The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [16]
“I’m sure you’re right.” The duke leaned his splintered walking stick against the fireplace and sat down opposite Olivia. “What I have to ask you is something that no gentleman should ever address with a young lady.”
“Something to do with common law?” Olivia inquired.
His brow creased. “Common law? What does that have to do with anything?”
“The old law and the new law? My parents said something about older and newer rules pertaining to betrothals . . .”
“English law is English law, and to the best of my ability, common law has no bearing on a betrothal.” The duke gave her a clear, penetrating look. “Women shouldn’t be meddling with matters of the law. Though you must develop some familiarity, because God knows you won’t be able to let Rupert make decisions on his own. But I’ll teach you all that. As soon as you’re married, you’ll come to the estate and I’ll start training you.”
Olivia considered it a great triumph that her smile didn’t slip, even though her heart was racing and a panicked voice in her head screamed: Training? More training?
His Grace didn’t notice her silence. “I’m going to have to teach you how to be a duke, since Rupert isn’t up to the task. But you’re smart enough for it. I saw that when you were fifteen.”
Olivia swallowed and nodded. “I understand.” Her voice sounded rather faint, but the duke wasn’t listening anyway.
“You may not know this, but our title is derived from an ancient Scottish dukedom,” he said. He still didn’t meet her eyes. He reached over and picked up his cracked walking stick and held it in his lap, examining it as if he thought it might be worth repairing.
“I am aware of that fact,” Olivia said. The duke obviously had no idea of the extent of her knowledge of the Canterwick holdings and history. She could have told him the name of his second cousin thrice removed’s firstborn child. And the name of that cousin’s seventh-born child, the one notorious for having been born in the common room at the Stag’s Head Inn after his mother had drunk too much ale.
“Due to our ancestral roots in Scotland, a case can be made that Scottish inheritance rules apply.”
“Ah.”
The duke pressed down deliberately on his knee, and the walking stick broke in two. He did not raise his eyes. “If you were to conceive a child now, before my son goes to Portugal, that child would be legitimate under Scottish law. I want to be quite clear about this, however: you would not become a marchioness until my son returned and wed you. There are those who might say unkind things about you, as they would of any woman carrying a child without the benefit of matrimony, although, of course, you would be put immediately under my protection.”
“Yes,” Olivia murmured.
“I would give Rupert no chance to refuse his duty. In fact, if a happy event were to occur, I would immediately send proxy marriage papers after him, to be signed in Portugal. As long as there was no mishap as regards the papers—and I see no reason why there should be—you would be a marchioness before the child was born.”
He paused. “In the event that something were to happen to Rupert before the proxy papers could be signed, you would have the satisfaction of being the mother of a future duke.”
Olivia had a terrible impulse to quote a choice line from The Mirror of Compliments: “Nothing is more precious than a virgin’s honor!” But she remained silent, not even venturing to point out that the baby might be a girl, a possibility that didn’t appear to have occurred to the duke.
“Whether or not a child ensues, I will gift you with a jointure and a small estate of your own,” Canterwick continued.
“I understand,” Olivia managed. If she understood him correctly, the duke had just offered her an estate in exchange for losing her virginity out of wedlock. It was an astonishing thought.
“I have tasked Lady Cecily Bumtrinket to accompany you to the country. You cannot stay at Canterwick