruptly.

“I should return to work. I have correspondence to review before tomorrow’s session.”

“Of course,” Eugenie managed.

He paused at the doorway, looking back. “We’re attending the opera tomorrow evening. Winifred, you’re joining us.”

“Yes. Naturally,” his mother confirmed. “Can’t have the engaged couple attending alone. Propriety must be observed.”

After he left, Winifred turned to Eugenie with a knowing smile. “Still just playing roles?”

“Don’t,” Eugenie said quietly.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t encourage whatever you think you’re seeing. This ends in 6 weeks. We both know that.”

“Do we?” Winifred’s expression turned serious. “Eugenie, dear, I know I orchestrated this arrangement initially, and yes, I had hopes it might become something more. I won’t deny that. But I’ve been watching you 2 together, and what I’m seeing isn’t acting. Not anymore.”

“It has to be,” Eugenie insisted. “Because if it’s not…” She broke off, unable to complete the thought.

“If it’s not, then what? You might actually be happy. Heaven forbid.”

“I’m not his equal,” Eugenie said bluntly. “I am an impoverished lady from a family on the edge of ruin. He’s a duke. In the real world, outside this temporary fiction, we don’t belong together.”

“The real world,” Winifred repeated thoughtfully. “What an interesting phrase. As if the past 6 weeks haven’t been real. As if the conversations, the laughter, the genuine connection you’ve built, none of that counts because it started with a lie.”

“It doesn’t matter how it feels. The arrangement expires in 6 weeks. We agreed.”

“Arrangements can be renegotiated.” Winifred stood, preparing to leave. “All I’m saying is don’t dismiss the possibility of something genuine simply because it began unconventionally. Some of the best things in life happen when we least expect them.”

After she left, Eugenie sat alone with her cooling tea and increasingly confused thoughts.

The problem was Winifred was right about 1 thing. It no longer felt like acting. When Callum smiled at her, her heart did foolish things. When he touched her hand or stood close enough that she could smell his cologne, her pulse raced. When they talked late into the evening about philosophy or politics or nothing in particular, she felt more alive than she had in years.

But that didn’t change reality. Callum Merrow was a duke with responsibilities and social standing. She was Lady Eugenie Weatherstone from a family whose financial stability currently depended on maintaining this fiction. Even if something real had developed between them, and she wasn’t admitting it had, pursuing it would be complicated beyond measure.

Better to maintain the boundaries, finish the agreed upon 3 months, take the money that would secure her family’s future, and walk away, even if the thought of walking away from Callum made her chest ache with surprising intensity.

The opera the following evening was a grand affair. Eugenie wore the new gown Winifred had insisted on purchasing, deep sapphire silk that made her skin glow and her eyes appear almost luminous. She had caught Callum staring when she descended the stairs, an expression on his face she couldn’t quite interpret.

“You look…” He paused, seeming to search for words. “Magnificent.”

“Thank you.”

She had wanted to say something equally complimentary about how devastatingly handsome he looked in his evening clothes, but the words stuck in her throat.

The Merrow family box at the opera house was positioned perfectly, visible to the entire theater, but elevated enough to provide some privacy. As they settled into their seats, Eugenie was acutely aware of the eyes upon them.

“Ignore them,” Callum murmured, leaning close enough that his breath stirred her hair. “They’re just curious. Let them look.”

The opera was Mozart’s Don Giovanni, dramatic and passionate and somehow entirely too appropriate for Eugenie’s current state of mind. She tried to focus on the music, the spectacular staging, anything other than Callum’s presence beside her, but she could feel him, the warmth of his arm nearly touching hers on the shared armrest, the way he shifted slightly closer during the more dramatic passages as if unconsciously seeking proximity, the occasional glance in her direction that made her pulse race.

During the interval they remained in the box while Winifred went to greet acquaintances alone for the first time that evening. The silence between them felt heavy with unspoken things.

“Are you enjoying the performance?” Callum asked finally.

“Very much. Mozart was a genius.”

“Agreed. Though Don Giovanni himself is rather insufferable. Completely a rake and a scoundrel, yet somehow compelling.”

“That’s the genius of it, making us fascinated by someone who should be purely despicable. I prefer to find compelling people who are actually worth my attention.”

He turned to look at her fully, something intense in his eyes. “And have you found anyone compelling?”

The question hung between them, loaded with meaning.

