really didn’t matter whether her father would have approved, given that she would not be seen consorting with the duke again any time soon. He’d made that abundantly clear.
“It’s all right, Mother. I’ve no hopes of snaring the duke’s hand,” she said in a tightly controlled voice.
“Right.” Her mother sniffed. “Very well, then.” She sniffed again. “I believe this room needs airing. The servants are becoming intolerably slack in their duties.”
Elizabeth kept her mouth shut. The servants weren’t becoming slack. They were leaving. They knew as well as anyone that her father had died with no heir and considerable debt. Slowly but surely they were finding employ in other, more stable, noble homes. If her mother chose not to recognize that, Elizabeth wasn’t going to be the one to point it out. She turned to go, assuming her mother’s change of topic meant she’d been dismissed.
“No, don’t leave. You have a caller.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly. Could her day get any worse? First that humiliating and unsuccessful scene at the park. And now, when she wanted nothing more than a moment’s peace, she had to entertain. And to what purpose? Her mother would announce her engagement in mere hours, and Elizabeth had run out of ideas for avoiding it.
“Wetherby is waiting in the drawing room. I wanted to be certain you had no foolish yearnings for Beaufort before I sent you in to see him. But I see that, in this matter at least, you are a sensible girl.”
Elizabeth cringed. She’d been wrong. Talking about the Duke of Beaufort was infinitely preferable to talking to Harold Wetherby. At least her mother hadn’t seen her “sensible” daughter’s behavior thirty minutes ago.
“We can afford to wait no longer, Elizabeth,” her mother told her. “Wetherby’s lack of title may be lamentable, but his income is not. I’ve given him every reason to expect his suit will be accepted, though of course he’ll want to hear it from you as well.”
Elizabeth nodded woodenly. Yes, her day could definitely get worse. Her plan may have failed, but she was not yet ready to face her volatile cousin.
“Yes, Mother. I’ll be in to see him as soon as I’ve had a moment to tidy my appearance.” Her mother was a stickler for propriety, so Elizabeth knew she would approve of the short delay. One did not meet one’s future husband looking mussed from the outdoors.
The baroness nodded. “I’ll have the butler give him your message. Don’t dawdle.”
Fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth entered the drawing room, having dawdled only a little. The panicked whispers she’d shared with Charity had given her no new inspiration.
Her unwanted soon-to-be fiancé stood by the window, tapping his expensively shod foot. He did not look especially pleased to see her.
“Harold.” She said it with as much politeness as she could muster, forcing her lips into a semblance of a smile.
“Elizabeth.”
She stiffened her shoulders as he strode toward her.
“You’re looking well,” he told her, stopping only when they were separated by a scant few inches. “Better than I expected for someone distraught with grief.”
“Right. Well. One must go on,” she lamely replied. What was he after?
“One must. Though to hear it, you’ve been doing a bit more ‘going on’ than I would like.”
Elizabeth held her chin up but said nothing. If he was going to accuse her of something, she wanted to know exactly what.
“Nothing to say for yourself, my sweet?”
“Your meaning is unclear.” She managed to keep her tone modulated and polite, though she clenched her fingers in the folds of her gown.
“No? Then let me explain.” His voice was silk but his quivering jowls gave away his simmering rage. “Why do you think I offered for you?”
Elizabeth had several theories on that, but as Harold wouldn’t appreciate any of them, she kept silent.
“Respectability, Elizabeth!” He was openly angry now. “Your lack of dowry I can tolerate—I’ve sufficient funds of my own. But I plan to go places in Society, and I damn well want the respect that comes with marrying a nobleman’s daughter!”
“I see.” She was a means to an end for him. Well, she’d known that. “But that doesn’t explain why you chose me.”
“You know bloody well why. Your father, gambling fool that he was, left you within my reach.”
“I see,” she repeated. She refrained from mentioning that for someone who claimed to want respectability, he didn’t seem to have any qualms about using vicious language in front of a gently bred woman.
“Obviously you don’t see, or you would have more care for your reputation.”
“My reputation is my own to worry about.”
“Now see here, Elizabeth! I won’t have a wife who speaks back. Or one who has sullied herself.” The acrid scent of sweat assaulted Elizabeth’s nostrils as he railed at her.
Insulted though she was, a ray of hope filtered through her anger. She hadn’t done anything inappropriate—a fact she was all too aware of—but if Harold believed otherwise, perhaps she could convince him she was not worth marrying. She’d have to play it right.
“I am not your wife yet, and you overstep your bounds if you dare accuse me of impropriety.”
“Oh? Then what is this all about?” His fleshy finger viciously prodded the bustline of her gown.
“How dare you! You should leave. Now.” She stepped away, furious, her glance flicking down as she thought about the alterations she’d made to the gown earlier that spring, when she’d still hoped to attract a more desirable suitor. The ploy hadn’t worked.
“Why shouldn’t I dare?” He advanced again, giving her a nasty leer. “You’ve gone to great lengths to put yourself on display. Why else if not for a man to touch? A respectable woman would take more care to cover herself. You will do so, at least in public, as my fiancée and my wife.”
“I will most certainly not—”
“And furthermore,” he cut her off, “you should take more care in the company you keep.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Now he really went too far. She stepped beyond his reach.
“The Duke of Beaufort!” he exploded, face red and eyes bulging.
She folded her arms. “If you’re so concerned with advancing in Society, you should be pleased to be marrying someone sought after by more prominent personages than yourself.” Elizabeth couldn’t help firing back at him, though it filled her with disgust to refer to their impending marriage.
Harold blew past her retort. “For all the duke’s prominence, he’s a known libertine and rake! Everyone knows it, yet you cavort with him as though you were a common serving wench!”
