"That is very considerate."
"I have been told so."
Sebastian fell into step beside her. For several moments, they walked without speaking, which he appreciated more than he expected. Clara did not seem frightened by silence, nor did she rush to fill it simply because a duke happened to be beside her.
Eventually, Sebastian glanced toward the house. "What would you change about Wycliffe Hall?"
Clara looked suspicious. "Is this another test?"
"No."
"You hesitated."
"I was considering whether I should be offended before you answered."
"That seems efficient." She studied the building for a moment. "The chairs."
Sebastian stopped walking. "The chairs?"
"Yes."
"There are hundreds of rooms here, and you would begin with the chairs?"
"They are beautiful and deeply uncomfortable."
"That seems an expensive combination." Sebastian laughed. "You may be the first guest in years to insult my furniture."
"I am sure the furniture will recover."
That afternoon, he sought her out again, a gesture far too obvious for Lady Arabella to ignore. Yet Clara remained herself. She did not suddenly appear at Sebastian’s side whenever he entered a room; she didn't start dressing more elaborately or finding reasons to ask about his income, title, or estates. When he talked about something tedious, she looked just as bored as she would have if he were anyone else. Sebastian found that more attractive than he wanted to admit.
One evening, they sat near the drawing-room windows while several guests played cards across the room. Sebastian watched Lady Charlotte rearrange the seating so she could sit closer to him.
Clara glanced at him. "Do you—"
He frowned. "Do I what?"
"Have an opinion about the kind of wife you want?"
The question caught him unexpectedly. His mother had asked about rank, fortune, family connections, temperament, and suitability; no one had asked him that.
"I suppose I should."
"That sounds dangerously similar to no."
Sebastian smiled. "I know what I do not want."
"That is usually easier."
"I do not want someone who spends every morning wondering whether she is behaving like a duchess."
Clara considered that. "And what do you want instead?"
He looked toward her. "Someone I can be quiet beside."
The answer surprised both of them.
Clara’s expression softened. "That seems reasonable."
"It apparently eliminates most of society."
"Then you may have to become less fashionable."
He laughed again.
Their growing ease did not go unnoticed. Lady Arabella approached Clara the following afternoon, after Sebastian had been called away by his secretary.
"You are very clever, Miss Whitmore."
Clara looked up from the book she was reading. "I am never sure whether that is a compliment when people say it that way."
Arabella smiled. "You've set yourself apart by pretending not to care."
Clara closed the book. "I'm not pretending."
"Of course," Arabella replied with condescension, though it was gentle enough to remain socially acceptable. "You avoid him, disagree with him, and never seem impressed. It's an effective strategy."
Clara felt irritation rise. "It would be a poor strategy, considering I arrived with no expectation of being chosen."
"That's precisely what makes it convincing."
Clara stood. "If His Grace prefers women who don't flatter him, perhaps the problem isn't that I'm performing. Perhaps everyone else is."
Arabella’s smile disappeared.
The exchange should have meant little, but Clara carried it with her for the rest of the day. It made her more conscious of every conversation with Sebastian and every glance that followed them.
That evening, the Dowager Duchess arranged another dinner discussion, this time asking each woman what she believed she would bring to a marriage. The answers were exactly what Sebastian expected: connections, social grace, financial stability, children, a well-run household.
Then Helena turned toward Clara. "And you, Miss Whitmore?"
Clara paused. She could feel Arabella watching her. "Peace, I hope. Most people underestimate how rare it is."
For a moment, the entire table seemed quieter. Sebastian remembered the first evening, when she had been the only person who noticed he was exhausted. Now he understood that the same instinct shaped nearly everything about her. She wasn't trying to be the loudest voice in his life; she was offering him the chance to not always have to put on a show.
Later, on the terrace, Sebastian brought up her answer. "About peace..."
"Yes." Clara rested one hand on the stone railing. "My previous engagement was very suitable."
Sebastian turned to her; she had never mentioned being engaged before.
"He had the right family, the right money, and apparently the right intentions," Clara continued calmly. "Then my father lost a considerable amount of our income. And he left. Within a month."
Sebastian’s expression hardened.
"I learned that suitability can vanish remarkably fast when circumstances change."
"Did you love him?"
"I thought I did."
"And now?"
"Now I would rather be chosen by someone who knows the difference between wanting a wife and wanting a convenient arrangement."
Sebastian held her gaze. "And if someone chose you now?"
Clara’s answer came quietly. "I would need to know whether he chose me, or just the idea of me."
Sebastian said nothing. For the first time, the possibility of marrying Clara no longer felt like a surprising thought he could dismiss later; it felt real.
What neither of them knew was that by the next morning, the other guests had already begun noticing the same thing. And once people believed Clara Whitmore might actually become the woman Sebastian chose, her refusal to compete would no longer be seen as innocence. It would be seen as strategy.