Eugenie felt her heart hammering. “I… perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he repeated softly. “Not a definitive answer.”

“I’m not certain definitive answers are wise in my current situation.”

“No, I suppose they’re not.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but Winifred returned with several acquaintances in tow, and the moment dissolved.

The second half of the opera passed in a blur. Eugenie couldn’t focus on the stage. She was too aware of Callum beside her, of the tension thrumming between them, of the impossible situation they had created.

In the carriage ride home, Winifred maintained a steady stream of chatter about who had been at the opera and what they had been wearing, but Eugenie barely heard her. She stared out the window at the London streets passing by, trying to sort through her tangled emotions.

When they arrived home, Callum walked her to her suite, as had become their custom. But tonight, he didn’t simply wish her good night and leave. Instead, he stood in her doorway, looking conflicted.

“Eugenie, I need to…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair in that familiar gesture of frustration.

“Need to what?”

“I need to be honest with you about something. This situation, this arrangement, it’s become complicated.”

She finished for him. “Yes.”

He looked relieved that she understood. “Significantly complicated. Because somewhere in the last 6 weeks I’ve stopped pretending.”

Her breath caught. “Callum.”

“No, let me finish.” He stepped closer, his voice low and urgent. “I know this started as a farce, a business arrangement to solve our respective problems. But it’s not that anymore. Not for me. And I don’t think it is for you either.”

“It doesn’t matter what it is,” Eugenie said, even as her heart raced. “We made an agreement. 3 months, then we part ways.”

“Agreements can be changed.”

“To what? You’re a duke. I’m an impoverished lady whose family’s survival depends on your mother’s generosity. There’s no version of this that doesn’t end in complication and heartbreak.”

“Unless we make it real,” he said quietly.

The words hung in the air between them, impossibly tempting.

“You don’t mean that,” Eugenie managed. “You’re caught up in the fiction we’ve created.”

“I’m caught up in you,” Callum corrected. “Your intelligence, your humor, your resilience, the way you challenge me and make me think, the way you see through social nonsense to what actually matters. The way you…” He broke off, seeming to struggle for words. “The way you make me want things I’ve never wanted before. Partnership. Companionship. Someone who actually understands me rather than just tolerating me for my title.”

Eugenie felt tears prickling behind her eyes. “You can’t say these things.”

“Why not? They’re true.”

“Because they make everything harder. Because in 6 weeks this ends. We agreed, Callum. We had a plan.”

“Then let’s change the plan.” His hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “Let’s make this real. Marry me. Not as part of an arrangement, but because we choose it. Because what we found together is worth keeping.”

It was everything she wanted and couldn’t allow herself to have.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “Don’t you see? I came into this for money to save my family. If I say yes now, I’ll never know, and neither will you, whether it’s real or just desperation and proximity and pretending for so long that we’ve confused ourselves.”

“I’m not confused.”

“But I am.” She pulled away from his touch, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t know what’s real anymore, Callum. I don’t know if I’ve actually fallen in love with you or if I’ve just convinced myself I have because it makes the charade easier to maintain. And you don’t know either. Not really.”

He looked stricken. “Eugenie.”

“We need to stick to the plan,” she said firmly, even as her heart broke. “6 more weeks, then we end the engagement as agreed. If what you’re feeling is real, it will still be real after 3 months of separation. And if it’s not, if we’ve just been caught up in playing house, then we’ll have saved ourselves from making a terrible mistake.”

“And if you’re wrong? If I know right now with absolute certainty that I want you in my life permanently?”

“Then you’ll still want me in 6 weeks,” she said quietly. “But we need that time, Callum. We need space away from this intensity to be certain.”

He looked at her for a long moment, a dozen emotions flickering across his face. Finally, he nodded.

“6 weeks. Then we’ll revisit this conversation.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to leave, then paused. “For what it’s worth, Eugenie, I’ve never been more certain of anything, but I’ll give you the time you need.”

After he left, Eugenie closed the door and slid down to sit on the floor, her elaborate gown pooling around her. She buried her face in her hands and let herself cry for what she wanted, for what she was afraid to take, for the impossible situation they had created.

Because Callum was right. Somewhere in the last 6 weeks, she had stopped pretending, too. She had fallen in love with him, with his intelligence and his unexpected kindness, with his passion for making the world better and his dry humor, with the way he looked at her as if she was the most fascinating person he had ever met.

