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“Of course, there is much to learn,” Diana continued, feeling the need to speak. “And your grandson --”

“His Grace,” she corrected.

“Yes. His Grace...” Diana cleared her throat. “He has told me of his nieces, and how he will need a hand in raising them.”

“Do you have any experience with children?”

“Oh. No, I do not – but I was one once, you know,” she joked, which fell terribly flat. “My meaning is, I am willing to learn. I believe that all marriages are different....” She cleared her throat, feeling herself run hot. “But I also believe that your grandson – His Grace,” she corrected before being reprimanded. “I believe he chose me for a good reason.”

“And that reason is?”

“Ah...” Diana swallowed the lump in her throat. “I... I am... he likes me?”

“Is that a question? Or are you implying that my grandson would ask to marry a woman he did not like? Well?”

Diana was visibly sweating now. And shaking. The old woman barely spoke, but the words she chose seemed designed to unsettle. She was colder than Diana had expected. Calculating, too. Was this a test? Or did she simply enjoy putting Diana on edge like this?

Truthfully, as nervous as Diana was feeling, she was also finding herself growing angry. The fact that she was the one justifying this marriage – as if she was the one who sought it! It should have been the duke who was explaining himself, not her. He should have been sat across from her mother answering ridiculous questions like this.

Despite her best efforts, that anger began to boil...

“His Grace chose me,” she said as calmly as she could. “And I would hope that his judgement would be enough to justify this marriage. Anything I say might be seen to undercut or second guess his assurances that I am the woman whom he wishes to wed.”

The dowager duchess smirked slightly. “So, you intend to follow where he leads?”

“I did not say that.”

“So, you intend to wait on his beck and call like a common maid?”

“I did not say that either.”

“You say a lot,” she said. “And somehow manage to say so little. You must choose your words more carefully. As a soon-to-be duchess, every word spoken counts. I wonder if you understand the seriousness of the position my grandson had thrust upon you.”

“There was no thrusting,” Diana snapped before she could help herself. “I will remind you that your grandson – my soon-to-be husband, was the one who sought me out. He chose me. And if that is not good enough for you then...” She shrugged and looked flatly at the elderly woman. “Frankly, how you feel about the matter is of little concern to me.” Diana’s eyes widened the moment she stopped speaking.

Oh no...

Of course she had put her foot in it. Of course she had let her temper get the better of her. The dowager duchess must have been expecting it, baiting her, likely wanting to see her break so she could go back to the duke and tell him this marriage was cancelled.

“I did not mean --”

“Yes, you did,” the dowager duchess cut her off. Only most strangely, she was smiling now. “And quite frankly, it is about time.”

“Excuse me?”

She shook her head and chuckled to herself. “My grandson told me that he had found for himself a strong-willed stalwart of a woman to make his bride. One who would not let others, two young girls especially, run rampart over her. I was beginning to worry that he had misjudged.”

“He... he did?”

“Why do you think I am here?” she said with amusement. “To see what sort of woman my grandson has picked. Or better, to see what sort of woman would be raising my two great-nieces. Not to mention taming my grandson while she is at it.”

“I...” Diana grimaced, still not entirely sure what was going on. “I have a habit of speaking without thinking.”

“No, no,” she corrected. “You have a habit of saying what needs to be said.” She nodded rightly. “Which is a trait you will need if you are to become a duchess.” She winked. “Trust me. You are about to enter a life of people wishing to use you for no other reason than they think they can get something out of it. A crown to put atop their heads and tell the world they are its rulers. A weakling is the last thing you should be.”

“I am not a weakling.”

“That, you are not,” she said with another wink. “Nor is my grandson, as I am sure that you have seen. Together... why, dare I say that this marriage might just work.”