Page 42 of Enslaved to the Seduction of a Lady
Alison felt her breath leave her once again, winded as though punched in the chest, and she struggled to stop herself from bursting into tears. Her father had never before spoken so harshly to her.
“Alison,” Teresa said softly, “Alison, sit down. Let’s talk.”
Alison nodded mutely, blindly pulling her chair back into position and sitting down. She glanced at her mother. The Duchess held her face in her hands and rocked gently—something she did often, when she faced a situation she did not wish to be in.
“All right,” Alison croaked, still not making eye contact with her father.
“Alison,” the Duke said, reaching out to touch her hand. His voice had lost its hard edge, its anger, to be replaced with care and concern. “I do not want us to argue. But you had your chance. There is no one else. The deal with the Earl is done. You will be married sooner rather than later.”
“Alison,” Teresa said, “I think it’s time to tell them.”
“Tell us what?” the Duchess asked, raising her head. Her face had paled at the thought of further news, but her eyes glared with a fierce indignation.
Alison pressed her lips together and looked up to the ceiling. “You’re wrong when you say he is the only one,” she said, not allowing her eyes to rest on any of them. “There is someone else. Someone I want to marry. And he wants to marry me.”
“Who?” the Duke demanded. “And why am I only hearing about this now?”
“Have there been improper goings on?” the Duchess asked, a flash of fear in her eyes.
“No, Mother,” Alison said softly, turning to look at her. “Nothing like that. It’s just—”
Alison glanced at Teresa, silently begging her for help.
“It’s an unusual situation, that’s all,” Teresa said, then she added brightly, “And we’ve been in a few of those, as a family.”
Alison smiled at her gratefully, but neither of her parents were smiling, and she took a deep breath to prepare herself for what was to come.
“Who is it, Darling?” her mother asked, her tone much gentler, urging but kindly. “You can tell us anything. What is the name of the gentleman in question?”
“Gentleman,” Alison said with a humorless laugh. She looked back up to the ceiling as she spoke his name. “Luke Jones.”
“Luke Jones?” the Duke said, searching the floor around him in puzzlement. “The name certainly rings a bell, but I’m damned if I can place him.”
“You know him better than you realize, Father,” Teresa said. “He’s the head groom.”
“A servant?” her mother cried at exactly the same time as her father began to cough his own outrage. “What nonsense is this?” the Duke demanded.
“It’s absolutely unheard of,” the Duchess said. “And it’s certainly not proper.”
“Mother,” Alison said, her eyes closed against the tirade she knew was coming. “If you just let—”
“And you have known about this for how long, Teresa?” the Duchess shot a harsh glance at Teresa and Alison winced. It was not her sister’s fault Alison had fallen in love with the wrong man.
“Not long,” Teresa said, “but I think—”
“It’s not your place tothink, My Girl,” the Duke roared. “Alison is my daughter and therefore, my responsibility. And I will not see her married to some untitled rotter. I have her future to think about.”
“He’s not a rotter, Father,” Teresa urged. “He’s actually a very nice man with pure intentions.”
“Pure intentions to climb the social ladder far beyond his place, perhaps,” the Duchess said, shaking her head in disbelief.
“He must be a rotter if he’s attempting to woo a lady of the nobility,” the Duke said. “Well I’m having none of it. The betrothal to the Earl of Belmont will go ahead as planned.”
“But Luke and I love each other dearly,” Alison cried, finally looking at her father. “Why can’t you understand that?”
“Love is not enough, Alison,” her father said bitterly, but then he softened his tone. “And you will get over it, in time.”
“You may even come to love the Earl in time,” the Duchess said. “But there’s certainly no way you’ll be marrying the groom.”