But loving him didn’t make the complications disappear. It didn’t change the fact that their relationship was built on deception. That her family’s financial security still depended on maintaining this fiction.

6 more weeks. Then they would see if what they had built could survive in the real world outside the protective bubble of their arrangement.

It was going to be the longest 6 weeks of her life.

The remaining weeks of the engagement crawled by with agonizing slowness. Eugenie and Callum maintained their public façade, attending balls, dinners, and social events with perfect courtesy. To the outside world, they appeared the ideal engaged couple. In private, things were infinitely more complicated. They still shared breakfasts and occasional evenings in the library, but now every interaction was weighted with unspoken tension.

Callum never again mentioned making the engagement real, but his eyes said everything his words didn’t, and Eugenie found herself aching with the need to close the distance between them, to give in to what she wanted, but she held firm to her decision.

They needed time apart to be certain.

With only 3 days remaining before their agreed upon separation, Winifred summoned Eugenie to the drawing room with unusual urgency.

“We have a problem,” the Dowager Duchess announced without preamble.

Eugenie’s stomach dropped. “What kind of problem?”

“Lady Cromwell has been investigating. She’s gotten it into her head that this engagement is fraudulent.”

“What? How?”

“She’s been questioning servants, checking records, generally being a nosy nuisance. And she’s discovered something rather damning.” Winifred paused significantly. “There’s no record of Callum ever visiting the British Museum during the time period we claimed you met.”

Eugenie felt the blood drain from her face. “Can she prove anything?”

“Not definitively, but she’s spreading rumors, suggesting the engagement was arranged for financial reasons. That you’re a fortune hunter who trapped Callum into this sham.”

“That’s not…” She broke off, realizing it was partially true. She had entered this arrangement for money, even if her motivations were more complex than Lady Cromwell could imagine.

“I know it’s not the full truth,” Winifred said gently, “but perception matters in our world. If these rumors gain traction, it could damage both your reputation significantly.”

“Then we’ll end the engagement early as planned. Issue a statement about discovering we don’t suit.”

“That will only confirm suspicions that something was wrong from the beginning.” Winifred studied her carefully. “There is another option, which is make it real. Marry Callum. Not in 3 months, but now. This week. Before Lady Cromwell’s poisonous rumors can spread further.”

Eugenie’s heart hammered. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m entirely serious. Think about it, my dear. The best way to silence gossip about a fraudulent engagement is to actually get married. It becomes impossible to claim deception when you’re legally bound.”

“But Callum knows about Lady Cromwell’s investigation.”

“I told him this morning, and he agrees that an immediate marriage is the most practical solution.”

“Practical,” Eugenie repeated hollowly. “How romantic.”

“Romance is lovely, but survival is more important.” Winifred’s tone turned sharp. “You’ve spent 6 weeks building something genuine with my son, whether you want to admit it or not. Don’t let pride and fear destroy that because the timing isn’t perfect.”

Before Eugenie could respond, Callum himself entered the drawing room. He looked tired. She noticed shadows under his eyes, suggesting he had slept poorly.

“I assume mother has explained the situation,” he said without preamble.

“She has. And what do you think?” His voice was carefully neutral, giving nothing away.

Eugenie looked between them, Winifred with her calculating determination, Callum with his guarded expression. This was madness. Complete and utter madness.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that I need to speak with Callum alone.”

Winifred took the hint, sweeping out with a knowing smile.

Once they were alone, Callum moved to the window, staring out at the garden. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Marry me to salvage the situation. I won’t force you into anything, Eugenie. If you want to end this now, face the scandal. I’ll support whatever you decide.”

“And your reputation will survive.”

“I’m a duke. I have certain privileges when it comes to weathering gossip.” He turned to face her. “But yours might not recover. An impoverished lady accused of trapping a duke into a false engagement. Society won’t be kind.”

“I’m aware.”

“So the question is…” He moved closer, his expression intense. “What do you want? Not what’s practical or sensible. What do you actually want?”

It was the most direct question anyone had ever asked her.

And standing there looking at Callum Merrow, this complicated, brilliant, unexpectedly tender man who had somehow become the center of her world, Eugenie realized she was tired of lying to society, to Winifred, to herself.

“I want you,” she said simply. “I’ve wanted you for weeks now, but I was too afraid to admit it. Afraid it wasn’t real, that I was fooling myself, that you only felt obligated because of the arrangement.”

