Page 60 of Tempted By the English Marquis
Her mother continued to look straight ahead, her hold still tight on her daughter’s arm, commanding Serafina’s attention. “This is the way of our world. You give your husband a son or two, and then you can have your own life. All you have to do is give him a legitimate heir. After that, he will probably leave you alone.” Her mother sucked in a deep breath. “Though your beauty might work against you in that regard.”
The thought of Giovanni Magri touching her or doing other things sent a second wave of nausea rippling through Serafina. Other young noblewomen might find consolation in the knowledge that they were not the first nor would they be the last young woman to enter into an arranged marriage. Serafina couldn’t see past the despair of being, for all intents and purposes, sold into marriage.
But this is me. My life.Her mother had it wrong.
Poor people might not gain political advantages from their marriages, but at least they got to choose who they shared their lives with, to whom they gave their bodies and souls.
“Cousin Nico got to choose love. His wasn’t an arranged marriage. Neither was the marriage of his parents,” said Serafina. She wasn’t beyond pleading. Hoping for something.
“Nico and Isabelle are not the usual way of things. Besides, Nico is a man; he has a title and wealth. He is destined to be a duke. You are merely the third daughter of a second son. Despite what you might think, you are not special, but your family name is.” Donna Francesca sighed. “How do I know this? Because I was a daughter. Of use only to my family for the marriage connection I could make. Your father wasn’t the man I would have chosen for myself, but I learned to accept my lot. Serafina, the sooner you do that the better it will be for you.”
What her mother was asking her to do was to give up her soul. And as much as the world might command it, she couldn’t ever do that. Serafina closed her eyes still fighting as her hopes and dreams slipped away.
I might be just a third daughter, but I am someone. I do matter.
The contessa released her hold, and Serafina opened her eyes. She waited for yet more empty words of motherly wisdom. But to her surprise, Donna Francesca quickly checked the corridor, then bent and whispered in her daughter’s ear, “When we visit with Signore Magri at his home tomorrow morning, you will do exactly as I say. You will ask no questions—simply smile, and nod. Am I understood?”
Serafina mirrored her mother’s instructions. She nodded and gave Donna Francesca a brittle smile.
“Good. You might think me a cold woman, but I have your best interests at heart.”
Serafina forlornly watched the retreating figure of her mother as she disappeared down the long corridor and into the next gallery. When she finally stirred from her numb sadness, she went in search of Augusta.
Between now and the betrothal ceremony, she had to find a way out of this marriage.
ChapterThirty-Two
When Gideon answered the knock at the door of his room later that afternoon, he wasn’t the least bit surprised to find his mother standing on the threshold. He stepped aside as the Duchess of Mowbray swept through the doorway with her usual self-assured grace.
He might well be furious with her, but he had missed the way she entered a room. No one commanded an entrance quite like the duchess. She was one hell of a woman.
But Papa is in pieces over you. Damn you.
“How is G?” he asked. It paid to get the first word in with his mother, because no matter the topic, she was determined to always have the last one.
Lady Anne’s gaze settled on the door, and Gideon hurried to close it. He could just imagine her mind working through the thoughts of what might be said about her if, heaven forbid, someone happened to wander by and see her talking to her son.
“Augusta is resting.” The duchess swept over to a chair and gracefully lowered herself into it. “She is a little overwrought about something. Won’t tell me what it is, so I am assuming someone had a disagreement with her this morning. And considering that she and Serafina are quite close, I am laying the blame squarely at your feet.”
“Nothing changes, does it, Your Grace,” huffed Gideon.
The duchess sniffed at the use of her formal title. Gideon had done it deliberately just to remind her who she was. That she had a life and commitments outside of her extended vacation in Italy.
“Well, if it wasn’t you, Lord Holwell, then what was it?”
Touché. She wants to play the titles game.
Gideon wasn’t exactly sure. Augusta had fainted at hearing the news that Viscount Cadnam was in Rome. The link between those two things was, unclear. Due to his friendship with Gideon, G had known the viscount for a number of years. But his sister had never once mentioned there being any sort of connection between them beyond the obvious. After this morning, however, Gideon was having second thoughts.
The viscount had been missing from London for more than a year, but what had transpired between the duke’s daughter and him in the preceding period?
Please don’t let G have been the reason for him bolting to this continent. The poor chap looked terrible, like he had been living rough for a long time.
Gideon had enough to deal with without a broken romance being thrown into the mix. Whatever the reason for Augusta’s fainting episode, he wasn’t going to give his mother any ammunition to use against his sister. He would gladly fall on his sword rather than do something that reckless.
“I disagreed with G over the choice of some waistcoat fabric at the tailors. She clearly hasn’t heard the word no for some time. I am not sure where she has picked up that unsociable habit,” said Gideon.
His mother narrowed her eyes. The pointed jab had hit home. Gideon hated himself for the perverse delight he took in hurting his beloved mama.
