Читать книгу A Hasty Betrothal - Jessica Nelson - Страница 12
ОглавлениеElizabeth stiffened. The bonnet hid most of her face but the sudden frown turning her pretty lips downward remained visible. “I shall not be marrying Lord Wrottesley, no matter what occurred last night. I do hope my parents have not sent you to persuade me otherwise.”
Miles wanted to take her hand, but the knowledge that they were riding in a public place and bound to encounter peers stayed him. He tapped his fingers against his knee instead, debating the best way to phrase his question.
Perhaps a simple business proposition?
That might be best, as it most described the purpose of the proposal. He picked up the reins, guiding the horses back onto the path.
“Nay, Bitt, your parents know nothing of my actions. The thing is...” He gathered his courage, which seemed to have deserted him. “I have come to see if you would consider a betrothal to me.”
Her mouth rounded. Miles took a curve in Rotten Row, passing an early rider he did not recognize. He felt compelled to fill the silence of Bitt’s shock, to assure her of his honorable intentions. And perhaps to convince himself that such an offer was in both of their best interests. Hard to imagine; nevertheless, he felt honor bound to offer.
“John came to my house this morning. He is concerned.”
“Yes, yes, you told me he saw the papers.”
Miles’s mouth tightened. “He worries for your family’s reputation.”
“He should have expressed his worries to me.” She pulled out a fan and began waving it vigorously against her face. “I truly feel that the gossip shall pass. After all, the column was quite vague, merely mentioning an heiress. That could be a number of people, including debutantes. It is known that I shall inherit, of course, but the amount has been kept quiet to discourage fortune hunters.”
“Do you speak of an inheritance or a dowry?”
“Both, really. My grandmother has settled a dowry upon me, but I am also to receive an inheritance from my grandfather. It was in his will. We were very close. He made me feel loved for myself, and in fact, it was he who introduced me to the wonder of novels.” Her eyes briefly closed as though she remembered a sweetness Miles himself had never known.
His own experiences with reading encompassed contracts, bills and legal papers. He took a quiet moment to study her. She sat to his right and the birthmark did not extend to the left side of her face. Her high cheekbones hinted at aristocracy, at a regal breeding that did not enrich his own blood.
“Your grandfather sounds like a wonderful man.”
“His life was too short.” Elizabeth opened her eyes, training their brightness upon him. “Tell me, Miles—why propose to me? I had believed you to be firmly settled in your widowerhood.”
He dragged in a breath. “It is true. Marriage is the last thing I want. But you are an old friend, Bitt, and I do not wish to see you ruined. A betrothal seems a smart proposition. The article did mention a factory owner. Not only will the rumors subside and your reputation remain pristine, but you will be able to continue with the life you have known. With me, you might reside in the manner to which you’re accustomed. We are comfortable together, having known each other since childhood. I wished to discuss the idea with you before going to your parents.”
“While I appreciate the sentiment, you make marriage sound cold and heartless, a calculated business decision rather than a joining of hearts.” She edged away from him.
The morning sun felt unbearably hot. He tugged at his cravat. “Because that is what it would be, Elizabeth. A proposition.” He cleared his throat. “Do not mistake me. I do not want to ever marry again, but should the rumors increase, I want you to know that I am here to assist you by whatever means necessary. I do have a few requests, of course. Requests that would assure me you could be a suitable partner.”
“Such as?”
“If forced to marry, I would want a wife who is not a ninny, one who might keep my home warm but not interfere with my social and political activities, promising a beneficial arrangement. You would have the protection of my name and the comfort of my acceptance.”
“Forced to marry? And this is what you think I want?” The high pitch of her voice indicated that he’d upset her, but he could not fathom how or why. “I have not been ruined yet, sir, and if I were, it is doubtful I would accept such a proposal. Even from an old friend. How very distasteful.”
“It’s practical, Bitt. We get along well enough.”
“That is an exaggeration if I’ve ever heard one.”
His cravat grew tighter by the second. His head pounded. “You are a woman of excellent taste, refined but timid, one whose biddable nature would do well in housewifery. If it is acceptable to you, I would ask your parents for your hand in marriage—”
She reared back. “Have you lost your senses, Miles? We have nothing in common. Nothing at all. And I shall never marry unless for love. The matter is as simple as that. There is nothing that could induce me to marry you. Nothing at all.”
“Not even scandal?”
Her face flushed but she did not respond.