His expression softened. “You’re never going to be rid of me now, you realize? Not after admitting that.”

“Is that a threat, your grace?”

“A promise, Lady Eugenie.”

He closed the remaining distance between them. “So, let me be equally direct. I love you. Not because of any arrangement or convenience, not because we’ve been playing house and it’s comfortable, but because you challenge me and fascinate me and make me laugh when I least expect it, because you’re brilliant and kind and stronger than you give yourself credit for. Because when I imagine my future, you’re in every part of it.”

Tears spilled down Eugenie’s cheeks. “You can’t possibly.”

“I can and I do.” He cupped her face in both hands, thumbs brushing away tears. “I know this started as a farce. I know it’s complicated and unconventional and possibly the most impractical foundation for a marriage in the history of the aristocracy, but I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

Part 3

“We barely know each other.”

“We’ve spent 6 weeks having conversations deeper than most married couples manage in a lifetime. I know how you take your tea and what makes you laugh and that you chew your lip when you’re thinking hard about something. I know you’re terrible at embroidery but excellent at mathematics. I know you cry at poetry but stay stoic through tragedy. I know…” He broke off, searching her face. “I know you’re afraid and I understand that. But don’t let fear stop you from taking something that could make us both happy.”

Eugenie reached up to cover his hands with hers. “If we do this, if we actually get married, it has to be real. No more pretending. No more arrangements. Just us building something genuine.”

“That’s all I’ve wanted since that night at the opera,” Callum admitted. “Possibly before, though I was too stubborn to acknowledge it. And your mother…”

“Her manipulations will be politely but firmly discouraged from interfering in our marriage,” he said. “I love her dearly, but she’s meddled quite enough for 1 lifetime.”

Eugenie laughed through her tears. “She means well.”

“She’s a menace.”

“A well-intentioned menace, but still.”

His expression turned serious. “So, is that a yes? Will you marry me for real this time?”

“I need you to understand something first.” Eugenie took a shaky breath. “My family’s financial situation is still precarious. Even with your mother’s assistance, we’re not secure long-term. If I marry you, there will always be people who say I did it for money and position, that I trapped you with your mother’s help.”

“Let them say it. I don’t care.”

“You might eventually when it becomes tiresome defending your choice of wife.”

“Eugenie,” he said, her name with exasperation and affection in equal measure, “I’m a duke who cares about factory reform and workers’ rights. I’ve been called a radical sympathizer, a traitor to my class, and considerably worse. 1 more controversy isn’t going to devastate me, especially when that controversy comes with the benefit of being married to the most interesting woman I’ve ever met.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely certain.” He pulled her closer until they were barely an inch apart. “So stop trying to talk me out of this and give me an answer.”

Looking up at him, at the man who had been her fake fiancé and had somehow become something infinitely more important, Eugenie felt the last of her resistance crumble.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I’ll marry you for real this time.”

The kiss was inevitable. Callum’s lips met hers with a gentleness that contrasted with the intensity of the moment, and Eugenie felt herself melting into him. This was not the chaste kiss they had performed for society at various events. This was real and raw and desperately honest.

When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Callum rested his forehead against hers. “We’re doing this.”

“We’re completely mad.”

“Undoubtedly.” He grinned, that rare, transformative smile that made her heart skip. “But at least we’re mad together.”

A discreet cough from the doorway made them spring apart. Winifred stood there looking insufferably pleased with herself.

“I take it you’ve reached a decision.”

“We’re getting married,” Callum said, his arms sliding around Eugenie’s waist. “This week, as you suggested. But mother,” his tone turned serious, “this is where your involvement in our relationship ends. You’ve had your fun playing matchmaker. Now let us actually live our lives without interference.”

“Of course, darling,” Winifred said with suspicious sweetness. “Though I do hope I’m still invited to the wedding.”

“You’re invited,” Eugenie assured her. “But Callum’s right. This is our marriage, our choice. We are grateful for your creative intervention, but—”

“Say no more.” Winifred waved a hand. “I understand perfectly. I’ll simply enjoy my grandchildren when they arrive and resist all urges to meddle further.”

“Grandchildren?” Callum muttered. “We’re not even married yet.”

“Details, darling. Now, shall we discuss wedding arrangements? 3 days isn’t much time.”

