Updated Apr 18, 2026 • ~11 min read
Chapter 25: The Courting
Emmeline
Emmy wakes the morning after her emotional confession to find the Duke already awake beside her, and when their eyes meet he’s wearing an expression that’s equal parts mischievous and determined in ways she’s never seen from her usually serious husband.
“I’ve been thinking,” the Duke says without preamble. “About what you said yesterday. About feeling like you were just transaction instead of someone I genuinely wanted. And I realized—I never courted you properly. I proposed a business arrangement, married you on Christmas Day, and then spent four months avoiding you while you patiently waited for me to overcome my trauma. That’s terrible courting.”
“We’re already married,” Emmy points out with amusement. “A bit late for proper courtship.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t woo you,” the Duke argues, using almost the exact phrasing from Emmy’s outline. “Doesn’t mean I can’t demonstrate how much I value you through romantic gestures instead of just assuming you know I care. I want to court you, Emmy. Properly. The way I should have done before we married instead of just offering you cold arrangement born of desperation.”
Emmy’s chest aches with love at this unexpected declaration, and she sees the Duke is genuinely serious about wanting to romance her despite being legally bound for five months already.
“How do you plan to court me?” Emmy asks. “When we’re already sharing chambers and have been intimate? Isn’t courting supposed to build toward marriage, not happen after it?”
“Then I’ll court you toward something else,” the Duke says with a smile that’s becoming more frequent. “Toward complete trust instead of residual fear. Toward absolute certainty that you’re chosen and valued. Toward the kind of partnership where you never doubt whether I want you. That’s worth courting for even if we’re already married.”
“Fine,” Emmy agrees, charmed despite herself by the Duke’s determination to demonstrate affection through deliberate romantic effort. “Court me. Show me how the Duke of Ashford woos someone he actually cares about instead of just acquiring them through convenient arrangement.”
The courting begins that very day with flowers—massive arrangements delivered to Emmy’s sitting room with a card in the Duke’s handwriting that reads simply “Because you deserve beautiful things” and makes Emmy’s heart do complicated things in her chest at the thoughtfulness of the gesture.
The flowers continue daily after that—roses and lilies and exotic blooms Emmy doesn’t recognize, each arrangement accompanied by a note from the Duke that’s gradually becoming more poetic and romantic:
“Because your smile is more beautiful than any garden.”
“Because you make cold spaces warm just by existing in them.”
“Because I love you and flowers seem insufficient but are the best I can manage to express how desperately I adore you.”
Emmy keeps every card, storing them in a small box in her desk drawer and reading them when she needs reminding that the Duke actually values her instead of just tolerating her presence.
But the courting doesn’t stop with flowers.
The Duke starts arranging special dinners—not the formal meals they shared early in their marriage but intimate private dining in their chambers or in the garden, carefully planned menus of Emmy’s favorite foods, candles and music and deliberate romance instead of just practical sustenance.
“You’re spoiling me,” Emmy observes during one particularly elaborate dinner in the garden. “This is excessive even for courting.”
“I’m making up for four months of neglect,” the Duke argues. “I have significant romantic debt to repay. Flowers and dinners are just the beginning.”
He teaches Emmy to ride—not the sedate ladies’ riding she learned as a girl but actual proper riding on horses that move faster than a walk, racing across the Duke’s country estate with wind in her hair and genuine laughter replacing the careful control they both maintained for so long.
“You’re mad,” Emmy shouts while they gallop across open fields. “Completely mad for thinking I could keep up with you on horseback!”
“You’re keeping up perfectly,” the Duke shouts back with genuine grin. “You’re magnificent, Emmy. Absolutely magnificent.”
They spend entire afternoons in the Duke’s private library—not working separately like they used to but actually reading together, sharing books and discussing them, arguing about military strategy and philosophy and poetry with the kind of intellectual partnership Emmy desperately wanted but thought impossible with her emotionally distant husband.
“You were right about Hannibal’s tactics,” the Duke admits during one discussion about Punic Wars. “Brilliant but ultimately insufficient without proper resources and political support. I should have acknowledged that months ago when you first said it.”
“You were too busy maintaining walls to actually engage with my opinions,” Emmy teases. “Too busy treating me like obligation instead of partner.”
“I was an idiot,” the Duke agrees easily. “But I’m trying to fix that now. Trying to show you that I value your intelligence and opinions instead of just tolerating them.”
He takes Emmy on long walks through London parks—not for exercise or social obligation but just for the pleasure of being together, holding hands in public, talking about everything and nothing while surrounded by nature and other couples doing the same.
“People are staring,” Emmy observes during one walk through Hyde Park. “Probably because the cold Duke of Ashford is actually smiling at his wife in public.”
“Let them stare,” the Duke responds, pulling Emmy closer. “Let them see exactly how devoted I am to my duchess. Let them report back to anyone who still doubts our marriage is genuine. I don’t care about their opinions anymore. I only care about yours.”
The courting continues for weeks—flowers and dinners and rides and reading and walks and dozens of small thoughtful gestures that make Emmy feel valued and chosen and desperately loved—and by mid-July Emmy is completely overwhelmed by the Duke’s determined romantic effort.
“You’re exhausting yourself trying to court me,” Emmy observes one evening when the Duke arranges yet another elaborate private dinner. “Sebastian, you don’t have to constantly prove you love me. I believe you. I know you care.”
