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" D aphne, have you finished getting ready? You must hurry, it is almost noon, and Lord Richard will be arriving any moment."

Joyce called out to her sister from the stairs, who sat in her room, staring idly at her reflection as her lady's maid brushed her hair, and styled it into an elegant bun.

"What do you think, My Lady? Would you prefer a loose curl to the side, or do you wish to keep it all tied like this?" the maid asked.

Daphne shrugged her shoulders, "I give you full control to do whatever you wish."

Which was really just another way of saying, I do not care.

They had received the message that morning, that Lord Richard was going to make his way to the Manor in the afternoon to speak to Daphne about a matter that was of great urgency.

"He will finally propose," Joyce had said once Daphne had conveyed the message to her, and excitedly began preparations. She had even called over her other sisters, and one by one, they had arrived – all of them bursting with excitement that their youngest sibling was finally going to get engaged.

"Don't be so excited," Daphne had tried to tamp down their emotions – which were running high, "It might not be what you are expecting. He might just want to drop by for a chat."

"Don't be so silly," her sister had replied, "No man just drops by for a chat to the woman he has been courting like that. Now, get dressed. You must present yourself in the best way to him."

And so, Daphne had been sat this vanity chair ever since. Even her lady's maid seemed chirpier than usual, telling her tales about grand proposals she had heard about. But Daphne was hardly paying attention.

She should be excited, of course. It would make sense for her to be. But in the week that she had been back at the Manor from the house party, she had felt like a shell of her former self.

Even waking up in the morning and getting dressed felt like a great chore, and she had kept her nose buried in books in order to distract herself from the turmoil that brewed inside of her heart.

But even that had been a useless endeavor.

All the books in her possession were romance, and between their pages she was reminded just how she had felt for the Duke.

Whenever the characters expressed their feelings, she would think oh but this is what I feel, too.

Overwhelmed, she would often end up tossing the book to the side.

It seemed that wherever she went, there was no escaping thoughts of Ambrose. And now that she was meant to meet with Lord Richard, she worried that it would only remind her of him even more.

Still, the fact remained that he was scheduled to visit, and that there was no running from it.

"He's here," a frantic Joyce called from downstairs, causing a ripple effect in her room where the maid frantically begun to make the last minute adjustments to her gown.

"It is alright," Daphne said, getting up from her place of sitting. Her voice sounded tired, despite getting a full night of sleep. "I think I am prepared enough."

After all, what difference did it make about her appearance looking perfectly polished if she felt the only dread inside?

"You look wonderful, My Lady. Lord Richard is a lucky man, indeed," the maid said.

"Thank you," Daphne tried hard to contort her wince into a smile. But it ended up looking like a strange combination of the two. And then she lowered her voice down to a whisper, one that only she could hear. " I suppose I must get it over with. "

When she arrived downstairs, Lord Richard was waiting for her in the drawing room. Next to it, her sisters had lined up, eyeing her with anticipation and curiosity.

"Good luck, my dear."

"I am sure you'll return with good tidings."

"I shall begin preparations soon!"

Daphne ignored them, and steadied herself before entering the drawing room.

"Ah, Lady Daphne," Richard stood up to greet her. "Lovely to finally meet you again."

Daphne feigned a smile, even though the sight of him did not muster any kind of excitement inside of her.

"Lord Richard," she curtsied politely, "I hope that your journey here was well, and without trouble."

"Ah, yes, yes. It was, please take a seat," he said, gesturing to the space next to him. Reluctantly, she sat down and immediately busied herself with the fidgeting of her fingers.

Stop that. Ambrose's voice sounded out in her head, and she nearly jumped. Truly, there was no escaping him. Even the most mundane things had now become associated with him. It was as though he had permanently etched himself into her memory.

Like how you brand cattle – marked for life.

Richard shifted uncomfortably, and it dawned on her that perhaps this was just as nerve wracking for him as it was for her.

"Lady Daphne," he began, rubbing the back of his neck, "I know you must be wondering why I called on you this afternoon. I... well.. I was.."

