A Hasty Betrothal. Jessica Nelson

but most often she found herself avoiding them. There was that dreadful time during her fifteenth year...

      She sighed. “May I go back to reading?”

      “No.” Her mother studied her. “This is as we hoped, and sooner than we expected. Go upstairs, put on your best dress and then return to meet Lord Wrottesley. I shall welcome him and see that he’s made at home. Do not tarry.” Mother swiped a scornful glance at Elizabeth’s morning gown, a simple cotton dress she’d been wearing for years.

      “I cannot believe that you are actually going to make me see him. After what he did?”

      Mother had the grace to look away from Elizabeth. “It is not uncommon for a man to lack self-control. In the future, keep your lady’s maid or companion nearby. It is your job, as the more refined gender, to keep a man’s base instincts in check.”

      Clenching her jaw, Elizabeth rose, grabbed her book and went to her room. Jenna dressed her speedily.

      Elizabeth’s nerves coiled. A great wall of anxiousness descended upon the anger she felt with her mother. The utter betrayal. As she slunk to the parlor, she realized her palms were damp and her jaw sore. She rolled her shoulders back but the movement did not ease the kink winding up her neck.

      Odious Wrottesley. She prayed he came to apologize for kissing her. For putting his hands upon her person in an unacceptable manner. Couldn’t he find some other heiress to annoy? A quick rap of her knuckles and the parlor door swung open. It had not stuck closed as she’d hoped it would.

      Lord Wrottesley looked up as she entered. Mother was not in the room. The scratch upon his cheek had rather disappointingly faded. Elizabeth suppressed her chagrin at not leaving her mark in a more permanent way. An elaborate cravat decorated his shirt. True dandy fashion. His smooth cheeks and empty eyes reminded her of a book without words. Or perhaps a gossip rag. Yes, full of lies and cruelty. Though his lips tilted in a facsimile of a smile, she detected triumph. Her nerves flamed and for the briefest moment, she was tempted to begin carrying smelling salts.

      Oh, to be able to faint at the slightest upset. It was truly disheartening that Grandmother had not passed down the condition.

      Pushing the thought aside, she curtsied. Lord Wrottesley performed his requisite bow.

      “You are looking much better than you did the night of the ball.” He eyed her carefully, as though examining her for evidence that his actions then had greatly affected her.

      She kept her features placid. “My headache has subsided.”

      Was that dissatisfaction crossing his features? She dearly hoped so. He clasped his hands and walked toward the fireplace, face tilted to study the portraits on the wall. “I will come straight to the point of why I am here.”

      “Please do,” she said.

      His form stiffened, but he did not look at her. “Yesterday morning’s gossip rags were distressing, to say the least. To think I have called on someone capable of such misbehavior.”

      “You caused it by manhandling me.”

      “Ah, so you also recognized yourself in the column.” He turned to her and now she was certain of his disdain and his gloating. “There is a way to solve this, to keep your family’s name intact and preserve your future. I have spoken with your father in the past and have been patiently waiting, but I will not wait forever. Now seems the time to right the unlikely situation which has presented itself.”

      Knots twisted in her stomach. She could only stand immobile, heart pattering in uneven beats against her ribs, fingers clenching her skirts... She could not marry this man. Could not. He repulsed her in every way.

      Memories from the ball crowded her mind. His sour breath upon her face, his fingers digging into her skin and his laugh... He had found it funny to frighten her, to catch her unawares.

      She wanted to speak but found that her lips had numbed, her tongue had swollen. He advanced. He put his hands on her shoulders and, because of their difference in size, she felt even more threatened. Her pulse galloped within her skin.

      “Ah, Lord Wrottesley.” Mother’s voice sounded behind her and Elizabeth thought she really, truly might faint from relief.

      He removed his hands and moved forward to greet her mother, kissing the top of her presented hand.

      “Good to see you, Wrottesley.” Father emerged in her periphery, shaking hands with the dreadful viscount. “I see Elizabeth has made it down. Have you two discussed...anything?”

      “I was just getting to that.” Lord Wrottesley flashed his supercilious smile and Elizabeth battled the urge to run as far as she could. “I would be honored if Lady Elizabeth would accept my proposal of marriage. In light of what’s being said, now is the best time to put rumors to rest and I am prepared to offer her the security of my title and hand.”

      “Daughter?” Father peered at her.

      She swallowed. Though her parents were in many ways strangers to her, there resided a deep need to make them proud. To show them that she was not just a deformed castoff who brought shame, but a productive member of the family. Could she marry for that alone?

      Her dire predicament struck her fully as the three stared at her expectantly. Waiting.

      “I...” She faltered beneath their gazes. Her mind raced. “I thank you, Lord Wrottesley, for your generous offer. It is with regret that I must decline it.”

      “But we will be ruined!” Mother’s sharp exclamation was cut off by her hand to her mouth.

      Father’s brows furrowed. “There is no room for scandal in this family, Elizabeth.”

      “I know that and I would never cause you such pain. The truth is...” She gulped deeply, knowing her next words would change the course of her life forever. “The truth is that I am betrothed to another.”

       Chapter Five

      “Lady Elizabeth to see you, sir.” Powell announced the news quietly, but the words punched Miles out of his deep study of contracts and into the present. He blinked at his valet.

      “Lady Elizabeth Wayland?”

      “The very one. She has requested your presence immediately.” Powell paused, his serious features perplexed. “She claims the matter to be most urgent, and if I may say so, she appears rather...winded.”

      “Thank you. Tell her I will be there shortly.” Miles pushed his chair out, gut twisting. He could not forget yesterday morning’s ride. What had he been thinking? Offering marriage? He must have temporarily gone insane. Thankfully, she’d refused. He’d done his part, as he’d scribbled in a quick note to John when he returned home.

      Should Elizabeth need to marry, there would be plenty of willing suitors. His gut twisted at the thought of Elizabeth in a loveless relationship, but he pushed the feeling aside.

      He well knew how love brought pain. He frowned. He did not wish to see Elizabeth today, but he could think of no reason for her to be at his house, alone, except for some unexpected predicament.

      Had she changed her mind? Panic shot through him. He prayed not.

      He found her pacing his library, hands wringing and dress fluttering with the force of her walk. Her hair escaped in disorganized ringlets around her cheeks, and when he entered her gaze flew to his.

      “Miles,” she breathed.

      He hardened himself against the relief so clearly etched on her face. Perhaps his pride still rankled from her cold dismissal. “Lady Elizabeth, won’t you have a seat?”

      Surprise fluttered across her face. Perhaps she’d expected a less formal greeting.

      “I cannot sit. Something dreadful has happened. My hand is being forced, you see, and