She wanted to laugh aloud at how frustrated he’d sounded when he’d said “Fine.” She shared his frustration—she would very much like to get naked together in bed with him again, especially now that their emotions were more out in the open—but she also wanted her sisters to see her with him, and to behave as properly as she could so that Society would accept that they were together.

Not that he’d proposed yet, but she presumed that would happen eventually. Hopefully the proposal wouldn’t interfere with more naked-in-bed times, since she was eager to continue that probably more than she was eager to become a wife.

But the only way to ensure she could be with him forever was to marry him, so she supposed she would have to do it.

And all those hopes and dreams of being in love with someone who respected her and honored her ability to make her own decisions would come true. And Nora would have a father, and she would have a partner who was truly a partner, and not a husbandly tyrant.

“Good evening, Della.”

Della stiffened as she recognized her father’s voice. She lifted her chin as she turned to him, feeling that same heartsick stab at seeing his face. They’d never been close—he’d always been too busy reading the paper or running to the hounds to spend time with his daughters—but they had at least been cordially fond of one another.

Until she’d run off with Mr. Baxter, at which point both her parents had renounced her entirely.

Her mother stood beside the duke, a facile smile on her face. Her mother was a silly woman, a fact Della could have overlooked if the duchess had not also been so determined for Della to do what she and the duke wanted—not what Della wanted for herself.

You have to marry someone who will bring honor to our family, the duchess had said. As though that was the only reason to marry. To acquire more respectability, as though respectability could be achieved in an infinite amount.

But to the duchess she supposed it could. Once it was clear the duke would only ever have five daughters, with no heir to receive the title, the duchess became nearly maniacal in her wish to see each of her daughters marry well.

“Good evening, Della,” the duchess said, nodding.

“Good evening.” Della couldn’t help how brusque she sounded. Being cut out of your parents’ lives because you had made a terrible mistake had a way of doing that to a person.

“Lord Stanbury.” Her father’s tone was warmer speaking to Griffith.

Of course. He was a man, and he was not a disgraceful daughter.

“Good evening, Your Grace. Your Grace,” Griffith said, nodding first to her mother and then to her father. He sounded odd.