Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)(97)

“What’s that?”

“I could give it all away.”

The shop went very quiet.

“All of it?” Pauline echoed.

“Oh, no,” Charlotte moaned. “Now he’s worse than an arrogant, debauched duke. He’s a poor duke.”

“I’m no pauper,” he said. “You needn’t look so stricken. A duke can’t surrender his title. There are entailed properties, trusts. It’s boring solicitor business, that part. The short version is, I’ll always be a wealthy man. I might sink from fourth richest in England to somewhere about fourteenth. But even so, there was a great deal of money I was free to part with. And it went easily, once I applied myself to the task.”

Pauline eyed him, wary. “I don’t understand. What are you telling me?”

“I found my natural talent. I was born to give money away. But no more of this ‘squander a few thousand here or there’ nonsense. This is a full, systematic divesture of the family’s dispensable fortune. The eighth Duke of Halford will be remembered as the single largest charitable benefactor in England’s history. This will be my legacy.”

She stared at him, shocked. But he did look happy. Entirely at peace with himself and his place in the world. Not precisely humble. She didn’t suppose that rakish arrogance would ever wear off, nor did she wish it to. But he looked like a man with purpose and direction.

And the best part was, she knew he hadn’t given any of it up for her. He’d done it for himself.

“I confess, I did make one last selfish purchase.” A sly grin tipped his mouth. “A crumbling farmhouse, of all things. At the arse-end of Sussex.”

“You purchased the Whittlecombe farmhouse? That was you?”

“It was the only land for sale in the parish.” With a muttered curse, he shifted his weight. “Will you say yes soon? This floor is damned hard. And you’re much too far away.”

She moved closer. “I don’t remember hearing a question.”

“I don’t know what to ask, truthfully. ‘Will you be my wife’ or ‘be my duchess’ or just ‘be mine’ . . . they all sound dangerous. I don’t want to put names or titles to it, or you’ll find some way to argue. I don’t even care if you wear the bloody ring.” He tossed the velvet pouch to the floor.

“I’ll wear the ring,” Charlotte offered.

Pauline sent her a look. Don’t touch it.

Griff held out his empty hand. “Pauline, I’m here asking you—begging you, if it comes to that—to take my hand. Just take my hand, and promise before God you will never let it go. I will vow the same. Can we arrange for that to happen, someday soon? In a church?” After a moment, he added in a quiet voice, “Please?”

She put her hand in his. His fingers curled around hers in a grasp that was as poignant as a hug, as iron-forged as a promise. And she knew, in her heart, that the church vows would only be formalities.

This was the moment. And from here, the world only grew warmer.

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Tell me this means yes.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, to all the questions. To every question. And I’d be honored to wear your ring.”

Excepting Charlotte, who muttered “Drat,” everyone gave a hearty cheer.

Hours later, after all the biscuits were eaten and the teapot down to dregs, after Daniela had gone up to sleep upstairs, the two of them stood on opposite sides of the shop counter, holding hands and trading fond looks back and forth.

“I’ve just noticed something,” Pauline said. “I always feel most in love with you when we’re surrounded by books.”

“Well, then. I must speak with the architect designing our new house. I’ll instruct him to install floor-to-ceiling bookcases on every wall of our bedchamber.”

She smiled. “It’s enough that you’re here. I confess, I’d lost hope. I read in the paper that you went home to Cumberland.”

“I did. My mother went with me. I settled matters with my land steward so I wouldn’t have to return for some time. And we placed a stone for Mary Annabel in the family churchyard.”

“Oh, Griff. I’m glad you were able to do that together.”

“So am I.” He cleared his throat and looked around at the shop. “How did you manage all this without the funds?”

“I started with the books you sent, of course. The ladies helped me gather more. And for the shop rental, I took out a loan from Errol Bright.”

Jealousy flashed in his eyes. “Errol Bright made you a loan?”

She nodded. “A friendly loan. That’s all. I’m halfway to paying him back already.”

“I’ll bet you are.” He kissed her hand and stroked it fondly. “I will demand some compromise, you know. Spindle Cove is home now, but I have other properties that need attention. Responsibilities in London, as well. I’m now a governor of several charities. And I suspect the next year or so will teach us who our true friends are. If we’re invited to a ball or party, I should like to attend and show off my beautiful wife.”

“I’d like that, too.”

His brow furrowed as he studied the notch between her second and third fingers. “I can’t promise you children. You know that. I’d love nothing more than a family with you, but . . . there are no guarantees.”