Page 8 of The Scottish Duke Tames the Bluestocking
“Oh, I'm quite certain he was attempting to assist you with something,” William cut her off with biting sarcasm.
“Enough, the both of you!” Jennifer's voice cracked like a whip, startling both siblings into momentary silence. “This bickering solves nothing. We are faced with a very serious situation that requires delicate handling.”
Harriet felt a fleeting surge of gratitude towards her mother, but William shook his head - though when he spoke, his voice was calmer.
“Perhaps,” he conceded, “this was not what you intended, but the reality is stark - your reputation lies in tatters. There will be no containing the gossip, the rumors that are sure to spread like wildfire through theton. Your actions tonight have irrevocably compromised your virtue in the eyes of society.”
Harriet's breath caught in her throat as her brother’s words washed over her in a frigid deluge of dismay.
“Which means you have two options before you.” William pressed on, almost gently. “You can choose to accept your ruination, to live your life as a pariah firmly excluded from the embrace of theton... or you must take immediate steps to repair the damage by securing a husband. Immediately.”
A ringing silence met his proclamation, thick and oppressive in the cavernous drawing-room. Harriet's mind spun, utterly unmoored by the stark gravity of her circumstances. To surrender her future to the cold, clawing clutches of societies' scorn and derision...or to escape that bleak existence by shackling herself to a man for forever and always.
The choice, it seemed, was desolation or debasement.
When she finally found her voice, it was little more than a strangled rasp. “H-how am I to... There's no one who would...” Her gaze slid to her mother, pleading for an alternative that wasn't forthcoming. Jennifer, however, looked oddly quiet, her eyes cast down, and Harriet turned back to her brother.
“You're not alone in this catastrophe, Harriet,” he murmured, gaze dropping to the plush rug beneath his feet. “If word of this...incident spreads, it will reflect most poorly on me as well.”
She stared at him in disbelief, confusion swirling through her already addled thoughts. “You? But how...”
“As the head of this family, I am the one responsible for upholding our reputation and paving the way for advantageous matches,” William explained, misery and self-reproach tinging his words. “If you are ruined, then my standing is equally imperiled by association. And the ability to make judicious decisions for you and Mother someday...that future will be closed to me.”
Harriet gaped at him for a long moment before her ire found its breath anew. “Well then I suppose it's settled,” she declared, her voice sharpening with fresh belligerence. “Since it matters so much what thetonthinks, we ought to change our lives merely to please them. A jolly prospect for us all, indeed!”
William barely registered her bitter sarcasm, instead fixing her with a sober, searching look that made her shift uncomfortably.
“We must do certain things to satisfy theton, Harriet. And there is one path that could restore our stature. One that could salvage our standing and extricate us from the clutches of disgrace,” he murmured, holding her gaze in an entreaty so solemn it bordered on ominous.
Harriet's mouth went dry as the implication settled over her like a death knell. Surely he didn't mean...
“You'll have to marry him, Harriet,” William confirmed, his voice low but unwavering. “It's the only way to preserve what little remains of our family's reputation.”
Him. Even before William uttered the name, Harriet knew to whom he referred. The tall, implacable figure that had loomed in her orbit like a force of nature, mercilessly needling and nettling her at every turn.
The Duke of Frighton.
Her mind reeled as William pressed on, outlining her one remaining path forward.
“The Duke is a respected, influential peer. Should he agree to take your hand despite...despite what occurred tonight, it would go a long way towards mitigating the fallout and repairing the damage to our family name. He has the power and status to render you acceptable in the eyes of thetononce more.”
Harriet was scarcely aware of the protest bubbling up her throat until the words spilled forth in a breathless torrent. “William, you cannot be serious! The man is...is a boor! An arrogant, sarcastic rake without an ounce of propriety! We did nothing but quarrel like petulant children from the moment we met!”
Yet even as the objections poured from her lips, she could feel their utter futility. William's expression was set in grim, immovable lines, and his jaw was etched with steely resolve.
“Those are grievances you will simply have to overcome, Harriet. The Duke of Frighton represents your only acceptable path forward now. It's him...or total social ruination for us all.”
The words hung between them like an oppressive miasma, an inescapable truth that stole the breath from Harriet's lungs.
Harriet watched her brother's rigid backside disappear through the drawing-room door, an oppressive silence lingering in his wake. She was numb, unmoored, her equilibrium utterly shattered by the stark reality he'd laid before her.
Him or total ruination for them all.
A weary sigh sounded beside her, drawing Harriet's haunted gaze to where her mother perched on the divan. Jennifer's expression was etched with sorrow and resignation as she regarded her with deep sympathy.
“My darling girl,” she murmured, holding out her hands in a wordless entreaty.
Like a marionette severed from its strings, Harriet drifted forward until her trembling fingers were enveloped by her mother's soft, familiar grip. She sank to the cushion beside her, eyes downcast as she struggled to gather her tattered composure.