The wedding took place on a crisp autumn morning at St. George’s church with considerably fewer than 500 guests. They had kept it intimate, immediate family, a handful of close friends, and notably absent were Lady Cromwell and her poisonous gossip. Eugenie wore a cream silk gown that Winifred had commissioned, simple but elegant. As she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, she caught sight of Callum waiting at the altar.

He looked nervous, she realized with amusement. The confident Duke of Silverley was actually fidgeting with his cravat.

When she reached him, he leaned close enough to whisper, “You look beautiful and I’m terrified.”

“So am I,” she whispered back.

“Good. At least we’re equally terrified.”

The ceremony passed in a blur. Eugenie heard herself making vows that no longer felt like a performance. When Callum slid the ring onto her finger, a beautiful sapphire that matched the gown she had worn to the opera, his hand trembled slightly.

“I, Callum Edmund Merrow, take thee, Eugenie Charlotte Weatherstone…”

The words hung in the air, weighted with meaning. This was real. This was happening.

When the vicar pronounced them married and Callum kissed her, Eugenie felt something inside her finally settle. All the fear and doubt and worry about whether this was right dissolved in the certainty that yes, this was exactly where she belonged.

The wedding breakfast afterward was a joyous affair. Eugenie’s parents seemed younger than they had in years, her father actually laughing at something Winifred said. Her brother Edward, home from school for the occasion, declared Callum rather decent for a duke, which everyone agreed was high praise from a 16-year-old.

As the afternoon wore on, Callum pulled Eugenie aside into a quiet corridor.

“How are you feeling, your grace?”

It took her a moment to realize he meant the title. She was the Duchess of Silverley now. “Strange, overwhelmed, happy.”

“Good. Those are all appropriate reactions.” He pulled her closer, his arms encircling her waist. “I have something for you.”

“Another gift? You’ve already been too generous.”

“This 1’s different.” He produced a folded paper from his jacket. “Open it.”

Eugenie unfolded the document, scanning the contents. Her breath caught. It was a trust deed establishing a permanent income for her family, managed independently of their marriage, more than enough to maintain their estate comfortably and provide for her brother’s education and future.

“Callum.”

“This is insurance,” he said quietly. “So you’ll never have to wonder if you married me for money. This is yours regardless of what happens between us. If our marriage succeeds, and I fully intend that it will, this gives your family security without being tied to my goodwill. If somehow we’re completely wrong about each other and everything falls apart, you’ll still have provided for them. Either way, that burden is lifted.”

She looked at him through tears. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I did. Because I need you to know that I want you here as my wife, as my partner, because I love you, not because you need my money or my protection. Those come freely, but your choice to stay has to be just that, a choice.”

Eugenie threw her arms around him, the document crumpling between them. “You impossible, wonderful man. How did I get so lucky?”

“I believe my mother ambushed you at a charity tea,” he said dryly. “But I like to think fate played a role, too.”

They stood there in the corridor holding each other until someone called that the carriages were ready to take them home, to their home. Eugenie realized, not his house where she was a temporary guest, but their shared residence. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.

That night, after the guests had departed and the house had quieted, Eugenie stood in her new bedroom, the duchess’s suite adjoining Callum’s rooms, trying to process everything that had happened. A soft knock at the connecting door made her turn.

“Come in.”

Callum entered, having changed out of his formal wedding clothes into a dressing gown. He looked younger somehow, less like a duke and more like just Callum.

“I wanted to make sure you’re all right. This has been a rather overwhelming day.”

“I’m fine, better than fine.” She moved to where he stood. “Though I keep expecting to wake up and discover this is all an elaborate dream.”

“If it is, we’re sharing it, which seems improbable.”

He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle. “We don’t have to. That is, I don’t expect…”

He broke off, clearly struggling.

“Are you trying to tell me we don’t have to consummate the marriage tonight?” Eugenie asked with amusement.

“Yes, exactly that. We can take our time, get more comfortable with each other. There’s no rush.”

She considered him for a moment. This man who had shown her kindness when he could have been cruel, who had respected her intelligence and valued her opinions, who had just given her family financial security to prove his love was genuine.

“What if I don’t want to wait?” she asked softly.

His eyes darkened. “Eugenie.”

“We’ve been pretending for months, Callum. Maintaining careful distance even when we wanted more. I’m tired of pretending. Tired of being careful.” She moved closer until they were nearly touching. “We’re married now. Actually married. I don’t want our wedding night to be another exercise in restraint.”

