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