He shifted on the seat, wondering if Bitt’s lady’s maid had heard her exclamation. “Your vehemence is unnecessary, my lady. A simple no will do. This is not my idea of fun. I simply thought to help.”
Beneath the brim of her hat, her eyes flashed. “If I have wounded your ego or offended your pride, I do apologize, but for you to take me on this ride and hold out marriage as some kind of business offering...it is uncomfortable, Miles. What would Anastasia think of such a proposal?”
“Anastasia is gone,” he bit out, “and has no place in this conversation.”
Elizabeth’s arms crossed her middle. He would like to imagine she was sorry for her harsh words, but he began to think he’d assigned to Elizabeth a heart that perhaps she did not truly possess. All for the better that she found marriage as abhorrent as he did. Her family could deal with her. He was done.
She sounded strained as she said, “I am merely pointing out that I want to marry only for love. Rumors abound in the ton. Let the gossip run its course. My parents and John shall be fine. They shall not suffer for my actions.”
“And if the rumors don’t subside?”
“I cannot marry someone who feels forced into the deed.”
“You are being naive, Elizabeth.” He felt unruly inside, unsettled by her unexpected irritation, her complete lack of faith in his husbandly virtues. Not that he had faith in them himself. This was all for the best, he told himself. He turned the horses for Bitt’s home.
“Better to hope for the best than settle for the worst,” she said.
“Indeed,” he muttered. The worst meaning him, of course. “It was merely an idea to keep you from ruin, but since you feel it unnecessary, then we shall not discuss this again.”
“I do so appreciate your putting aside your distaste for marriage in order to help me, but fear not. All shall be fine.” The hopeful lilt of her tone did not comfort him.
John could still pressure them into marrying, citing honor, but at least Miles had offered before the request became a demand. He had fulfilled his obligation, but where he should have felt relief, he merely felt a deep emptiness, a wrenching certainty that things had not turned out how they were supposed to.
Elizabeth wished to face life on her own terms. He could understand such a goal, and yet, watching her proud posture as they rode back, he could not shake the nagging feeling that this Season was bound to interfere with his life in a most uncomfortable way.
* * *
Life did not unfold as Elizabeth hoped. Neither did the rumors abate.
She was sitting in the library the following day, congratulating herself on her newest find from Hookham’s Library, when her mother blasted into the room.
Or so it felt.
Mother snatched the book from Elizabeth’s hands, prompting a startled gasp and immediate irritation. She straightened, eyeing her mother carefully. The older woman paced the library. The calm she usually carefully exuded was gone, replaced by a tenseness that permeated the room and ruined any vestige of comfort Elizabeth had felt.
“Is something the matter, Mother?” She played with the lace on her dress, dreading the answer.
Mother swung around, slapping the book down on the nearby desk. “As a matter of fact, Elizabeth, there is. I was denied a voucher to Almack’s today. Denied. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was? To be told my family does not have the prestige to enter? We have never been denied entrance. Never.”
Elizabeth’s hopes imploded. “Was a reason provided?”
“I know what the reason is. You are still in the gossips’ line of fire. There is only one way to remedy this.” Elizabeth did not miss the imperceptible tightening of her mother’s lips.
The coiffing of Venetia’s hair must have taken her lady’s maid at least an hour to fix. She wore her favorite emeralds, as well, handed down to all the wives in Father’s family. His affluent earldom more than made up for Mother’s step down from being the daughter of a duke.
She quietly waited for the woman who birthed her to speak. There had been a time Elizabeth longed to know the mother whom she resembled so closely, but that desire no longer existed. Not for many years, not since the evening she’d overheard a conversation that revealed her parents’ true feelings toward her.
“Your father and I are in agreement that Lord Wrottesley might be willing to marry you.”
Venetia’s eyes, the same shade of ice blue as Elizabeth’s, implored her to listen.
“He is a viscount who has already shown an interest in you. There is no reason to believe that has changed.” Her mother paused, but not in a dramatic way. No, Mother did not put on airs. Her calmness quite made Elizabeth want to stomp a foot. “If Lord Wrottesley offers for your hand, your father and I are prepared to accept the proposal.”
Elizabeth gasped. She’d suspected her parents’ plans, but for mother to speak them in such a way, with such finality... She clenched her skirts, readying to retort, but Mother held up a hand.
