thinned but with a resigned obedience. She pulled free of his grasp and waved a hand toward a nearby chair.
“Will you have a seat?”
“No, this will not take long.”
She gave a slow nod, her face pale but composed. “Very well.”
“On Monday I will request a Special License from the Archbishop of Canterbury. He is a personal friend, so there should be no difficulty.”
Her lips twisted. “Of course not.”
“The ceremony will be held in the private chapel at my townhouse,” he continued. “I will arrange for the rector as well as two servants to serve as witnesses.”
It took her a moment to comprehend the meaning of his words. At last her eyes widened. “My father…”
“Is not invited.” His expression warned he would not compromise. “Nor will you include any other guests.”
“Do you intend to keep our marriage a secret?”
“A futile wish, unfortunately, but I am determined that it will not become a ridiculous farce.” He glanced toward the window where he could view the guests still taking full pleasure in the current scandal. “For the next week you will remain silent and away from society. You may also warn your father that any boasting that he has captured an earl as his son-in-law will greatly displease me.”
Her expression remained suitably chastened, but she couldn’t disguise the pulse that hammered at the base of her throat. Inwardly she was no doubt seething with the urge to slap him.
“And after the ceremony?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Am I to remain hidden from society?”
“Not hidden, but you will be enjoying an extended visit to my estate in Devonshire.”
She blinked at his frigid explanation. “I am to be banished to the country?”
“If my terms of marriage do not suit you, Miss Dobson, then perhaps you should devote the next few days to convincing your father to blackmail some other fool into becoming your husband.”
With an abrupt movement she turned on her heel, staring down at her unwelcome guests with a haunted expression.
“If I had the ability to sway my father I would never have been forced to wed your brother and we would not be in this mess.”
Gabriel stiffened in anger as another twinge of pity threatened to undermine his resolve.
Bloody hell. Was it not hideous enough to be coerced into marrying Silas Dobson’s daughter without offering her the opportunity to play him a fool?
“Then it would seem that we must both resign ourselves to the inevitable,” he bit out, turning on his heel to head toward the door.
“So it would seem,” she whispered behind him.
Halting on the threshold, Gabriel glanced over his shoulder.
“Oh, Miss Dobson.”
“Yes?”
“I would prefer you refrain from smothering yourself in such a gaudy display of jewels.” He flicked a disdainful glance toward the massive diamonds draped around her neck. “The Countess of Ashcombe does not need to make an exhibit of herself.”
His parting shot delivered, Gabriel continued out of the room and down the hall, wondering why the devil he didn’t feel the least satisfied.
TALIA WAS IN the laundry room sorting through the linens that needed to be mended when her father’s butler appeared in the doorway.
As always, she was struck by the sight of the slender, gray-haired servant attired in an immaculate black uniform. He carried himself with a regal dignity that his employer could never hope to emulate.
The irony of the situation was not lost on Silas Dobson, who found it a source of coarse amusement to taunt his prim and proper butler. Anderson, on the other hand, was careful to keep his own opinion hidden behind his facade of frigid efficiency.
Hardly surprising. For all of her father’s faults, he was a shrewd businessman who was willing to pay his employees a generous salary that instilled far more loyalty than any amount of personal charm.
Impatiently brushing a stray curl from her forehead, Talia regarded the servant with a faint frown. It was rare for Anderson to enter what he considered the female domain.
“Yes?”
“The Earl of Ashcombe has called,” Anderson informed her in formal tones. “Shall I say you are receiving?”
The bed sheet slipped from her nerveless fingers as she surged to her feet. Lord Ashcombe? Here?
Despite the fact the man had been her fiancé for nearly a week, Talia’s mind struggled to accept that he had actually come to call upon her. No doubt because she had spent the past days assuring herself that the Earl of Ashcombe had no more intention of making her his bride than his younger brother had.
In truth, she had expected every morning to awaken to the announcement in the London Times that Lord Ashcombe had cancelled the absurd wedding, even if it did mean further scandal for his family.
So why was he here?
Had he come in person to cancel the wedding? And if so, why would he bother? It would surely have been easier for all of them if he had sent a message to avoid this unpleasant encounter.
Acutely aware of the silence that had abruptly filled the laundry room, Talia nervously cleared her throat.
“Did you inform him that my father is not at home?”
Anderson dipped his head. “He specifically requested to speak with you, Miss Dobson.”
“I see.” With no choice, Talia tugged off the apron that covered her sprigged muslin gown. “Please show him to the parlor.”
The butler offered a stiff bow. “Very good.”
The servant was stepping through the door when she realized that she had nearly forgotten her duties as a hostess. Odd, considering that they had been drilled into her by her numerous governesses over the years.
Of course, she rarely had an opportunity to display them, had she?
Who would desire to visit Silas Dobson or his awkward daughter? So far as London was concerned they were blights on civilized society.
“Oh, Anderson.”
“Yes?”
“Could you request Mrs. Knight to prepare a tray of refreshments?”
“Certainly.”
Although the butler’s gaunt face remained impassive, there was a suggestion of approval in his faint nod before he disappeared