Daphne wondered if she should interject to make him feel more at ease, as he clearly seemed to be struggling with his words. But her own heartrate had sped, her fidgeting exacerbated.

"I was hoping to speak to you about something."

A matter of great urgence, as he had called it. "What is it, My Lord?" she said, slowly. A knot formed in her stomach as she anticipated what was coming.

"I've been thinking," Richard continued, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "We've spent a considerable amount of time together recently, and... well, I have always thought highly of you."

Don't say it, please. For heaven's sake, don't say it. Daphne shot him a worried look, but then replaced with a smile, not wanting to look ungrateful.

He paused, then cleared his throat, "Perhaps you already have an inkling about what I am about to say to you next. You are a smart woman, of course."

Daphne had always taken pride in her intelligence. But at this moment, she almost wished she was as daft as tree bark, so that she could avoid this moment altogether. Blissful ignorance, as they say.

"And so... well, my mother has been quite adamant about the... matter of marriage," he continued, "I was fortunate enough to spend some time with you at the house party, and I believe that she quite likes you as well. And so..."

He stumbled on his words again, and Daphne drew her hands into a fist so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"And so... I believe that we would make for a good match," he was out of breath as he finished the sentence, only to be met with silence. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Daphne looked up at him, and blinked slowly. "In marriage?" she nearly choked out the words.

What is wrong with you? She chided herself. This was what she had wanted all this time – a proposal from Richard. But now that the moment had arrived, she felt as though she would rather be anywhere than here.

"Yes, in marriage," he replied, "I suppose what I am asking you here is that would you like to marry me?"

Their gazes met, but it did not elicit any kind of feeling from inside of her. If anything, it felt no different than staring at Isadora or Violet. Familiar, yes. But there was no passion there.

She swallowed, roughly. "Lord Richard..."

"I believe it would be a sensible arrangement. We get along well, don't we?" he rambled on, shifting his gaze to look at the floor instead.

Something was very wrong about this whole exchange. Richard wasn't excited about this, and neither was she.

"But do you... truly want to marry me?" Daphne asked, her brow furrowing. "Do you truly want me to be your wife?"

Richard looked up at the question, his lips pressing together into a tight line. "We have been in a courtship for some time now, and I suppose this is just the natural evolution to it."

She felt herself growing frustrating. Suppose. He had said that word more than once now. When she had imagined herself getting proposed to, she had always imagined a proposal that was made in certain terms. I wish to marry you because I love you. Because there is no one else but you.

But his words felt the exact opposite. It seemed that he was trying to convince himself just as much.

"Lord Richard," she straightened her back, mustering up all the courage she had available, "I wish for you to think about this for a moment. Do you really feel for me as one would feel for a wife?"

She knew that her sisters would have chided her for even daring to ask such a question. It was not like a Lady to question a proposal like this, but habits die hard. Daphne never had been one to stick to the socially accepted script.

Even if it was meant that she was about to ruin her prospects forever.

Richard looked a bit surprised at first at the question, but then paused to give it a thought.

"I feel you for you... as a friend," he admitted with a sigh, "which might be enough to sustain a marriage, and raise together offspring. It would make for a harmonious match, which is more than most people can say, I suppose. "

There it was again. That word.

"So you believe it to be a practical match?" she said, thinking about Ambrose again.

"Yes, you could say that. Practical," he nodded furiously, "that is the right word. I do care for you, I suppose, in some way. And you have proven yourself to be a kind hearted person."

Daphne shook her head gently, her thoughts becoming clearer as he spoke. "But you are not in love with me."

Richard took a long moment to respond. "I suppose not. Does that matter to you?"

To an outsider, it should have been devastating to hear that the man proposing to her does not love her. But all Daphne felt was relief.

"I suppose it does," she replied, "Lord Richard, you see, years ago I made a promise to myself that I would not settle for a marriage until I find myself a prince charming – a marriage that is based on love alone. But neither of us feel that way for one another."