Page 4 of Madcap with a Marquess
Lifting her chin, Franny strode into her father’s study like she deserved to be there, completely ignoring the fact that her father would probably prefer if Franny continued walking straight past him and proceeded to throw herself out the window.
“My lord.” She dipped into a curtsy.
He didn’t look up and continued his determined scrawling. “What is the meaning of this disturbance, Lady Francine?”
She swallowed.Buck up, Franny.
“I don’t want to marry Lord Hampton,” she rushed out.He is Lord Rutledge now, Franny. “Rutledge, that is. I cannot wed Lord Rutledge.”
Her father slowly placed his quill down. He pressed his fingers into the top of his desk, his fingertips turning white.
And then he looked up at her.
Franny took a step backward. His obsidian gaze bore into her, reaching into her and wrapping around her lungs, making breath impossible.
No.This was her last chance.Be strong, Franny. She jutted her chin out.
Her father tilted his head. “The wedding is tomorrow. Your request comes rather…late.”
She curled her toes to prevent another step back. He always spoke slowly, his words calculated. Like a snake.
“It may be late,” she acquiesced. “But it is nottoolate.”
She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, praying her words rang true.Why did you wait so long, Franny?Why did you avoid this discussion until now?Possibly denial. Possibly the fact that she swore Rigid Rupert would have found his own way out of this dratted arrangement.
But he hadn’t. Instead, his ailing father had passed away, and the wedding had become…imminent. And a long-dreaded marriage all of a sudden thrust upon a person had a way of forcing one into action.
She opened her eyes and stared into the darkness that was her father’s gaze. The snake. “Since the wedding has not happened as of yet…” she continued slowly. “It is not too late to come to an alternative agreement. The dowager Lady Rutledge has never approved of me. She would be overjoyed if she had the opportunity to choose her own bride for her son.” A weak flicker of hope lit inside her, a taper set out with a storm rolling in. “And I am sure Lord Rutledge would be much happier with a wife more suitable for his parliamentary aspirations.”
“Lady Rutledge’s nor her son’s desires are of any import.”
The storm rolled in.
“You will listen and listen carefully,” her father said softly, in a tone that was anything but soft. That tone had teeth, razor sharp. “The late Lord Rutledge and I came to an agreement when you were born. An agreement between men. We signed a contract. One that is unbreakable.” He glared at her. “You will marry the new Lord Rutledge on the morrow.”
“Please, my lord. Whatever you seek, it surely can be achieved through a marriage to a different lord. If you were to allow me a season—”
His low chuckle lifted the hair on the back of her neck. Her father rarely laughed. She shivered. She preferred it when he didn’t.
“Do you truly believe any man would want you if you had a season? How many governesses have I hired to drill deportment into you? Have any succeeded? It would take…one dance. Any suitor with half his faculties would know he should turn and run as far away as possible. It is fortunate the new Lord Rutledge has no say in the matter.”
He paused, his hand going to his chest, his face contorted in what Franny was sure was supposed to be mock concern. But it didn’t fit on his face. It was ugly on his face. “I shudder to think who you would be left with otherwise.”
Franny wound her fingers in her skirts. She could act as a young lady should…at least for the duration of a ball. If it meant a choice in her future. If it meant avoiding a lifetime being disparaged by Lord Rutledge and managed by his mother, just as she managed her own son. There must be someone out there who would want her for who she was…
“Perhaps we could push back the wedding. Allow for me to have one season. If I were to secure an advantageous proposal, one in which you would see a greater benefit, then perhaps we could revisit the marriage contract. Surely there is a provision to nullify the contract.” Women could always back out, couldn’t they? And the Rutledges would be overjoyed. Everyone won.
“This conversation has become tiresome.” He sighed and his mouth set in a firm line. “I have been waiting nearly two decades to acquire Lord Rutledge’s prized horseflesh. I will not allow some apprehensive girl on the eve before her wedding to obstruct my plans.”
Horseflesh. She blinked. She was being traded for horseflesh.
“Frankly, I do not understand why you are not thanking me. I have saved you from sure embarrassment. I have saved you from countless tedious nights at balls, facing rejection after rejection. You should be grateful. And this is what I must deal with instead? Your whining and complaining? You have been nothing short of an inconvenience since the day you were born.”
Coldness settled over her. She didn’t care about her father’s feelings toward her. That was not new information. But if she were to have a chance at deciding her own future…perhaps she could find happiness. Love. Her neglected heart ached. She just wanted to find one person to have some semblance of affection for her. Was that truly so much to ask?
“Please…”
“Enough!” Her father slammed his fist on his desk, the bang ricocheting through the study. Her muscles went taut, bracing, ready for the blow, even though he couldn’t reach her. “You have impeded on my time long enough. You will marry Lord Rutledge in the morning and that is the end of it.”
