Page 47 of Til Death Duke Us Part
“Of course,” her father grumbled. “No daughter of ours is staying here.”
Persephone clung to the doorframe as her mother tried to pull her through it. “Where was this paternal sentiment after Percy died?”
“You’ve learned your lesson.” Her mother sniffed, trying to tug Persephone loose. She grunted. “Now it’s time to come home. And find a new husband.” Another tug, another grunt. “A better”—tug, grunt—“one.” She gave up when Persephone clung like a leech to the frame.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Be reasonable, Persephone,” her father said. “You can’t live like this, and we were perhaps a bit too harsh on you after Percy’s death. We forgive you. Now forgive us, and let’s be gone.”
“A duchess cannot live like this.” Her mother threw her arms out wide, and her hand brushed against a faded gown hanging from the clothesline that divided the room. She shivered and wiped her hand off on her skirts.
“A duchess?”
“Yes, of course.” Her father cleared his throat. “That Morington fellow clearly feels strongly for you. Once we get you all cleaned up and show him what a marriage to you can do for him, he’ll bite. I’m sure of it.”
Her mother sighed. “It will be a glorious union. The best match made for an alchemist’s daughter this year. Perhaps this decade!” She squealed.
“You’ve got it all wrong. The duke is not in love with me.” She was in love with Victor.
“Love doesn’t matter,” her mother said.
“I’ve checked into his finances.” Her father chuckled. “The old boy’s poor as”—he looked around—“you. He’ll be elated to learn you’re an heiress.”
“But I’m not an heiress.” Persephone’s head was spinning. If they would only slow down and talk sense.
“You are now!” Her mother darted out into the hallway.
“Listen, Sephy.” Her father stepped closer, reached out to take her hands then grimaced and folded them behind his back. “We feel horrible. We didn’t know how badly you had it. And… we’ve set up an account for you. All yours.”
“If I marry the duke.” Their gifts had always come with strings, requirements.
“No,” her mother said. “It’s yours because we were horrible. We spoke with Morington before he left Manchester. He made us see how wrong we’d treated you.”
He’d spoken to them… When? How? He’d likely not been kind. But still… he’d cared enough to say something to startle her parents into doing… this! Offer her money, her old life back.
“And because”—her mother gave a nervous titter—“if the other alchemists find out how you’re living we’ll be laughingstocks.”
“You’ve always been headstrong,” her father said. “If you insisted on marrying Percy, we figure you’ll insist on not marrying whoever we find you.”
“Except…” Her mother inched closer. “Perhaps…” Even closer. “The duke?” A smile popped a dimple into one of her cheeks.
That’s why they were doing this. Not out of guilt or familiar love. They wanted to make a matrimonial catch out of her; they wanted to clean her up and send her sailing like an arrow right at the duke’s heart.
“No.” Persephone released the doorframe and stepped deep inside her room. She waved a hand to the door. “Thank you, but I need to be alone.”
Her father waited several moments before joining her mother in the corridor. They were so out of place. Their finery seemed unnatural against the faded flimsiness of the walls and ceilings. Their rich jewels gaudy against the sincerity of poverty.
But oh… her mouth watered to run into their arms, to wash away the dirt and don silks instead. She could now. She could…
“Goodbye,” she said, and shut the door in their faces. Her brain buzzed. No clear thoughts. No reasonable arguments. She couldn’t even fully grasp the situation, her parents’ offer.
She could dig.
Or she could climb.
She could release the weight of her guilt.
Or she could cling to it—her own grave work, a way to spend eternity.
