Page 17 of Their Brazen Countess
Her stomach dropped at his request. As a rule, the only discussions which occurred in his domain were those of significant import. That, of course, meant this would likely not be a pleasant discussion.
Jo took a deep, steadying breath and straightened her bodice. “Of course, Father.”
She stepped into his overtly masculine room, with its dark wood and dark fabrics. Despite the sun streaming through the window, it was all very heavy and gloomy. She hated this room. This was where her father had informed her of her first marriage, and it was impossible to miss the fact her mother sat silently on the sofa near her father’s desk. This could not be good.
“Jo, please sit down. Your mother and I would like to speak to you about a particular matter.” Her father looked very puffed up this morning, as though he had news of great import to discuss.
She repressed the urge to sigh. “Very well, Father. What did you wish to speak to me about?”
“I have received and accepted an offer for your hand in marriage from the Marquess of Whitestone.”
Silence fell like a deafening clap.
For a moment, the air was sucked from the room, from her very lungs.
She was an independent woman. A widow! He didn’t have the right to accept a marriage proposal on her behalf. “I’m afraid you will have to rescind your acceptance. I am uninterested in his offer of marriage.”
“The devil I shall!” Her father’s voice boomed through the small space, utterly filling it. “You will marry the Marquess and help your sister make an advantageous match, or I shall force her to marry the old codger.”
Jo gasped. “But Father, she is just about to make her come out. You cannot force her to marry some old man for…for…for what? It cannot be his fortune, I have heard no such—.”
Her father laughed. “Egads! No. The man’s coffers echo when he dares to open them. No, we are the fortune he needs. He has the respectability of a title that will lift this family out of obscurity. We shall no longer be new money, but will ascend to the rank we deserve. To the heights of nobility.”
Jo felt the blood drain from her face. This was something her father had always spoken of: this bettering of the family. Her marriage to her now deceased husband was his first attempt at just that. It seemed his second attempt would bear far greater fruit. “And I suppose my inheritance from my first husband will be included as my dowry for this farce of a marriage?”
“Why shouldn’t it? You’re no longer my dependent. I’ll not foot the bill of yet another dowry. Perhaps you can try to keep this husband alive for more than a few years. I’m not sure I’d be able to convince a third man to marry you if a second dies under your unsatisfactory care.”
She looked to her mother, desperate for support, but her father cut her off before she could speak. “You’ll find no support there. Your mother knows better than to question my decisions.”
Jo had never heard her mother openly question her father, but she’d also never seen her mother so cowed as she saw now. It stole her breath to realize her mother might be as unhappy as she herself had been in her first marriage. But she had been married to her father for five and twenty years!
“You are a despicable bastard.” Jo glared at him and rose. “I’ll never forgive you for this.” With that, she stormed from the room.
Appetite gone, she grabbed her coat and flew from the house out into the morning cold. Her chores be damned! Tears coursed down her cheeks as she ran toward her place of refuge—the gamekeeper’s hut.
Jo burst into the space only to find it cold and empty. Dismayed at first, she realized she’d left home much earlier than planned. Linc and Arthur wouldn’t be there for a while yet. Unwilling to sit in the cold, she gathered some chopped wood from outside and carried it to the fireplace. She fumbled with the kindling more times than she could count, but she eventually got a fire going and had the place warming up. With that done, she sat down on the bed and allowed herself to cry.
She should have expected her happiness to be short-lived.
Sometime later, she awoke to gentle hands stroking over her back as a warm baritone called her name.
“Jo. Wake up, Jo.” Arthur hovered over her.
Jo sat up, took one look at his handsome face, and burst into tears once more.
Arthur gathered her into his arms and sat down with her in his lap. “Tell me what’s wrong, Wood Sprite.” He stroked her back and held her close.
Linc sat down next to them. “What is it, Jo? What has you so upset?”
Tamping down her tears, she tried to dry her face and pull her thoughts together. “My—my father has promised my hand in marriage to some lord.”
Linc and Arthur stiffened. “He cannot do that. You are a widow, he is not your legal guardian.”
She sighed. “True. But he knows I shall not leave my sister Rebecca—Becca—to marry this man instead of myself. He will force her if I refuse.”
The men cursed softly. Then Arthur spoke. “What if you had another offer?”
She tipped her head to the side and contemplated him. What would her father do if another man with a title made an offer? One who didn’t require her fortune. Would he be greedy enough to switch horses mid-race? “I am not certain. My head says he sees himself as a principled man and is unlikely to be tempted. My heart hopes he might be lured by a good connection that doesn’t require my fortune.” She hesitated. “And there is my sister to consider. He has threatened to give her in my place.” She sighed, defeated. Her father had boxed her in quite nicely.