“Are you certain?” His voice had gone rough. “Because once we cross this line…”

“I’m certain.” She reached up to cup his face, drawing him down to her. “I love you. I choose this. I choose you. No more doubts.”

The kiss that followed was nothing like their previous careful pecks for society. This was hungry and desperate and absolutely honest. Callum’s arms came around her, pulling her close as if he would never let go.

“I love you,” he murmured against her lips. “God, Eugenie, I love you so much.”

She pulled back just enough to smile at him. “Then perhaps you should show me.”

What followed was tender and sometimes awkward. They were both nervous despite everything, but also profoundly right. Every touch felt like a discovery, every kiss a promise. When Callum finally made her his wife in truth as well as law, Eugenie felt as if something fundamental had shifted in the universe.

Afterward, lying tangled together in the massive bed, Callum traced patterns on her bare shoulder. “So,” he said eventually, “shall we discuss how we’re going to navigate married life? Establish some ground rules?”

“Ground rules for marriage? How romantic.”

“I prefer practical.” But he was smiling. “Though I suppose rule 1 should be honesty. We started this with lies. Let’s make sure we continue with truth.”

“Agreed. What else?”

“We face society together. Whatever gossip Lady Cromwell spreads, whatever complications arise from our unconventional beginning, we present a united front.”

“Of course.”

“And…” He hesitated. “We try. Genuinely try to make this work, not because of arrangements or obligations, but because we’ve chosen each other.”

“Callum.” She turned to face him fully. “I meant my vows today. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

“Stuck with you?” He repeated with satisfaction. “I can live with that.”

They fell asleep wrapped around each other, and for the first time in months, Eugenie felt completely at peace.

5 years later, the nursery at Silverley Manor was in absolute chaos.

Eugenie stood in the doorway, watching her husband attempt to wrangle their 3-year-old son, Thomas, while simultaneously preventing their 1-year-old daughter, Catherine, from eating the building blocks.

“No, Thomas, we don’t throw toys at Papa’s head. Even if it’s tempting. And Catherine, darling, blocks are for building, not dining. We’ve discussed this.”

Catherine responded by shoving another block toward her mouth with determination.

“Need assistance?” Eugenie asked with amusement.

Callum looked up, his hair completely disheveled and his cravat nowhere to be seen. “Your children are menaces.”

“They’re only my children when they’re misbehaving. When they’re good, they’re yours.”

“They’re never good,” Callum said, but his tone was fond. He scooped up Catherine before she could succeed in eating the block. “Though I suppose they are rather wonderful menaces.”

Thomas chose that moment to launch himself at Eugenie, who caught him with practiced ease.

“Mama. Papa says we can go to the village if we promise to behave.”

“Did he? Now I’m already regretting it,” Callum admitted. “But they’ve been cooped up inside all week due to rain. They need to run wild somewhere that isn’t my study.”

“Your study that they’re banned from after the great incident.”

“We don’t speak of the great ink incident.”

Eugenie laughed, pressing a kiss to Thomas’s dark hair, so like his father’s. “All right, village it is. But actual good behavior, Thomas, not your interpretation of good behavior.”

An hour later, they were walking through the village, Catherine perched on Callum’s shoulders, and Thomas running ahead under strict instructions to stay where they could see him.

“You know,” Eugenie said, linking her arm through Callum’s free 1, “sometimes I still can’t believe this is our life.”

“Having regrets about marrying me to escape scandal?”

“Not even slightly, though that seems like it happened to different people now.”

“It did in a way.”

Callum smiled at her. He was right, Eugenie reflected. She had gained confidence, taken on charitable work focused on education for working-class children, and even published a philosophical treatise under a pseudonym that had been rather well received. Callum had successfully championed his factory reforms, served on several parliamentary committees, and generally proved that dukes could care about more than hunting and gambling. And together they had built something real, a marriage based on genuine affection and respect despite its ridiculous beginning.

“Mama, Mama, look.” Thomas was pointing at a posting board in the village square. “What does it say?”

Eugenie moved closer to read the announcement. Her eyes widened.

“It says Lady Cromwell has been requested to leave the county by the local magistrate.”

“Truly?” Callum looked delighted. “Whatever for?”

“Apparently she’s been spreading malicious gossip about too many families, and someone finally had enough.”

