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Dorothy laughed. “And where are all these princes pretending to be cooks?”

Bridget’s face brightened. “I was thinking about Sir Thomas Malory’sThe Tale of Sir Gareth of Orkney. He was a prince and disguised himself as a kitchen page.”

Catherine’s lips twitched in amusement, and she tilted her head towards the Duke of Sarsen. “And how many princes dwell in your kitchens, Your Grace? I do not wish for just any cook.”

His Grace narrowed his eyes. “I must confess that there is no prince in my kitchens. I fear that having a prince in my kitchens would make me feel territorial.”

“Oh? Would you be anticipating a violent overthrow of your household?” Catherine asked.

“No, because I would putthatdown,” His Grace replied. “I take pride in how orderly my household is, and I would never let anyone disturb it.”

Although the duke spoke of a hypothetical prince, Catherine felt as though the words were a warning meant for her. But what could she possibly do? She might be improper, but she was nonetheless a lady. And it was well-known that people seldom listened to ladies. Why should she assume that her husband and his household would be different from all the rest?

“Who would dare dream of destroying your household, Your Grace?” Catherine teased. “I can scarcely imagine anyone bold enough to try.”

“I can think of one young miss,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

Catherine smiled and widened her eyes, affecting a look of mock innocence. She did not imagine that the Duke of Sarsen would go so far as to repeat some of their talk in the garden before her own family over dinner. Perhaps she had the advantage for the moment.

“Why, I would never dream of such a thing,” Catherine drawled, casting a sly look at her siblings.

Bridget grinned. Dorothy bit her lip, failing to hide her worry. Elias opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words emerged.

“I feel as though you would,” His Grace said. “I imagine that you are already planning on how you might manage the estate, how many gowns you will purchase, and how you will destroy my wealth and name.”

“Oh? Are you a psychic?” Catherine asked. “A prophet?”

“One does not need either to understand the whims of a woman who is soon to be wed,” His Grace replied.

“As you have doubtlessly noticed, I am unlike most women,” Catherine countered. “How do you know that I shall want the same things as the others? Perhaps, I have in mind a different design.”

He considered her for a long moment, and Catherine fought the urge to squirm in her seat beneath his intense stare. Only he had ever gazed at her that way, as though he saw all the way to the innermost depths of her soul and found a challenge there. He looked as though he anticipated a challenge, welcomed one even.

“I doubt you can surprise me,” His Grace said dismissively, “though you will obviously try. Stubborn women always do.”

“It is fortunate that I am not a stubborn woman,” Catherine replied, smiling brightly.

Elias snorted. “Cat.”

“What?” Catherine asked. “I am not!”

“You are the very picture of stubbornness,” he said.

“There is a kinder way to say it,” Dorothy said. “Resolute, perhaps.”

“Mulish,” added Bridget. “Contrary.”

“Those are significantly less kind!” Catherine exclaimed. “Bridget, how could you say such inconsiderate things about your own sister? I fear that you have cause incomparable harm to our family with your harsh words. His Grace will not wish to marry me, knowing that he is to have such a cold sister.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” the Duke of Sarsen replied. “On the contrary, I think His Grace continues to insist on marrying.”

“Perhaps you are a man who makes poor choices,” Catherine said, shaking her head. “Alas!”

His Grace ate a piece of mutton, his eyes fixed upon Catherine’s face as though she was someone that he needed to watch very carefully. Or maybesomething, like she was a deer, and he was a particularly hungry wolf.

“I am not a man who makes poor choices,” he replied. “My every move is carefully calculated.”

What calculations had he made in asking her to be his bride? Catherine’s heart hammered against her ribs. Her initial thought was that he had made none, but she recalled suddenly their rendezvous in the corridor outside Dorothy’s room, where he had suggested that she offer herself in her sister’s place. Perhaps she had become part of his design, although Catherine could not fathom why any man might choose her over Dorothy.