“This Season, to my utter dismay, is proving more disastrous than your first one. An intervention is in order. Due to your unique situation, finding a husband is nigh impossible. Thankfully, Lord Wrottesley is in need of funds to bolster his estate, and you are in need of a husband to provide for your future and save you from ruin. This is a solution that will prevent further harm to the family’s reputation.” Mother bent her head, looking at Elizabeth in a not unkind way. “We worry about what will become of you, our only daughter.”
How was it possible to wear such an air of concern while shattering Elizabeth’s world into a million unalterable pieces? A looking glass dropped to the floor could not be more broken than she felt at this moment. Her skin tingled, from temper or hurt, she was not sure. Her mother’s insinuations bristled every ounce of pride Elizabeth contained.
“The reason I have no suitors,” she said in a tight, emotionless voice, “is due to a lack of desire for them. Should I want a man to secure my future, there are plenty of impoverished earls to choose from. There is no reason for you and Father to concern yourself with me.”
Had she said such a thing to her mother? Yes, those words issued from her mouth, daring and bold and perhaps a very big mistake, for Mother drew herself to her full height, a scant inch above Elizabeth’s, and eyed her forcefully.
“It is time for you to marry. Not only is it what is expected, but your actions have left us no choice in the matter. What of our reputations, Elizabeth? Your brother can not afford to be ill spoken of at this time in his career. A good name is pivotal to his success.”
“What about Grandmother? Who will take care of her?” The fight was leaving her body, seeping away like morning mist. “And have I no say in who is to court me?”
“If Lord Wrottesley offers, and we have reason to believe he will, then we shall accept on your behalf. A thanks would not be too much to ask.”
“I should be thankful that you are forcing me into marriage with a cad?” Her cheeks flamed as she struggled to keep indignation from her voice. “He is the reason I find myself in this dilemma.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
A hot flush of shame spiraled through Elizabeth. “He forced a kiss on me. At Lady Charleston’s ball. Mr. Hawthorne interrupted Lord Wrottesley’s ungentlemanly behavior, but it is because of him that I returned to the ball disheveled.” The admission cost Elizabeth her composure. Her fingers trembled. “Please do not encourage the viscount. He is dishonorable. I wish to marry for love, and love only.”
Mother’s brows lifted. “I am dismayed. Why would you be alone? That is what a companion is for. To protect you from the likes of overly zealous gentlemen.”
“He is no gentleman,” Elizabeth said darkly.
“Regardless, you shall not marry a man of business. Mr. Hawthorne is an unsuitable candidate. Wrottesley is a viscount, heir to an earldom. There is no adequate reason to reject his courtship.” Mother waved a hand, dismissing further argument on the matter. “And what is this talk of love? That has nothing to do with a marital contract. Have you been reading that ridiculous poet again? Byron, is it?”
“No, I simply long for a love like Jacob and Rachel’s in the Bible. Or perhaps Hermia and Lysander...”
“Shakespeare? Really, Elizabeth, there is much more to the world than books.”
And yet books had been her dearest friends. She felt drawn to Hermia from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. A girl kept beneath the thumb of her father. They held even more in common now that Elizabeth’s parents wanted her to marry Lord Wrottesley.
Only she had no Lysander waiting to rescue her.
She looked away from her mother, counting the seconds until she could leave this house. Even walking in a park full of people would be more bearable than this wretchedness.
The thought bolstered her resolve to extricate herself from the perfidy her parents planned. Her chin notched upward. “Will you take away my books just as you are stealing my freedom?”
“Do not be melodramatic, Elizabeth. It doesn’t suit you.” But a fine blush swept her mother’s cheeks.
“My lady.” The footman, whose name Elizabeth did not know, entered the room. His gaze skittered away from Elizabeth to land on Venetia. “Lord Wrottesley has arrived to call on Lady Elizabeth. Do you wish to receive him?”
“Very good, Stockton. Show him to the parlor.”
Stockton bowed and then left. Once again Elizabeth was reminded of her failure as an earl’s daughter. She should know the servants’ names, but most often she found herself avoiding them. There was that dreadful time during her fifteenth year...
She sighed. “May I go back to reading?”
“No.” Her mother studied her. “This is as we hoped, and sooner than we expected. Go upstairs, put on your best dress and then return to meet Lord Wrottesley. I shall welcome him and see that he’s made at home. Do not tarry.” Mother swiped a scornful glance at Elizabeth’s morning gown, a simple cotton dress she’d been wearing for years.
“I cannot believe that you are actually going to make me see him. After what he did?”