Eugenie couldn’t suppress a smile. “The woman who tried to destroy our reputation has herself been destroyed by her own poisonous tongue.”

“Karma is real,” Callum observed with satisfaction. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised. She made enemies of everyone.”

They continued their walk, the children happily chasing each other around the village green while Eugenie and Callum watched from a nearby bench.

“Do you ever miss it?” Callum asked suddenly. “Your old life before all this?”

Eugenie considered the question seriously. Did she miss being Lady Eugenie Weatherstone, impoverished and invisible, the quiet loneliness of being overlooked by society?

“Not even a little,” she said honestly. “I have everything I never knew I wanted. Purpose, partnership, a family.”

He pulled her closer. “Good. Because I’m rather attached to keeping you around.”

“Rather attached. What passionate language, your grace. Would you prefer if I wrote you poetry, serenaded you publicly?”

“God, no. I prefer you exactly as you are, pragmatic, occasionally insufferable, and mine.”

He kissed her temple. “Yours. Always yours.”

Thomas chose that moment to tumble spectacularly, scraping his knee and immediately wailing. Eugenie hurried over while Callum dealt with Catherine, who decided this was an excellent time to try climbing a tree.

Later, back at home with the children finally settled for their nap, Eugenie and Callum found themselves in the library, still their favorite room, still where they spent their quiet evenings together.

“We should visit your parents this weekend,” Callum said, reviewing correspondence. “Your father wants to show me something about the new drainage system.”

“He’s so proud of that drainage system,” Eugenie said with affection. Since the financial stability Callum had provided, her father had thrown himself into improving the estate. “He’s become quite the expert on agricultural management.”

“Good. He seems happy.”

“He is. They both are.” She looked at Callum over the top of her book. “Thank you for that.”

“For what?”

“For giving my family security, for never making them feel like they’re charity cases, for treating them with respect even when it would have been easy to be condescending.”

“Their family,” Callum said simply. “Your family is my family. Besides, your father’s actually fascinating to talk to once he’s not worried about money constantly.”

She set down her book and moved to sit beside him. “Have I mentioned lately that I love you?”

“Not in the last hour. I was beginning to worry.”

She swatted his arm but couldn’t suppress her smile. “I love you desperately. Inconveniently. Completely inconveniently. You distract me from reading.”

“Very inconvenient. I’ll endeavor to be more distracting then.” He pulled her into his lap, making her laugh. “Can’t have you finding books more interesting than your husband.”

“Impossible task. You’re unfortunately fascinating.”

“Unfortunately. It would be easier if you were boring. Then I could ignore you and get more reading done.”

“My apologies for being so compelling,” he said, clearly not sorry at all.

They sat together in comfortable silence, Callum absently running his fingers through her hair while he read over her shoulder.

“Do you know what I was thinking earlier?” Eugenie said eventually. “When we were in the village with the children.”

“What?”

“That I’m glad your mother ambushed me at that tea. Glad she concocted that absurd scheme because without it we never would have found each other.”

Callum was quiet for a moment. “I’ve thought that, too. It’s strange, isn’t it? How the best things sometimes start in the most improbable ways.”

“Should we tell the children someday about how we really met?”

“Absolutely. When they’re old enough to appreciate the absurdity.” He pressed a kiss to her hair. “They should know that sometimes taking a chance on something ridiculous leads to something extraordinary.”

“Very philosophical, your grace.”

“I learned from the best.”

Eugenie twisted to look up at him. “I really do love you. You know, not the convenient fiction we created, not the role we played, but you exactly as you are.”

“I know.” His eyes were soft with affection. “I’ve known it since that night you cried in this library and let me hold you. Since you trusted me with your fear and uncertainty. That’s when I knew this was real. Not when I agreed to marry you. That’s when I hoped. But trust, that’s when I knew.”

They sat together as the afternoon light faded, talking about everything and nothing, upcoming social obligations, Callum’s latest parliamentary efforts, the children’s antics, plans for the future.

And Eugenie thought, not for the first time, that she was extraordinarily lucky. Not because she had married a duke, though that certainly had its advantages, but because she had married this particular man, someone who challenged and supported her, who made her laugh and made her think, who had given her a partnership she had never dreamed possible.

Their story had started with a lie whispered at a tea party. It had become a truth worth fighting for, and she would not change a single ridiculous, improbable moment of it.

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