“But do you feel it?” the Duke challenges. “Not just know it intellectually but feel it in your bones? Feel completely certain that you’re chosen and valued and desperately wanted? Because that’s what I’m courting toward, Emmy. Not intellectual acknowledgment that I probably love you. Absolute bone-deep certainty that you’re everything to me.”
Emmy’s eyes are burning with tears at hearing the Duke articulate exactly what she’s been hoping for—that depth of security that comes from being completely certain you’re valued by the person who matters most.
“I’m getting there,” Emmy admits. “Every flower, every dinner, every walk where you hold my hand like you’re proud to be seen with me—it’s building that certainty. Making me believe I really am special to you instead of just convenient.”
“You are special,” the Duke insists. “Not convenient. Not just available. Special. Irreplaceable. The only woman I want beside me for whatever comes next. And I’ll keep courting you until you believe that completely instead of just intellectually accepting it.”
One afternoon the Duke surprises Emmy by taking her to a private art gallery and commissioning a portrait—not of Caroline like the painting that haunts the west wing but of Emmy herself, captured in paint the way the Duke sees her.
“I want something that shows you exactly as you are,” the Duke explains to the portrait artist. “Intelligent and stubborn and beautiful and real. Not some idealized version. Just… her. Exactly as I see her.”
The portrait sessions take weeks—Emmy sitting for hours while an artist captures her features and the Duke watches with an expression of such obvious love that Emmy keeps blushing and ruining the pose.
“You’re distracting me,” Emmy complains when the Duke’s intense stare makes it impossible to maintain her composure. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” the Duke asks innocently.
“Like I’m the most precious thing you’ve ever seen,” Emmy responds. “It’s making me self-conscious.”
“You are the most precious thing I’ve ever seen,” the Duke argues. “I’m just being accurate.”
When the portrait is finally completed, Emmy stares at it in wonder because the artist somehow captured exactly what the Duke described—not idealized beauty but real Emmy, intelligent eyes and stubborn chin and slight smile that suggests she’s thinking something challenging, painted with such obvious love that it’s clear the Duke adores exactly who she is instead of wishing she was someone else.
“It’s perfect,” Emmy says, crying slightly at seeing herself through the Duke’s eyes. “She looks—I look loved.”
“You are loved,” the Duke confirms. “Completely. And now I have proof to hang in our chambers so you can see yourself the way I see you instead of the way you fear you are.”
The courting reaches its peak one evening in late July when the Duke arranges an elaborate surprise—a private dinner on the roof of their London townhouse under the stars, with musicians playing soft music and candles everywhere and food that must have taken staff hours to prepare and arrange.
“This is excessive,” Emmy says when the Duke leads her up to the roof and she sees the elaborate setup. “Sebastian, you don’t need to—”
“I want to,” the Duke interrupts. “I want to demonstrate how much you mean to me. Want to create memories that prove this isn’t just arrangement or convenience but actual romance. Want to give you the courting I should have provided before we married instead of just assuming you’d accept loveless arrangement because you had no other options.”
They dine under stars—talking and laughing and being genuinely happy together instead of just managing awkward formality—and when the meal ends the Duke stands and offers his hand with formal courtesy.
“Dance with me,” the Duke requests. “Not because society requires it or because we need to practice for balls. Just because I want to hold you while beautiful music plays and we’re alone together under the sky.”
Emmy takes his hand and lets him pull her into waltz position, and they dance on the roof while musicians play and London spreads out beneath them and everything feels absolutely perfect in ways Emmy never imagined possible when she begged the Duke for mercy on Christmas Eve.
“I love you,” Emmy says while they dance. “I love this. I love what we’re building. I love that you’re courting me even though we’re already married. I love all of it.”
“Good,” the Duke responds with satisfaction. “Because I’m not done. I’m going to keep courting you for the rest of our lives. Keep demonstrating how much you matter. Keep showing you that choosing you was the best decision I ever made.”
“You’re going to spoil me completely,” Emmy warns. “I’m going to become impossible and demanding and expect flowers daily and elaborate romantic gestures constantly.”
“Good,” the Duke repeats. “Be demanding. Expect romance. Know without doubt that you deserve to be courted and valued and loved desperately. That’s exactly what I want you to know.”
They dance until the musicians are exhausted and the candles burn low and Emmy is certain beyond any doubt that the Duke genuinely loves her—not just acknowledges caring but actually desperately loves her in ways that make her feel completely secure instead of anxiously uncertain.
“Thank you,” Emmy says when they finally return to their chambers. “For all of this. For courting me properly instead of just assuming I’d accept whatever scraps of affection you could manage. For making me feel chosen and valued and completely loved.”
“Always,” the Duke promises. “You’re worth every flower, every dinner, every elaborate romantic gesture. You’re worth everything, Emmy. And I’ll spend the rest of our marriage proving that.”
Emmy believes him.
Actually genuinely believes him instead of just hoping he’s sincere.
Because the Duke has spent weeks demonstrating his love through deliberate action instead of just words, proving that he values her enough to put sustained effort into making her feel cherished instead of just tolerated.
That’s real love.
Not just saying the words but backing them up with consistent romantic attention that makes Emmy feel secure instead of anxious.
And Emmy clings to that security while they prepare for bed together, grateful beyond words that the Duke understood what she needed—not just his love but proof of it, demonstrated through sustained courting that shows she matters enough for him to make daily effort instead of just assuming she’ll accept minimal attention.
He’s courting her toward certainty.
And it’s working.
Beautifully.
Exactly as he intended.
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