Page 40 of Enslaved to the Seduction of a Lady
“Yes, actually,” the Duke said, sitting up a little straighter. “It is something we’ve been working on for a while now, and—”
“And we’ve found you a husband!” The Duchess’ interruption burst from her mouth as she was unable to contain it anymore.
For Alison, time seemed to slow. All her breath rushed out of her at once, and she was unable to inhale again. She looked down at the table, dumbstruck. She glanced up at Teresa who looked equally shocked, her mouth working as though to search for the words.
“What’s the matter?” the Duchess asked. “Aren’t you happy?”
Alison could hear the annoyance in her mother’s voice and she looked up at her, her eyes pleading, her soul begging. But still, she could not form any words.
“Of course she’s happy, Darling,” the Duke said. “She just needs a few moments to get used to the idea, isn’t that right, Alison Dear?”
He reached over and plucked up a jam tart, entirely oblivious to the waves of shock that rocked his eldest daughter. She watched, open-mouthed, as missed crumbs tumbled down onto his black waistcoat and for a moment, that was all she could focus on.
A husband?
“But… I—”
She couldn’t stop staring at the remains of his tart, the beige speckles around his paunch that seemed, for some reason, terribly important. She dragged her eyes away, her breath heaving, and she looked up at Teresa who looked back with such incredible pity that Alison felt her heart break.
“Alison?” the Duchess asked, putting a hand on her arm. “Is everything all right?”
“No,” Alison said simply, finally looking to her mother. She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. “No, Mother, it’s not all right.”
“What are you talking about, Child?” the Duke asked, his words filled with irritation. “You have waited so long to find yourself a suitor, that we have gone about it and done the hard work for you.”
Alison turned her head quickly, half-glaring, half-pleading.
“But I don’t want to marry some noble you’ve chosen for me.”
In the corner of her eye, she could see Teresa sipping her tea and watching the proceedings over the rim of her cup.
Why isn’t she helping me?
“You don’t even know who it is yet, Darling,” the Duchess said, placing a bejeweled hand on Alison’s. Her own annoyance was carefully hidden by a collected calm.
“Who is it?” Teresa asked, putting her cup back on the saucer noisily. Alison could hear the false tone of jollity in Teresa’s voice and suspected she was just as surprised.
“The Earl of Belmont,” her father said, his tone calmer now. “An excellent match for you, Dear Girl. He’s wealthy and titled, well respected in society, too. He will look after you well.”
Alison felt the air rush from her gut, and she gasped for breath. She flashed a glance at Teresa, horrified, then quickly at her father and back down at her hands.
The Earl of Belmont?
“What’s the matter, Child?” the Duchess asked gently, a note of concern in her voice.
“The… the Earl of Belmont?” Alison asked, her voice barely a squeak, as she looked up at her mother.
“Yes,” the Duchess replied. “He’s a delightful gentleman. Always pleasant.”
Teresa watched with her mouth open, clearly as shocked as Alison that her mother could say such a brazen lie.
Alison felt her breath quicken, could hear it rushing out of her nostrils.
This is all going wrong!
“Don’t you like the Earl?” the Duke asked with a seeming innocence.
Can he really not see it?
