Page 20 of A Duke Reformed (Icy Dukes #3)
Perhaps it was the way she spoke of it so plainly, as though she had already made peace with settling for the first well-mannered gentleman who met her requirements.
Perhaps it was the lingering trace of weariness in her voice, the exhaustion of a lady who had spent too long tending to others and had never once considered that she might want something more.
Or perhaps...and this was the most irritating possibility of all, it was simply the fact that she had spoken of taking a husband at all.
"Why is everyone shocked by that?" Emma asked him. "I think it is the most realistic thing to want. Love isn't what people make it out to be. The ones that are beautiful never happen to everyone."
"Still, your expectations for a marriage should be more than that," he said to her.
Emma scoffed. "Says the duke who isn't planning to marry at all."
"I'm being completely serious, Emma." Solomon watched as something flickered across her face. "That is absolute nonsense."
Her eyes snapped up to him. "It is practical."
"It is nonsense," he countered. "And if no one else has ever told you so, then allow me to be the first."
She sucked in a breath, her chin lifting in that stubborn way of hers. He had expected another retort, another argument. But none came. Instead, she merely looked at him.
"Look, I know I am in no position to give you advice on this, as I too need it myself," he continued. "But I don't think that should be what you seek in a marriage. It's convenient, yes...but I don't think it's sustainable for the long term."
Solomon exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. He had not meant to say so much, and yet, the words kept coming, unbidden, like a dam long overdue for breaking.
"My mother was a commoner," he started by saying.
"She had no titles, no wealth, no grand connections.
Just herself." He hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing.
"And me. I watched her live a lonely life.
I watched the way her face would tighten when she saw married couples walking hand in hand.
I saw how utterly lonely she was raising me. "
Solomon paused, watching her to see if she understood him.
"I am telling you this because you need to know that a loveless marriage, a polite, peaceful, well-mannered one is often a lonely one especially if there are children involved.
My mother never married, she never fell in love again and I saw what it did to her. "
Emma walked over to the sofa and sat. "Wouldn't it be better than this?" she asked him. "Your mother had you and I'm sure you filled her life with so much joy. I also want children of my own."
Her words struck him with a sharpness he hadn't anticipated.
It was the instant realization that to have children Emma would have to be married.
.. to a man. He paused, puzzled by how her words had stumped him.
To have children, Emma would carry another man's name, fill his house with life, and place said man above all else.
The realization dug in like a splinter beneath the skin. He inhaled slowly, deeply, forcing his expression to remain neutral as he brushed the sudden strange thought aside.
"Even if the father doesn't love you?" he asked, clearing his throat.
"Even if," she answered. "I'm not settling, Your Grace. I'm choosing to marry on these terms because I do not want love."
Solomon stared at her, genuinely perplexed.
The words sat oddly with him, as if they did not belong to a woman like her.
A woman who was selfless, thoughtful, who took on burdens that were not hers to bear.
He had assumed that someone like Emma would want more for herself.
That she would want to be loved first, above all else. But she was choosing something else.
It was strange. Confusing. And yet, he was hardly in a position to judge. After all, wasn't he the same?
Hadn't he spent his life avoiding entanglements, ensuring that he would never be caught in a web of emotions that could leave him exposed, vulnerable? Hadn't he sworn that he would never subject himself to the pain that came with love's fickle nature?
"As long as you are happy with whatever you choose, Miss Lockhart," he said at last, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Solomon let the conversation settle, though a strange disquiet remained in his chest. He hadn't expected to find any similarity between himself and Emma, and yet, despite their differences, there was something... familiar in her reasoning.
But they were not the same.
For one, he was willing to forsake marriage entirely rather than subject himself to an arrangement devoid of feeling. She, on the other hand, was open to it. Willing to accept a life bound by convenience rather than risk the uncertainty of love. It was baffling.
He pushed the thought aside and exhaled, rolling his shoulders back as if shaking off the weight of their discussion.
"Well," he said, breaking the silence, "I suppose we should return to our lesson before we find ourselves tangled in another unnecessary debate.
What do you propose I learn today, since courtship is off the table? "
Emma pulled out her notepad again. "Since you have no interest in courtship, today's lesson shall be about something far more pressing. Your reputation."
Solomon arched a brow. "That sounds dreadfully dull."
"It's not. We will be speaking particularly about associations. People you should or should not be seen with and why. The wrong company could damage your name beyond repair."
Solomon tilted his head, watching her with an expression that was both amused and resigned. "Very well, Miss Lockhart. I am all ears."
Emma gave him a sharp nod, as if pleased that he was finally taking this seriously, and launched into an explanation about the intricacies of social associations.
He listened. Truly listened. But as her voice filled the space between them, he couldn't ignore the nagging thought in the back of his mind.
He had let his guard down around her. Not just in the way he allowed himself to banter with her, or how he found himself genuinely enjoying her presence. No, it was something deeper than that...something he couldn't quite name yet. He made a mental note to figure out why. When he got the chance.