Page 11 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
“The prince doesn’t concern me. I am more concerned with losing Violet and having her married to a man she doesn’t love or even know.”
“You’ve always had a soft heart for her. Violet is not like you or me. She doesn’t know her own mind. She needs a husband who will take care of her, nurture her as her own family has. She needs an environment where she will be protected from some of the harsher realities of the world.”
How was this man she knew to be perfectly rational willing to marry his daughter to an aristocrat he barely knew? Did Violet mean so little to him? “But she does know her own mind. She knows that she doesn’t want to marry this duke. She knows that she wants to be a writer.”
He gave a quick shake of his head. “I am certain her husband, whoever he may be, will indulge her penchant for writing.” He took a sip of his coffee and stared into the fire as if Violet’s future was of no consequence.
He said it as if her writing was a mere hobby and not something to be considered a serious pursuit. But then far more insidious thoughts crossed her mind. Was this because Violet had been born a daughter? Did she have no other worth to him than something with which he could barter? If he was willing to part with Violet so easily, did that also extend to August?
August had always believed that he found her advice tobe genuinely helpful. He had always taken the time to include her in his work, marveling at her ability with numbers. Had she... Had she been little more than an oddity to him? A female who could add a column of numbers faster than his best clerk? No. She gave a shake of her head, refusing to believe it.
“But how do we know this man will nurture her—”
He raised his hand in an effort to quiet her. “August, please. We do not know him yet, but we will. There has been no announcement. We are still very much in the preliminary stages of discussing a possible union. From all appearances, he will be a suitable husband for her, but if we meet him and do not like him, we can certainly reevaluate. Give me a little bit of your confidence. I do not plan to marry my youngest child off to an ogre.” He grinned at his jest.
As long as she had known him, her father had never raised his voice. He was stern when it was called for, and he had a way of speaking that was very quiet while still managing to resonate. It was how he addressed a crowded room of stakeholders at Crenshaw Iron Works. It was how he spoke at important functions. His voice could sneak inside her head and calm her even when she wanted to be angry. He just sounded so completely reasonable about it all.
Willing to push her earlier fears aside, she asked, “But what of Teddy?”
“Who?”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Not quite sure if he was being deliberately obtuse, she said, “Theodore Sutherland. He and Violet have been practically inseparable the last two summers at the cottage.”
It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility that he didn’t remember, because he did not spend the entire summers with them in Newport. He tended to spend long weekends and travel back for work during the week. Even her own attendance at the cottage was sporadic, unlike Violet and their mother, who lived there for the summer months.
“Ah yes, I remember now,” said Papa. “You must admit the Sutherlands are not so well established as the duke.”
“Of course I admit that, Papa. That isn’t the point. I mention Teddy because Violet fancies that he is in love with her, and they will marry after his graduation.”
“I have never indicated that I will give permission for that particular union. In fact, I believe he is a poor choice. Is he even twenty years old yet? He’s too young. Besides, his father mentioned that he has an interest in studying the law. If he attends law school, that could be another several years before they marry. She’ll be too old by then. No. Absolutely not.”
“She’ll barely be twenty-five. I’ll be twenty-five in two years. That is hardly too old for marriage.”
He gave her a look that was filled with more compassion than she was comfortable with. His mustache drooped further at the corners as he quickly gave his attention to his coffee.
A mild sort of fright clawed its way up her throat, and the words were out before she could stop them. “Do you think I’m old?” Or at least too old to marry. Did they view her as a spinster to be humored and placated?
Without looking at her, he placed his cup and saucer on the table and retreated to the safety of his newspaper. “Of course not. One day you will find a fine man to marry. We were discussing your sister. Violet will have wasted her youth waiting for Theodore, and he might very well decide he wants another after law school. Let us entertain the notion of the duke for a bit and see what happens.”
“Papa, must we even—”
The paper crinkled as he glanced at her. “Enough with this, darling. Nothing has been carved in stone.”
When he hid behind the newspaper again, she knew this was as far as she would get with him today. Still, she couldn’t help but sit and stare at the typeface as she took in shallow breaths. She wanted to ask him about her own future. Would they consider a marriage for her if it would further the family name? Would he be so willing to give her up, and all that she had brought to Crenshaw Iron Works, if it would give them social standing? She opened her mouth to ask, but a moment of cowardice kept her silent. Part ofher didn’t want to know. What would she do with the information anyway?
As always, reason would have to prevail here. While she disliked the idea that he was almost as excited about the plan as Mother, she was gratified that he was at least willing to discuss the situation rationally. Perhaps the Duke of Rothschild would turn out to be the very ogre he would not want Violet to marry and all of this would prove moot.
Or, if her parents couldn’t be made to see reason, perhaps the duke himself could be dissuaded. Camille had been an unwilling bride, but no one had ever discussed it, preferring to keep that fact hidden in niceties. Perhaps if she confronted Rothschild with Violet’s unwillingness, he would back down.
Really, who would want an unwilling bride? This wasn’t the Middle Ages.
Chapter 4
But the cloud never comes in that quarter of the horizon from which we watch for it.
Elizabeth Gaskell
Evan and his mother were the last to arrive for dinner at the Ashcrofts’. As they followed a footman from the mahogany-paneled entryway, Evan glimpsed gilt-framed paintings on the walls of the rooms that they passed. He recognized at least one Rembrandt and two Titians. A twinge of guilt drew his mouth tight as he thought of the paintings he’d had Clark sell only last month. A minor concession to the creditors clamoring for his throat. Not enough to cure their bloodlust, but enough to assuage them for a time. His mother had not returned home to Charrington Manor yet to notice, and if his sisters had written to her about them, she had not mentioned it.
