Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I say. “I love it. It was my mother’s choice. Ben loves to tease me about it.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Sunday,” he says, quick as a flash.
Smiling, I roll my eyes, like I’m well used to his jibes. Which I kind of am.
“So how long have you two been together?” the duchess asks.
“Less than a year,” I say—technically, not a lie. “It’s been a whirlwind.”
Ben isn’t a talker. Anyone who’s ever met him knows that. He can’t start gushing over our fairy-tale romance because it’ll sound fake. Most of the relationship questions have to be answered by me.
“It’s a cliché, but when you know, you really know,” I say.
The duchess is smiling like she knows exactly what I mean. “I agree. I see couples together for four and five years and then they split up, and I think, ‘What were you doing? If you knew it wasn’t right, why did you waste all that time?’”
I can’t help but think about Jed. We’d been together nearly a decade and hadn’t made it down the aisle. I always made the excuse that we were young and had plenty of time. But maybe he’d been dragging his feet a long time because he didn’t believe in us. Or maybe I’d been the one with doubts. Maybe on some level, we knew we weren’t each other’s forever.
“You’re right,” I say. “Though I guess sometimes you can be happy enough to stay in a relationship, but not happy enough to turn it into forever.” I lay a hand on Ben’s upper arm and squeeze.
“Absolutely,” he says.
I laugh because he’s clearly so uncomfortable, and it has nothing to do with me being his fake fiancée. Even if I was the love of his life, the woman he was going to marry, he’d be just as uncomfortable. It’s just who he is.
The duchess laughs as well. “I know how that feels,” she says, nodding to Ben’s rigid demeanor. “I can count the number of times George has told me he loves me on one hand. It’s the British stiff upper lip you’ll have to get used to.”
“I don’t see the need to remind you,” the duke says. “You’re an intelligent woman. It’s not likely you’re going to forget. Excuse me.” He moves away to greet another couple who have appeared in the doorway. I never thought to ask how many people were coming this weekend. So far it’s six couples and the duke and duchess.
I expect the duchess to make her excuses too, but she just shakes her head in a way that says she loves her husband but can find him completely hopeless. “Do you have a date in mind for the wedding?”
“We’re mid-discussions. Ben would have us elope tomorrow.” I shrug. “It’s not like I want something really huge, but I think it would be nice for our friends and family to share the day with us.”
“Are your parents excited?” she asks.
“Nothing much excites my dad. As long as I’m happy. My mom died when I was young, so—” I get a sudden and unexpected lump in my throat, which silences me for a couple of seconds.
The duchess puts her hand over mine and mouths, I’m sorry.
I’m used to talking about my mom and it rarely gets me emotional when I mention her in passing, but she would be excited for me if Ben and I were getting married. No doubt, she’d be making plans for her and Dad to move to England for at least part of the year, and she’d be helping me with preparations. One day, when it finally happens for me, I’m going to find it tough without her. Dad’s input alone isn’t going to cut it.
“As long as we don’t wait too long,” Ben says, rescuing me from having to form a sentence. The duke rejoins us as Ben says, “I don’t see the point in protracted engagements. We know we’re getting married, so let’s get on with it.”
The duke gives a firm nod of his head. “My thoughts exactly.”
I take a steadying breath and smile. “Your home is quite lovely,” I say, keen to steer the conversation away from our relationship. “Has it been in the family long?”
“Since 1679,” the duke replies. “The year construction was completed. The seventh Duke of Brandon commissioned it, and it’s been in the family ever since.”
“That’s wonderful,” I reply. “I love the idea of creating and maintaining history that can be passed down through the generations.”
“Yes, the title shall pass to my cousin or his son,” the duke says in a clipped tone. “Do you have a big family?”
“Not yet,” I say. “I’ve always wanted lots of children, though. Ben agrees.”
“Define ‘lots of,’” he growls, and I laugh because it’s exactly how I’d expect him to react if we were actually engaged and talking about children. The duchess laughs, too, and I like her for it. I don’t really know her, and she’s British aristocracy, but somehow I feel like we have lots in common in the way we react to the grumpy men in our lives.