Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)

Then he went down on his knees.

“Oh, no.” Pauline pressed both hands to her face. “Griff, no.”

“You can’t refuse before I even ask.” He ruffled his hair with one hand. “Why is this all happening backward? I knew you’d be surprised to see me, and no doubt angry that it’s taken me so long. But I thought you’d at least let me have a few words. I had a whole speech prepared, you know. A good one, too. But now that you’ve ruined the surprise . . .”

He reached into his pocket and removed a small velvet pouch.

Pauline peeked at it between her trembling fingers. By now she was crying messily. She swiped impatiently at the tears with both wrists, straining to make out the ring he shook free onto his palm. An emerald, set in a thick gold band and ringed with tiny diamonds.

Well, at least she knew he’d chosen it himself.

It was beautiful.

She turned away, burying her face in her apron. Griffin Eliot York, the eighth Duke of Halford, was here, on his knees. For her. Ring in hand, with the whole village watching.

It was too much. Too much impossibility to accept. To much joy to comprehend.

“I love you, Pauline Simms. I’ve loved you since the day we met. In fact, I suspect some part of my heart loved you long before then. There was no woman for me before you, and if you refuse me, there’ll be no one after. I know I’m no prize, but—”

She interrupted him with a burst of indelicate laughter. “No prize?” Turning, she dabbed at her eyes. “Griff, you’re a duke.”

“Yes, I’d noticed that. So?”

“So . . . we settled this. A duke can’t marry a serving girl. Or even a shopkeeper.”

“You were right. Our lives were too different. For the two of us to make a go of it, something had to change. I couldn’t change the world. And I didn’t want to change one thing about you. It seemed clear, however, that I was overdue for some improvement.”

“Improvement?”

“You’re familiar with the Halford legacy. I come from a long line of scholars, explorers, generals. They amassed quite the string of accomplishments and a vast amount of wealth. And I finally realized there’s one thing I had the heart to do that none of the rest of them could.”

“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.