Mother had the grace to look away from Elizabeth. “It is not uncommon for a man to lack self-control. In the future, keep your lady’s maid or companion nearby. It is your job, as the more refined gender, to keep a man’s base instincts in check.”
Clenching her jaw, Elizabeth rose, grabbed her book and went to her room. Jenna dressed her speedily.
Elizabeth’s nerves coiled. A great wall of anxiousness descended upon the anger she felt with her mother. The utter betrayal. As she slunk to the parlor, she realized her palms were damp and her jaw sore. She rolled her shoulders back but the movement did not ease the kink winding up her neck.
Odious Wrottesley. She prayed he came to apologize for kissing her. For putting his hands upon her person in an unacceptable manner. Couldn’t he find some other heiress to annoy? A quick rap of her knuckles and the parlor door swung open. It had not stuck closed as she’d hoped it would.
Lord Wrottesley looked up as she entered. Mother was not in the room. The scratch upon his cheek had rather disappointingly faded. Elizabeth suppressed her chagrin at not leaving her mark in a more permanent way. An elaborate cravat decorated his shirt. True dandy fashion. His smooth cheeks and empty eyes reminded her of a book without words. Or perhaps a gossip rag. Yes, full of lies and cruelty. Though his lips tilted in a facsimile of a smile, she detected triumph. Her nerves flamed and for the briefest moment, she was tempted to begin carrying smelling salts.
Oh, to be able to faint at the slightest upset. It was truly disheartening that Grandmother had not passed down the condition.
Pushing the thought aside, she curtsied. Lord Wrottesley performed his requisite bow.
“You are looking much better than you did the night of the ball.” He eyed her carefully, as though examining her for evidence that his actions then had greatly affected her.
She kept her features placid. “My headache has subsided.”
Was that dissatisfaction crossing his features? She dearly hoped so. He clasped his hands and walked toward the fireplace, face tilted to study the portraits on the wall. “I will come straight to the point of why I am here.”
“Please do,” she said.
His form stiffened, but he did not look at her. “Yesterday morning’s gossip rags were distressing, to say the least. To think I have called on someone capable of such misbehavior.”
“You caused it by manhandling me.”
“Ah, so you also recognized yourself in the column.” He turned to her and now she was certain of his disdain and his gloating. “There is a way to solve this, to keep your family’s name intact and preserve your future. I have spoken with your father in the past and have been patiently waiting, but I will not wait forever. Now seems the time to right the unlikely situation which has presented itself.”
Knots twisted in her stomach. She could only stand immobile, heart pattering in uneven beats against her ribs, fingers clenching her skirts... She could not marry this man. Could not. He repulsed her in every way.
Memories from the ball crowded her mind. His sour breath upon her face, his fingers digging into her skin and his laugh... He had found it funny to frighten her, to catch her unawares.
She wanted to speak but found that her lips had numbed, her tongue had swollen. He advanced. He put his hands on her shoulders and, because of their difference in size, she felt even more threatened. Her pulse galloped within her skin.
“Ah, Lord Wrottesley.” Mother’s voice sounded behind her and Elizabeth thought she really, truly might faint from relief.
He removed his hands and moved forward to greet her mother, kissing the top of her presented hand.
“Good to see you, Wrottesley.” Father emerged in her periphery, shaking hands with the dreadful viscount. “I see Elizabeth has made it down. Have you two discussed...anything?”
“I was just getting to that.” Lord Wrottesley flashed his supercilious smile and Elizabeth battled the urge to run as far as she could. “I would be honored if Lady Elizabeth would accept my proposal of marriage. In light of what’s being said, now is the best time to put rumors to rest and I am prepared to offer her the security of my title and hand.”
“Daughter?” Father peered at her.
She swallowed. Though her parents were in many ways strangers to her, there resided a deep need to make them proud. To show them that she was not just a deformed castoff who brought shame, but a productive member of the family. Could she marry for that alone?
Her dire predicament struck her fully as the three stared at her expectantly. Waiting.
“I...” She faltered beneath their gazes. Her mind raced. “I thank you, Lord Wrottesley, for your generous offer. It is with regret that I must decline it.”
“But we will be ruined!” Mother’s sharp exclamation was cut off by her hand to her mouth.
Father’s brows furrowed. “There is no room for scandal in this family, Elizabeth.”
“I know that and I would never cause you such pain. The truth is...” She gulped deeply, knowing her next words would change the course of her life forever. “The truth is that I am betrothed to another.”
